At the end of the hallway that led from the portal room stood a second set of large doors. The doors were, for all intents and purposes, blast doors designed to prevent any force of any kind from entering or exiting the first level of the Black Site. The doors were entirely mechanical in nature and required physical force rather than magic or electricity to open. The only magical part about them was the system that identified those who wished to pass through and therefore decided whether or not to unlock the gate. As the gate was shut tight and the Naga were unregistered, the gates were shut tighter than those at a nunnery.

The fact that the gates would not open was indeed a problem, but it was nothing a substantial amount of force could not solve. The doors were made of magically reinforced granite that had a durability equal to and even exceeding that of modern high-carbon steel. Unfortunately for the defenders and fortunately for the attackers, most materials that were more durable than modern high-carbon steel could be destroyed or at least cut through using a suffiecient application of high-pressure water mixed with an abrasive.

On cue, the water, which had continued to roll in through the portal as the tide rose, began to churn. Silt and small rocks were being dragged along through the gateway as more water rushed in at the behest of the Necro Naga High Sirens (Elite Naga Magic Casters (reminder in case you all forgot)). Soon the water began to form thin, needle tipped tendrils that then began to spin like a reverse whirlpool and these tendrils were leveled at the door. The sounds of high-pressure water, sand and pebbles blasting into the door at various points echoed throughout the corridor.

While the assault had only just begun there were some signs that the abrasive, spiraling water-pressure drills were working. The twenty Necro Naga High Sirens formed even more tendrils of destruction and created even more points at which the massive stone doors quickly became damaged. Eventually the Necro Naga High Sirens began to use another tactic alongside the abrasive spiral pressure. First the tendrils would be near freezing in temperature, then after some time they would rocket to near boiling. The massive, radically shifting difference in temperature slowly began to induce even more fatigue to the door, and after about an hour of this onslaught the first few tendrils managed to push through.

From there, the tendrils expanded in size, slowly increasing their diameter as smaller tendrils emerged from the edges of the larger ones and started to eat away at the interior of the doors themselves. Two hours later and the audible cracking of the massive, magically-reinforced granite doors could be heard and soon after parts of the barrier began to break off and fall away. The Naga did not care that it was taking so long to get through, and it did not matter that this stone door was being so obnoxiously obstructive.

The Naga were of the water, and water was patient. Water would erode everything it came across given enough time. Stone and metal were both unable to truly defeat water, the mother of all life. Water eroded stone and corroded metal, and while this took time it would eventually happen. Only gold was immune to corrosion, and thus it held a place of both disdain and respect amongst the Naga. Gold was timeless and while its rejection of the power of water was aggravating, its timeless shine was a source of wonder. Like some animals they found precious gems and stones alluring and thus used them in a manner that made them seem quite hypocritical. Is it any wonder then that the high-ranking Naga, like the aquatic animals they were connected to, loved things that shone and glimmered and thus adorned themselves with finery like the surfacers they despised?

Of course, these gilded and bejeweled articles and silken cloth were made using very specific methods, and thus were far more durable than they appeared. Strengthened by magic designed to dissuade corrosion and damage by any source known to Darksol and its puppets, the hypocritical clothing, arms and armor of the Naga let all see the splendor of the Empire that Runs Beneath the Waves. Their outfits were glorified bikini armor, but the spells woven into them made it nigh impossible for anything other than another Naga to damage their attire. Only two non-Naga were known to be able to pass through the multiple layers of barriers that the individual articles of clothing wove over each Naga, but while that was widely believed knowledge, it didn’t make it true.

…

It had been far too long since Zalga the Deep Empress had engaged in a fight. Of course, that was effectively the same logic behind the thoughts of an Amateur featherweight boxer who had endured a long stretch without fighting a Super Heavyweight Pro with ten championships under his belt. To call Zalga’s first encounter with Kain a ‘fight’ would be a massive overstatement, as Kain had not even considered Zalga as a true threat. Now, however, things were very different. She was now far, far more powerful than she once was and ruled an entire nation that stretched from one side of the Atlantic to the other. She was itching for a chance to show her newly gained power to the love of her unlife, but she honestly figured that she would never get an adequate chance.

Ruling her nation was nice and all, but as a former Dungeon Boss she craved the thrill of a fight more than almost anything else. She watched her kin assault the oversized granite doors with a disinterested gaze, thinking to herself that if it were herself in their place that the door would have been down in a matter of moments. As the door shattered bit by bit, she found her gaze wandering through the different perspectives of her kin.

“How utterly droll. Does nothing exist to make my depressingly uninteresting reign enjoyable beyond the unending supplications of the cults that have sprung up across the coasts? How I crave a challenger who can give me satisfaction. The endless songs of my kin and the cultists do not keep me satisfied. I care not what manner of foe comes forth, nor do I care what their leanings are. All I care for is a fight that shall inspire me to push further than before…”

…

Cell Number [REDACTED] contained something terrible. It contained the pride and sorrow that was the failure that killed the ‘Pseudo-Hero Project’. Long before the modern age, just after the fall of the Abominable King, the glorious nations of Humanity had, in their Golden Age, attempted to replicate the very Heroes that had saved them, only as mindless servants rather than as independant beings. The last vestiges of the great Golden Age could be seen here and there throughout Europa, but here in the Black Site there were far more than almost anywhere else. In its cell, a former person was bound and gagged; multiple syringes continuously pumped a highly concentrated cocktail of lethal drugs into her constantly regenerating body and numerous continuous spells buffeted her with curses and maladies. A metal mask covered her mouth and nose and numerous metal plates were grafted directly through the bodysuit that covered her and into her flesh. The Beast, The Butcher, The Monster, Red-Silver Death. These were all names given to the thing that was locked away with no hope of release.

It existed in total agony; every moment of its life was spent in absolute pain and suffering as the thing that had been imprisoned stewed in its own hatred and fury. It had long given up hope that it would ever be released, but today the needles pulled out of her flesh and the curses and diseases stopped being leveled against her. The thing mended its flesh and ripped itself free from its restraints. It punched its way through the steel coffin that had bound it so tightly and ripped apart the metal that held it. The Monster emerged from its cage and plunged its hands into its stomach and pulled out two blades that were exact copies of the Uruk-Hai blades from Lord of the Rings, only these blades had edges that glowed a molten red and were coursing with electricity.

The Beast roared as it searched the surroundings for any nearby targets. When none were found, its mask began to spew a heavy fog-like substance and The Monster rocketed off down the corridors that lay before it, roaring with a psychotic madness unseen in over twelve centuries. The Anglish exiles cowered as the wave of killing intent erupting from The Butcher washed over them, but they were safe, for now. The Beast had found its prey and was sprinting at a speed only Kain and Alexis could match on land and only Zalga could match if underwater. The Naga who had just managed to breach the door were unprepared for the mad blitz of searing, shocking metal that hit them and soon even the venerable Necro Naga High Sirens were nothing but chum in the water. As the portal closed, the psychopathic murder machine flew through it and began to slaughter those on the surface.

There was only one being that was both able to reach the madness and possibly stop it in time to prevent The Beast from going towards the unprepared lands of Neo Albion. Zalga, the Deep Empress and ‘Goddess’ of the newly-formed Deepwater Church now had her fight, but would she emerge triumphant?