United in shared purpose and driven by iron will to achieve their goal.

  "Boss, how close are we?" Brom resumed his walk toward the bow, leaning on the railing and peering into the dense fog ahead. He couldn't see shit, but he trusted that the ship-shark could. The impression was swift and clean. Close, in relative nautical terms, but much closer and they might start to sense the approach if they were paying any amount of attention.

  Jonesy stood nearby, arms folded over his chest. "This is creepy. It has to be their doing. We're too far out to sea for a perfectly clear day to just be overtaken by fog like this." It wasn't impossible for it to be natural, but it was highly unlikely.

  Brom chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm kinda grateful for it. I mean, we're sneaking this big ass ship right up into their ritual thanks to this fog bank. Probably going to look cool as hell when we come hauling ass out of it." He turned, leaning back against the rail, elbows resting on the metal as hands dangled. "It's like something out of a fucking movie, Jonesy. All we need is a killer soundtrack."

  "This isn't a movie, Bones. We're sailing into this blind. We don't know what this ritual is, what those cultists are up to. They might be kids..." Johannes scrubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to coax his brain into full function.

  "TJ shot his way out of the mansion. I don't think he could have done that if the cultists were kids. They're immune to that sort of thing. They're either NPCs or they're old enough to throw hands. Either way, if you don't want to be collateral, maybe don't join a cult to summon a dark god? Doesn't seem like a good life choice." Brom knew all about making poor life choices, and not even he would have signed on to be an extra in 'I Was A Teenaged Cultist'.

  The Sergeant just gave a weary sigh, like he was trying to explain morality to a three-year-old and losing his sanity instead. "Alright, let's talk about something more important. Boss, do those guns work?" He pointed over his shoulder into the fog in the direction of the big deck guns.

  Brom cocked his head, letting the ship-shark process the question and send him back an answer. "He says yes, he wouldn't have wasted the resources forming them if they didn't work. When he consumed the steel, it remembered its purpose. He was helpless once when they dragged him into this world, he didn't wish to be helpless again. They were acceptable weapons in his opinion." Brom patted the railing gently, giving Boss a mental bump.

  Seemed like everyone was carrying some trauma.

  "Okay, okay. That's good for us then." Jonesy was pacing back and forth, thinking.

  Brom watched the other man for a moment, cracking a yawn. "Sarge, the way I see it, we have two options. Option one, we have the big guns and the element of surprise. We stay at range and just let Boss put them on a t-shirt. Option number two, we play pirates."

  The guard paused his pacing and looked up. "Play pirate?"

  "We come out of the fog like we own the ocean, point the cannons at them, and they prepare to be boarded or else. If you're worried about there being kids in the crossfire, then that's the way to keep casualties to a minimum." Brom grinned brightly. "Face it, Jonesy, they don't know we're here. What do you think the over/under is going to be on a bunch of teenagers keeping the crap out of their pants when Boss is charging down on them?"

  A slow smile crossed Jonesy's face. "...you're a madman, Bones. But I think that's my kind of insanity."

  With a laugh, Brom pumped a fist. "Alright then. Boss, you got the resources to change your paint and put up a flag?" He wasn't sure what it took the steel behemoth to make alterations in himself. Did he need to go eat some paint chips?

  The answer was almost instant, Boss picking the concepts straight out of Brom's skull. All around him, the rail turned a crisp matte black. Out of sight, along the hull, the white letters spelling out 'BOSS' in bold, angular font graced the ship where an actual battleship's number would have been. Somewhere high up the mast, a skull and bones unfurled itself. Through the wood of the deck, an excited tremor ran, queries firing back at rapid speed directly into Brom's brain. Man and machine formed a feedback loop of what were probably terrible ideas. But they were definitely going to surprise the hell out of the cult.

  Jonesy was just watching the changes happen around him, sighing a little as he realized that he was the only apparent adult. His next comment was forestalled by Brom taking off his jacket and holding it out. Jonesy looked at it, confused. "Uh... what am I doing with this?"

  "It's my favorite, and I don't want to get it covered in cultist. I figured it would be safer here with you and Boss than me." Brom smiled. "Jonesy, I'm not going to make you go against your morals and get dirty if things go south. Besides, don't you want to stand on the bridge?"

  For a moment, Johannes was torn. On one hand, he knew he'd be a better negotiator than Brom. He'd be useful once people started getting hurt. Not if, but when. On the other hand, of fucking course he wanted to be on the bridge, watching the action from the best seat in the house. He closed his eyes to think it over and then... he took Brom's jacket. "Don't make me regret leaving you to handle things."

  "You're supervising, not micromanaging. Oh, hang on." Brom reached back to the jacket, fishing in the pocket and pulling out his sunglasses and propping them on top of his head. Then he flexed his hands, letting the Grip take over his arms. He could practically feel how eager the gauntlets were, shivering on his skin. He winked, noting Johannes face. "First time you've seen them, huh? What, everyone else had weapons, I finally got some of my own."

  "I am both incredibly surprised and yet completely unfazed that you just armored your arms. Fucking- just don't die, Bones." He went to pat the other on the shoulder, saw the metal, and reconsidered. He settled for giving him a little wave before turning and trotting off toward the superstructure, vanishing in a swirl of fog.

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  Brom turned back around and leaned on the railing. "Alright, Boss, as soon as he's settled, take us in."

  This is how legends were made. No matter what else he did in his life, Brom doubted that he'd be able to top riding an eldritch battleship-shark into combat against the cult of a dark god on the high sea. He could feel the eager thrum through the beast below him as Boss surged forward in the water. It took a little bit to get up to speed, the sound of water slapping the prow below him. There was no hum of engines, only the thrum of Boss's great heartbeat running up and synchronizing with Brom's own.

  Brom could hear Boss in his mind, the white-hot excitement that made his own nerves sing. A crackle charged the air, and Brom's eyebrows drew together as the impressions slammed into him. There was a dizzying sensation as Boss rippled through his memories, like a much younger Brom had flicked through albums at the music store. As the fog began to thin, Boss found what he was looking for. Brom's ears pricked. He wouldn't have expected Boss to be a fan of Judas Priest.

  "Oh, you beautiful bastard. How are you doing that?"

  Boss was very smug. Human vibrations were very easy to replicate.

  Brom was already tapping his foot, mouthing along to the lyrics of Turbo Lover as he slid his sunglasses into place. If Boss wanted boss music, then Brom wasn't going to disagree with him. His fingers found the chords on his imaginary guitar, and he hopped up on the railing of the prow, not at all the safest place to be. Especially if Boss came to a quick stop. But fuck it, the rule of cool was in full effect, and Brom, Brom was here to make an impression.

  They punched through the fog at full volume, the bright and dazzling sunlight sweeping across them. The chill of the winter day was long gone, replaced with an oppressive and tacky heat from the ritual in progress. Erzsébet had been here for long enough for the summoning to start, which had made sense. They'd had a head start, and as fast as Boss was, travel still took time. The yacht was very pretty looking, and Brom was surprised to realize he knew what kind it was. A Staysail schooner, the same kind as Hemingway had once. Thanks, random documentary he'd watched at 2am!

  He could see the small figures of the cultists suddenly burst into action as the yacht started to get closer. He hopped down off the rail as he felt Boss start to swing, bleeding inertia as he swept around in a lazy loop, a shark beginning to circle its prey. Brom could see the cultists clearly now, a motley mix of about twenty who were scattered about. Some were young, too young, and stared up at him with that hollow gaze of an NPC. Some were plenty young but clearly still their own, freaking out and pointing at Boss, a couple were older adults and no less frightened. It felt more like Brom was interrupting a class field trip than a summoning ritual.

  Behind him, the music faltered, and Jonesy's voice came booming across the waves. "Vessel Erzsébet, cease all actions and surrender. This is your only warning!"

  Even though they were far too close for the big guns to be used, Boss still swung them menacingly in the general direction of the yacht, as if he really were a pirate ship about to launch a full broadside. Brom's eyes swept across the faces of the crowd, the living ones moving to track Boss as he kept turning these big, lazy circles around the stationary yacht. Slowly, hands started going up among the cultists who could actually think. The NPCs seemed genuinely confused, though.

  Maybe their programming just didn't account for Boss. The battleship-shark was, after all, technically the original dark god of the cult. Even if said cult had been reformed, and even if Boss was no longer under their influence. Some connection between them, the one that allowed Boss to sense their power maybe, seemed to have thrown them for a bit of a loop... or at least delayed the trigger on their actions. Which was just as well for Brom.

  Boss's loops got slower and slower until, finally, he came to a stationary stop just off the starboard side of the Erzsébet. Taking a breath, Brom moved to stand at the top of the ladder where these people would be climbing up, eyes hidden behind his shades. Figures crowded the rails, desperate to take the offer of salvation presented, but Brom couldn’t find the face he was looking for among them.

  "Wait... where's Alex Ruddle?"

  The connection between Brom and Boss suddenly snapped taut, and the battleship-shark stuttered into violent motion, moving in a way nothing of his tonnage should have been able to. It sounded like a massive iron bell had been slammed, a crack splitting the sky. Pieces of the sunny day began to rain down, revealing a starry sky and a moon dripping ink. Fat splashes of the dark liquid hammered down around them, and Boss wove through them, sluggishly at first and then with ever-growing agility.

  With a final tolling hum, the whole of the sky gave way to reveal an alien night stretching above them. The moon shattered in half, something wetly tumbled down from it and impacted into the ocean. It sent up a wave, smashing downward and hurling the Erzsébet in the opposite direction from the one Boss had escaped to. The water turned unnaturally black where it landed, swallowing even a reflection of the broken moon. Brom gripped the railing, watching the sea begin to churn and boil. Then it exploded.

  A luminous body erupted upward, pure and pearlescent. A massive koi, unfurling fins as pristine and delicate as a wedding veil. It would have been beautiful if it weren't a mauled corpse, bleached bone poking through chewed flesh. That black ichor streamed from it, reminding Brom of the shit that had been all through the event dungeon. As the koi thudded back into the water, the stench finally made it to where Brom was standing.

  "Boss... get us the distance and then open fire."