Hurricaine Valda has been roaring off the coast of southern Florida for two days now. Evacuations are still underway in preparation for the storm making landfall. The problem is that it isn’t making landfall.
It is a simple thing to find experts who will reassure you that such a thing is a meterological impossibility. In fact, they seem to be tripping over each other, each with greater credentials than the last.
The storm doesn’t seem to be listening.
It is clearly unnatural, and no coincidence that it is obscuring the new island of Atlantis. Scattered reports have escaped the information blockade indicating that there has been massive damage to multiple naval warships surrounding the rogue island. People on Miami beach still report seeing flashes in the sky like vast bolts of lightening, slicing the night to the southeast. Warnings from FIMA representatives and private security companies aren’t keeping them from the beaches, dodging heaving seas and gazing out across the waters.
What is only known to some, what makes this storm unique, is that its eye, its center, is a person.
“I thank you all for gathering here.” His voice is the same siren-song, a painful echo of lost things, a resonating seduction that hangs in the air. “I know these times are trying, and there is much for us to accomplish in little time. I will try to be brief.”
In the dimly lit room at the heart of the City is a collection of beings that once, perhaps, were merely human. The Scion himself is the most mundane-seeming, though none here would ever believe any such thing was true. Faint, diffuse green light glints on wet scales and metallic surfaces and the room rustles with the faint sounds of movement coming from too many limbs, or too few. Ghostly presences flicker in the mind, though all are as present as possible.
Nine. An auspicious number, considering. Plus one of course.
“For now, the storm is protecting us from further attack, and has other insulating effects as well. Our defenses are still sound, if taxed somewhat, but the extra precaution was necessary. Its important that this doesn’t get out. Not before the time is right.
“You see, it is clear that there is a need for a new kind of weapon. Our defenses are…adequate, but we have a higher calling, a greater purpose in this world, and we need to turn our resources in the direction of that…liberation.
“It is really ingenious, the result of a great deal of unorthodox experimentation, and I think it will not only make us more secure but also help us to deal with a growing…problem.”
As if in response, the chamber, the entire City, shudders at its foundations – or is it the world that moves beneath? Outside flashes of green light arc between buildings as stabilizers are activated, drawing on the core of the island’s power, keeping it from sliding too far sideways, keeping it rooted.
It must be fatigue. A flicker of frustration flashes across the face of the Scion, visible even in that dark chamber.
He continues, explaining the new weapon in some detail – he will need their help to use it to its fullest effect. But, once it is…discharged, perhaps, is the word…their problems should be reduced considerably. And, like any new weapon, once it is used, it becomes a deterrent.
And there is the real joy in knowing that the storm currently encircling the island will be put to decisive use. It was so much trouble to call up, after all, and it would be a shame to let all that energy go to waste.