The Kiss of The Deep:: Deadmen's Reach

Cannon Busters

The roar of the crowd thundered in my ears as I walked into the arena, the Dunwich Family logo burned into the shoulder plate of my suit, an unspoken promise of what I was becoming. I raised my anchor high, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The chants began—Iron Maiden... Iron Bear—they weren't sure yet, but the name would come in time. I wasn't exactly new, but I wasn't a legend either. That would change.

To my right, The Kid was firing his Tommy gun into the air, an exuberant celebration, and to my left, Señorita Salvaje was roaring like a wild animal, holding her Buzzsaw like she was about to carve through the arena itself. In that moment, with the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I thought we were ready for anything, that nothing could touch us. But then, I heard it—the sound of chains dragging, scraping against stone, like a monster waking from its slumber.

That's when I knew—I'd been too cocky.

The massive undead brute that had killed The Kid's brother, the one that sent us running for our lives, was back. This time, though, it wasn't just him. No, this time, he was flanked by a horde—at least 10 to 15 undead inmates, all of them shambling toward us with a hunger in their eyes. The Kid and I froze, both of us looking up to see the familiar faces of Lucky Seven and the Young Duncless, watching from the stands. Their eyes were cold, serious. And then, like a hammer to the skull, two words echoed in our minds:

Prove Yourself.

The brute raised its cannon arm with a deafening roar. The next thing I knew, a red-hot steel ball was hurtling toward me. Without thinking, I caught it—burnt my hand, but I caught it. The pain was secondary, a sharp reminder that I was still alive. I shouted at The Kid, snapping him back into focus. It was time to charge. Time to face this monster head-on.

I swung my anchor, catching the brute square in the side of its grotesque face. The impact shook the arena, but the creature barely flinched. With my other hand, I slammed the red-hot steel ball into the other side of its head. The smell of burning flesh hit me like a slap, thick and acrid. But then, before I could react, I felt the barrel of its cannon arm crash into my chest plate.

In an instant, I was airborne, flung backward like a ragdoll. I slammed into a stone wall, feeling the impact reverberate through every bone in my body. I looked down, expecting to see a crater where my chest had been, but no—just a dent. The cannonball was almost fused to my chest plate, but the armor held. Barely.

I pushed myself up, grinding my teeth, ignoring the pain. This wasn't going to be easy. Hell, this wasn't even going to be close.

I heard The Kid's voice—strained, desperate: "You good? Because I don't think I can hold this thing much longer!"

When I turned to look, I could barely recognize him. His eyes had gone black as night, his pupils glowing golden yellow, and his claw hand was exposed, a black exoskeleton of bug-like armor twisting around it. Tendrils, black as shadows, were spilling out of the cracks in his skin, wrapping around the brute, holding it in place. It was as if something inside him had broken free, something far beyond human.

Señorita Salvaje wasn't far behind. She was already sawing through the brute's cannon arm with the ferocity of a lioness. I felt a rush of shame, but I buried it. This was about the team, not my pride. I gripped my anchor tighter, harnessing every ounce of power I could muster.

With a jolt of psychic electricity coursing through me, I rushed the brute again. I swung my anchor with everything I had, the massive weapon smashing into the brute's shoulder. I missed its head by inches, but the force of the blow shattered its other arm, dropping it to its knees with a sickening crash.

The Kid, his exoskeleton now fully alive with black tendrils, nodded at me. I took a step back, leaving him to finish the job. I watched as he placed his claw hand on the brute's chest. It was almost slow-motion—the way he tore through its flesh, cracking through bone, until he reached its heart. He yanked it out, tearing it from the undead monster's chest with a cold precision, ripping it apart without so much as a twitch of satisfaction on his face.

As the brute's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the remaining undead retreated, vanishing into the shadows. The battle was over, but not without a price. We'd survived, but the cost was clear: the team had become something else. Something darker.

And yet, as the crowd roared in approval, I knew there was no turning back. The city, the arena, the monsters—they'd all become part of us. And we would keep fighting, no matter what came next.