The school of sharks dipped their heads up from out of the bubbling soup-pot of the Foggy Ocean in unison, scarred heads and narrowed eyes focused toward the island. There was at least twenty in all- a full reform school of the hardest hitting, rudest, knife-dancing son-of-a-bitches in the entire of the Jerr Sea.

"Ayo' boss, and youse sure she was headed thatta'ways?"

"Positively," the hammerhead growled. "The mermaid and her dweeby man-servants. They stole the key an' made a straight beeline for the island."

There was anxious murmurs within the reform school. Gristle, a battered old whale-shark, moved closer to their feared hammerhead leader.

"Boss Chowdah... what'r we gonna' do? We made a' sacred pact with them one-eyes in tha' jet-blue temple. If the mermaid gets the sword, all sortsa' anarchy and chaos will be loosed in the islands above. The human-kind will tremble, an' be in fer' a thousand cata-ma-clysms. And youse know what we think about chaos and anarchy... they ain't a very nice 'ting."

"Peace an' equality forevah!" cried one of the other sharks spontaneously. There was a rousing shout of assent from the other sharks in the reform school. "Age o' Aquarius!"

"She ain't gonna get no sword, " Chowdah said, his yellowed teeth glistening in hunger. "Not with us, comin' ta' slice and dice her up. If anyone thinks they're stealin' one of the Swords of the Sea, they can just FORGETTA'BOUTIT!!"

The sharks awkwardly raised their heads up to the sun, teeth gnashing.

"FORGETTA'BOUTIT!" came the cry. "FORGETTA'BOUTIT!"

"Getcher' switch-blades, boys!" Boss Chowdah called. "We're goin' to carve up our next meal, all fancy-like!"

---

Rum took the stairs two at a time, summoning stamina that would have put his bard-school gym teachers to shame. His legs were like twin pistons, his flimsy frame powered entirely through pant-filling fear. All around, the walls and ceiling continued to shake, marble chipping, bricks falling loose.

Molotov was somewhere behind, calling out for Rum to slow down. Then, all at once, Molotov was behind, calling out for Rum to speed up. Rum could hear the sound of the temple collapsing, stone grinding upon stone, the last remenants of the cyclopean people finally crushed forever.

Why didn't my teachers focus on long-distance running?! Hip-thrust exercises can only take a bard so far!

As he ran, certain he was about to die for the fifth time that day, Rum contemplated what Gods he could cast in his lot with. It was no secret to anyone that Gods existed with the swirling seas and exotic islands of the Foggy Ocean. They often worked in mysterious ways- this was not due to some vast, complex plan. It was just that Gods were often flippant, changing the goal-posts and shifting their desires at the drop of a hat.

Still, there has to be ONE God I could pray to who'd be willingly to get me out of this mess! I'm such a talented writer, it'd be a shame for me to go to waste, right?!

Rum had never much paid attention in his actual classes at school. His series, Rum the God-Like Poet, which was absolutely not based on him except for in a "oh-I-honestly-didn't-even-realize-we-shared-the-same-name-isn't-that-funny" sort of way, was his primary focus. He'd always been a floundering, failing student- but that didn't matter. His writing was mere inches from taking off. He just needed a few more eyes on it- just a single set, a first set, and he'd be on easy street. Of course, that was before-

Come'on, come'on, stop getting distracted! What was that one God, the Deity of Running Away from Danger??

Suddenly, the old hymn he'd learned back in grade school strolled back into his mind, fully formed. Rum closed his eyes, raising his head and intoning to the heavens somewhere above.

O hear my cry, have mercy upon me!

He of the bulging eyes and pants of brown-

Blessings and praise to Oshitticus!

Of furiously running feet and danger close behind-

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

O threats in thy mirror, closer than they appear!

Protect me and spur my feet ever on!

As he finished the hymn, puffing and panting, screeching the last few words, Rum heard hysterical sobbing behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Molotov, tears and snot streaming down his face. Rum usually found the wizard revolting- but snot dripping off his scrunched up face took it to a new level.

"Rum! That was buh-buh-beautiful!" Molotov managed to make out as he ran, his lip quivering. "I think I need a hug!"

"Don't you DARE put your snotty face all over my tunic!" Rum shouted behind him. "This is my GOOD tunic, my last one after you burnt the kitchen down last week!"

"I ju-juh-just wanted to make you spaghetti!" Molotov wailed. "How was I supposed to know a wooden ship was flammable? Oh Rum, what's happened to us?! We can't even share our emotions anymore!"

An explosion, terrifyingly close, caused the stairs below to vault several feet up into the air. Rum and Molotov were left screaming and scrambling for footing, flailing through the sky, kicking off individual bricks in a desperate attempt to climb higher, to find any shred of safety.

The walls of passageway collapsed, and the world was thrown into ink-black all around Rum. The world swam, his vision blurred... and his sword began to hum.

Distantly, as Molotov grabbed the back-collar of his shirt, as gravity overtook the duo and began to bring them down into the chaos and rubble, Rum had an idea.

He went for the sword.

---

It had slept for too long. Muscles ached, eager to find purpose. Teeth, meant for ripping, tearing, devouring, grinded back into use for the first time in centuries. Breath filled its massive lungs- at the rumbling, birds took to the sky.

Too long sleeping in the shadowed trees. Doubt had begun to entered its mind. Would it ever find purpose again? When was the last time it had heard the screams of prey?

Too long. Too long.

If it had known it would have drawn those last screams out... Savoured them, made them last for days.

No matter now. From deep within the earth, magic coursed upward, pumped toward the surface through every tree root, every rock. The island had been shaking, ear-splitting explosions that had brought it nearly to the edge of waking- but only now did its yellowed eyes open, heart burning with the hunger for magic.

Foam-Cutter...

It was time again. The beast moved through the trees, ancient limbs cracking as they were forced one more into life, into movement.

Into the hunt.

---

Annay lounged contentedly in a golden-rimmed wooden bath-tub on the deck of her ship. Around her, pirates scurried, eager to look busy and not attract her gaze. Despite her apparent ease she kept her eyes locked on the island. Smoke wisped across the forest, clods of dirt and clumps of destroyed trees still rained down from the sky, courtesy of the last explosive blast. Even now her crew were preparing another salvo, readying cannons to launch barrels of gunpowder into the wounded hillside.

A thin beach-head led into dense forest, rising gradually into a steep cliff beyond and above. But the attack had been centered away from the beach- and the explosives had torn a great hole in the side of the island, down deep into the bed-rock. Amidst the debris Annay saw what she was after- traces of the hidden city, a vast temple complex. Looking through a spyglass she could spot marble domed buildings with splashes of jet-blue colour across the walls, revealed at the bottom of the crater. Already the bubbling sea rushed in, attempting to drown the hidden city.

"Are you sure this was the... smartest way to find the temple?" Chalk said timidly. "Think of all the history we're destroying doing this. And what if we blow up the uh, the sword as well?"

"There's no chance of that," Annay said confidently. She leaned back, pushing golden curls out of her face. "That sword isn't some simple piece of metal. It can't be destroyed with a few buckets of gunpowder."

Chalk looked toward the island, where Annay's explosives had carved out a small inlet. "Yes, er... buckets..."

Annay jabbed out her hand, decisively. "Okay. We'll put our ship in there, set up camp. Then get the boys to climb the rocks and-"

From the middle of the smoke there suddenly came a roar like the sound of thunder, then the intense, overpowering smell of magic. Metal, the smell of copper and steel, rushed toward the pirate ship on the coast, hitting it like a physical wave. The shockwave hit next, and Chalk and Annay were thrown back, the S.S Prickly Lady buffeted backward by the intensity of the wind. Pirates screamed as they were thrown overboard into the waters of the Foggy Ocean, flung from the rigging, blown backward over the rails.

Chalk hit the deck hard, his vision swimming. Turning blurry eyes upward, he saw-

"Is that- a waterspout?!" Chalk gaped. Rising high from the middle of the ruined side of the island, a spinning vortex of water was reaching up, tearing through the clouds. Wind and water blistered the side of the ship.

Annay yanked herself upright in the bath-tub, gripping the edge and staring wide-eyed at the water filling the sky.

"It can't be..." she breathed. "But no one knows about this island- it's been drifting lost for centuries! How could anyone beat me to the sword? Unless... that dinky poet, and pet wizard..."

Were they as gullible as they appeared? To be so close to the island, just by chance?

---

The water, bubbling and unknowable, surrounded him. It pulled him upward, ever upward. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. It was simply strength to be acknowledged, the pull of the wind on blades of grass. It was peace with a vast swirling undefinable machine, the creatures below the waves, the sun warming the waters. It was joy in the crumbling of castles, the returning to dust, the smashing of order.

Chaos, thriving and beautiful and lithe and livid and alive, so very alive and warm against order, against rules, against restriction and class and obedience and fealty, boots thrown off necks, tyrants hung from rafters, food spread among the people, joy rising like a wave, joy in the crumbling of castles-

He flowed toward the sky, the sword clutched in his hand. Rum opened his eyes.

The sense of peace, serene and beautiful, was abruptly shattered. Panic kicked down the door, crapped on the floor, and broke peace's kneecaps with a sledgehammer. Rum was fifty, sixty, seventy feet in the air above the island, trapped within a spinning spout of water and rising fast.

"Ghhhkhkkk-!" Rum said. He became aware that Molotov was still present, his arm tight around his neck.

Finally, blissfully, the water spout reached its apex- Rum and Molotov burst out of the top of it, suspended for a moment high in the clouds above the island. Rum yanked Molotov's hands from his neck, gasping for air.

"What is going on?!" Rum squealed. Molotov looked around, as the pair began to fall back toward the dissipating water spout, and the island, far below them.

"Ah, I know what happened!" Molotov said, snapping his fingers together. "Clearly-"

That was all he managed to say before the pair fell back into the rapidly descending spout of water. Soon after the torrent of water crashed down upon the jungle far below, like a mighty toppling tower, levelled by the hand of a God.