Number One hadn’t yet moved past the resentment he felt toward Vicky for interfering in his fight—though perhaps it had been the right call, saving them from annihilation—and now, another emotion slipped through his usually impenetrable exterior: perplexity.
A momentary flicker of hesitation gleamed behind his dark glasses. He hated to admit it, but much of what was happening was beyond his comprehension or experience. They were up against something that could not be fought—something that had already taken down Number Two, his most trusted man and right-hand operative.
Number One refused to look back at Two. Oh, how he wished he could forget the spectral menace altogether and drag his comrade back to camp for treatment! But duty came first. Duty, no matter how impossible. Swallowing hard, he retook his combat stance.
The other agents followed his lead.
But the elder formed of dust and gas surprised everyone with an announcement:
“Al Shaula shall be retiring for the time being.”
Adam and Vicky exchanged bewildered looks. Why would he back down when victory was within his reach? The Satellites wondered the same, their Pulsation-C-powered weapons humming and ready to fire.
Al Shaula smiled, and the streaks of purple dust that accentuated the deep creases on his face grew darker.
“Yet I shall leave thee something to play with,” he added, his silhouette dissipating as swiftly as a summer thundercloud fades into a bright sky.
The ground trembled. The steel beams of the collapsed dome shuddered, their vibrations creating an eerie resonance. Several birds attempted to flee, only to plummet helplessly from the trees.
Still wheezing from near suffocation, Adam darted his eyes around. Where had the specter gone? Was he lurking among the vegetation? Hiding in the sky, waiting to swoop down? Or perhaps within him—an invisible purple dust swirling in his lungs? It didn’t matter where; Al Shaula was still there, somewhere. He could feel it.
Vicky squinted past the trees, trying to peer through the blinding sunlight. Had Al Shaula really gone, or had he simply made himself invisible, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and vaporize them all?
The ground shook again. Then again. And again.
Adam and Vicky instinctively stood back-to-back, bracing for whatever was causing the tremors beneath their feet to reveal itself. An earthquake? A giant? It was impossible to guess.
Number Five, the agent who had lost his glasses, stood at the ready, scanning his flanks. “What’s happening?”
“That must be the ‘something to play with,’” Number Four muttered.
The purple substance Al Shaula had left behind—a shimmering puddle near the Ita-Hu—suddenly sprang to life, rising once more into a column.
Everyone braced for another whirlwind. Adam and Vicky feared it might be another devastating wave. But instead, the thin tower of substance shot forward like a jet of liquid, targeting a single person.
Sitting in the shade of the tree, Number Two saw the dark sap surging toward him. His final thought wasn’t about the twisted fate he’d envisioned for himself since his teenage years—being killed by some supernatural phenomenon—coming to pass. Instead, he begged his comrades for forgiveness for failing to complete the mission.
The wound that pinned him to the ground left him too slow to react; he couldn’t even move aside.
The stream of tar forced its way into his mouth, ravaged his lips, twisted some of his teeth and broke others, burned his tongue and throat, and filled his insides with a pain as indescribable as it was—luckily—brief.
The force snapped his head back, slamming it against the trunk of the araucaria. His eyes flew open, fixed on the treetop, though they saw nothing; his vision had gone dark, and soon, so would the rest of him.
With the last of his strength, Number Two dug his fingers into the earth, gripping it in a futile attempt to resist the invading force of the substance. It was torture, though mercifully short-lived. Soon, there was no more pain. He let out a few choking gasps; the air, unable to escape through a mouth obstructed by the sap, forced its way out through the dimples of his nose.
Then his heart stopped.
The Satellite agent died.
Everyone froze, holding their breath.
Suddenly, like a grotesque puppet pulled by unseen strings, Number Two’s body convulsed. Slowly, it began to swell.
His skin turned a deep purple, cracked with vivid red fissures. One split ran along his neck, slicing through what had once been a battered but living face. Blood seeped through his pores, soaking his coat and shirt. From the wound left by the branch earlier, a strand of purple liquid slithered out like something born of hell itself.
Number Two’s body became a bloated, blackened sack of flesh. His coat began to tear, sending buttons flying. Vicky and Number Three flinched as they were grazed by the tiny projectiles. Number Four took one to the hip and stepped aside—his companion’s clothing was on the verge of bursting. Bloodstained scraps of fabric fluttered to the ground.
A mix of disgust and dread churned Adam’s stomach, but horror kept him glued to the scene. Number Two was convulsing, and his mass kept growing. At that rate, it was only a matter of seconds before…
“Oh, crap…” Adam choked, feeling sick. “He’s gonna explode…”
However, Number Two—or rather, the monstrosity that remained of him, with his blackened skin riddled with tumors and cuts—stopped convulsing, until he was completely still. His head, which had been tilted back, slumped forward lifelessly, and from his lips dripped a long strand of liquid amethyst saliva.
Adam allowed himself to hope it had ended.
Then the corpse twitched, jolted by some unseen force. Its legs, sprawled on the ground, spasmed, heels thudding against the dirt.
What the hell was that? Had it just been a final muscle spasm?
No. The corpse’s knees bent.
What had been a lifeless body just a second ago was now moving again, slowly and clumsily, as if waking from a deep nap. Groping behind him, he brought his deformed hands to the trunk of the araucaria he had been slumped against, using it for support as he pushed himself upright. He wobbled, almost collapsing back to the ground, but managed to steady himself.
His face was grotesquely disfigured, marred with deep cuts, and threads of dark sap oozed from his mouth, nose, ears, and even his eyes, like tears of purple blood. His pupils were clouded by a watery, reddish film. His right eye was rolled back into its socket, while the left stared downward, its drooping eyelid half-closed.
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The unrecognizable Number Two, now resembling a ghastly hybrid of a living corpse and a leper, lowered his gaze to examine himself—perhaps trying to make sense of what he had become—and then slowly lifted his head to face those standing before him.
Silence filled the clearing. Silence filled the jungle.
He took a step forward. Everyone else, stunned, took a step back.
The dead man began tearing away the last remnants of his clothing, drenched with blood and that strange substance. He ripped off a piece of his coat sleeve, then a blood-soaked scrap of his shirt from his shoulder, along with the tie that clung limply to his neck.
He shuffled forward, his gait more akin to that of a zombie than a leper. From his twisted mouth escaped a raspy moan. The buckle of his belt snapped, his tattered pants slid down, and with his next step, so did his underwear. His shoes burst apart under the strain.
Number Two advanced naked toward Adam, Vicky, and the four agents of the Force Team, stepping out from the shadowy cover of the trees into the sunlit clearing. His swollen muscles seemed to writhe beneath his skin, as if gripped by uncontrollable spasms. With each step, his body grew in size and height; first, he grew three feet, then six, nine, and even twelve. But it didn’t stop there—he kept growing.
His torso broadened so much that its sheer weight forced his back to hunch and his legs to bow under the strain. His arms, now disproportionate to the rest of his body, bulged with black-veined muscles and stretched so long that his hands brushed the ground. The blisters covering his skin burst with flatulent pops, releasing a watery fluid mixed with dark sap before sprouting coarse black hair, which grew thickly like grass on ravaged soil. The hair on his head grew out; his jaw widened, sprouting a beard; his nose flared, his brow ridge thickened, and his eyes shrank beneath it.
Number Two’s features had become so distorted that he now resembled a primitive caveman. The once-slender Satellite agent had transformed into a monstrous troglodyte with grayish, violet-streaked skin, towering over twenty-five feet tall and growling with rage.
The ground trembled under the giant’s feet.
Adam looked at the creature’s feet—massive, hairy, with grotesque nails. His gaze followed the line of its calves and thighs which, compared to those arms thick as concrete pillars, seemed too small and far too weak to hold up such a heavy body for long. Then he saw the grotesque thing swinging between its legs—something that, in any other circumstance, might’ve drawn a crude remark from him. He raised his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of humanity in that face, but the sun was in his eyes. Up there, the creature’s head faded into a shadowy blur, ringed by a yellowish halo.
“Get out of there!” Vicky yelled. Unlike Adam, she didn’t need to see the monster’s eyes to guess its intent.
There was a natural, unspoken law that made them the prey in this situation: the bully’s code. When a mindless brute came across smaller creatures, its duty was clear—torment them.
A shadow fell over them as the mutant swung its enormous hand toward them—the first of what promised to be many attacks.
Adam dove to the ground, rolling out of the path of those massive fingers.
He stopped on his back, eyes wide, as Number Two’s gigantic gray fist—cut, veined, and hairy—passed less than two feet above him, blotting out the sunlight for a fleeting moment.
Scrambling to his feet, Adam looked for cover where he could catch his breath. He crawled toward the Ita-Hu, crouching low. The jungle might have offered better protection, but it was too far away, and he was terrified the giant would spot him before he made it.
Pressing himself against the warm, black surface of the rock, he circled around, past the hole he had punched in it—the one that had unleashed the purple tar—and hid on the far side.
He was drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, gasping for air, and on the verge of coughing up his heart. His legs trembled, and his knees and palms burned from the scrapes he’d earned while escaping.
He couldn’t believe what he was living through. How much longer would this madness go on?!
Shielding his eyes from the blinding sun, he focused on the giant’s hands, swinging wildly as they tried to grab anything—or anyone—within reach. Then his gaze shifted to the giant’s eyes. Neither was inverted nor drooping. These eyes were new, filled with nothing but ferocity and a capacity for thought as sharp as that of a rabid bear.
The image of Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son flashed through Adam’s mind—a chilling painting he’d once seen at an ancient pre-Hypercontinental art exhibit. He replaced the titan in the artwork, gnawing on his child like a piece of steak, with the monstrosity before him, and his terror multiplied tenfold.
The mutant caveman lunged, this time at the agents.
Like a toddler stumbling on its first steps, the creature swung around, flailing to grab its former comrades as though they were toys. Its movements were clumsy, almost slow-motion, giving the four agents just enough time to scatter across the clearing, evading its massive hand.
Number Two’s nostrils flared, exhaling a primal desire to crush anything in its path. It didn’t like it when its prey escaped. Its mouth twisted into a hateful sneer, revealing crooked teeth, and from the depths of its chest, it unleashed a guttural growl that grew into a thunderous roar, shaking the very jungle around it.
Adam clamped his hands over his ears, barely holding back a scream.
There was no way he could face this monstrosity without summoning Juzo to unleash his full strength. But if he did, what guarantee was there that he wouldn’t suffer the same grotesque mutation as Number Two?
‘Yet eventually thou shalt want thy brother, and when thou summonest him, I shall be there to eat thee both,’ Al Shaula had warned. Maybe he’d meant it literally. Saturn Devouring His Son.
Adam could feel it—a dark presence swimming deep within his body, in his mind. Something sinister, waiting for its moment to strike. Was it the spectral old man, lying in wait to fulfill his threat? Fighting under these conditions was too risky. He had to run. He had to escape with Vicky.
But where was Vicky? During the first attack, she’d darted away, putting distance between herself and the monster.
Adam peeked out from behind the rock and spotted her on the opposite side of the clearing, near the fallen dome door and the path leading back to the camp. She stood alongside the absurdly dressed figures in morning coats, facing the troglodyte.
She was the only woman there. The giant’s attention would turn to her.
Adam thought about shouting for her to run toward him, so they could flee into the trees together. But the troglodyte had fallen silent. If Adam yelled now, he’d draw its attention, and the Ita-Hu wouldn’t provide cover against an adversary that size. He waved his arms to signal her, but Vicky didn’t see him.
“Damn it!”
With the monster still turned away, Adam left his hiding spot beside the black egg and waved more vigorously. Unfortunately, he not only caught Vicky’s attention but also the gaze of the one he’d hoped to avoid.
Beneath the merciless glare of the sun, Number Two tilted its massive head over its shoulder and locked eyes with him.
Adam felt the surge of adrenaline hit like a wave, burning his cheeks. The pungent smell of his sweat mixed with the dust in the air, stinging his nose and drying his throat.
The troglodyte began to turn, its legs shifting awkwardly as its enormous torso rotated to face Adam.
Saturn Devouring His Son.
No. He wouldn’t let himself be devoured. If it came to it, he’d risk—
Closing his eyes, thinking about what Al Shaula had said, Adam clenched his teeth, formed two massive Fotias, and fired them.
The energy blasts struck the giant’s chest, leaving burn marks on its purplish skin. But all they achieved was driving it into an even greater rage. The mutant let out another howl, more furious than before.
If Adam fired again, the beast would charge. And if that happened, he’d have no choice but to invoke Juzo’s strength to avoid being crushed or eaten. He couldn’t let it come to that. He had to flee.
But where? The jungle wasn’t longer an option. If Number Two chased him, it’d tear through everything in its path. Even if the giant’s massive feet didn’t crush him, a falling tree surely would.
Adam tried to take off, but the intensified gravity field was still active. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted toward Vicky.
Trusting that the giant wouldn’t be nimble or fast enough to catch something darting close by, he adjusted his escape route, running just inches from the enraged monster. He stole a glance at the towering legs beside him—pillars as thick as ancient trees but seemingly unstable. “Please, don’t fall,” he muttered under his breath.
With the extra gravitational weight on his thighs, Adam ran as fast as he could and, with short leaps, managed to cross the tides of dust and dodge the twisted metal struts of the dome that lay tangled on the ground.
When he reached Vicky, he realized they still had about thirty feet to cover before reaching the path that led back to camp. But it didn’t matter if it was thirty feet or three—any distance felt like a marathon with a giant on their heels.
And then the gunfire rang out.
