A Wretched Discovery

The discovery had the world of archeology on edge. A city of Mesopotamian origin belonging to the Sumer, lost to time, had been uncovered by an expedition of American, Iraqi, and British archeologists just south of Baghdad. What was originally thought to be the chamber to an insignificant 8th Century Caliphate noble turned out to be so much more than they imagined. Within, rooms and crisscrossing halls so massive ten men could stand one upon the other and never touch the ceilings lay before them, ready to be explored with thousands of years of missing history ready to be studied. The news had spread like wildfire. Major television organizations wanted to be the first to report on it, to witness the live unveiling of what was sure to change the history of the region. It wasn't until the late hours of the evening, when midnight grew near, that they found the center of the complex temple. The throne room where the Sumerians worshiped one of many their "Patron Gods"... but something was amiss. They had not expected to find a body, let alone one entangled with another in a seemingly fruitless struggle. Nor let alone one with four massive skeletal limbs, shaped like claws, curled about and impaling the skeletal remains of their victim.

Outside of the partially uncovered Sumerian dome, the crown had calmed. The assortment of men and women, reporters and workers, civilians and military alike, had begun to depart as the night grew old and twilight threatened to break into dawn. Though their chatter was still filled with excitement, many of their demeanors had grown tired. For them, it was time to rest. For one, they had only just begun to awake. Though before any of them could leave, the crowd picked up in a hurry. Panicked cries sounded and someone, a member of the last expedition into the foreboding temple, came crawling out covered in dirt flecked crimson. The few news crews that had stayed behind flicked on their cameras and began reporting frantically, then screams echoed out from the crack in the dome the expedition had discovered. Another figure attempted to climb out with limbs scrambling to grab whoever tried to help, but it was fruitless. Something larger than any normal human reached from the shadows of the temple and grabbed the entirety of his head in its palms. Wicked long fingers, shaped like claws, wrapped around the poor soul and forcibly tugged him back. His cries of fear quickly erupted into ones of anguish, and just as quickly were silenced with a sickening gurgle and the sound of flesh being rent.

Then something emerged. A massive humanoid figure with four arching limbs similar to that of a spider just behind pushed itself from the crevice with a groan. Its skin was grey with pigments of fresh blood glazing its body, and its mouth was agape, glistening with the fresh blood of its previous owner. As the camera remained fixed and the crowd began rushing away in a panic, the decrepit skin of the creature began to swell and change its hue, becoming more alive with a pale complexion, as the decidedly once skeletal figure started to take the shape of a giant and curvaceous female. Whether keeping his sights out of fear or courage, the cameraman neither moved nor uttered a word. Slowly, she lurched forward on weakened legs, her spider-esque limbs moving to assist, until she was only a few feet from the terrified reporter beside... and in a blur, with the camera falling and screams ringing out, she struck. With only her feet visible in frame, the creature lifted the poor man up into the air, her smaller spider-limbs impaling him through his abdomen and chest to create a downpour of crimson that drenched her all the way to her toes, which curled in the sand as if she were having a refreshing shower.

When the screaming stopped and the shooting began, she took off towards the distant city lights, using the dark of night as her cover... having discarded her last victim in two pieces upon the desert sand.

"Now, you say the creature climbed out the dome, killed a bunch of people, and made its way towards Baghdad?" the man asked, as he stepped out of his hotel, slinging a sheathed sword across his shoulders as he spoke into his cell phone.

"That's right. It's heading towards the city now, and there's no one currently able to step in. We were hoping you could call in your team to deal with this."

"They're busy. You said it was a Sumerian dome? I know someone who can deal with this," he replied, as he lowered the phone and ended the call. He slid the phone into his pocket. Once he was done, he lowered the sword to his hip and clipped the sheathe to his belt. He poked his upper body back into the hotel room and grabbed a duffle bag, which he slung across his shoulders. He pulled the door shut on his way out, and made his way down the stairs, and towards the parking lot, where he had parked his rental car. He dropped the bag into the passenger seat, and then slid into the drivers seat.

He started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot, turned towards the direction of the dig, and drove towards the edge of the city. On the edge of the city, he pulled to a stop and stepped out of the car, pulling the duffel bag with him. Enkara moved away from the car, opening his bag as he did. Once he was in place, he dropped the bag to the ground and stood facing the dig site. In the distance ahead, he watched dust rising.

Taking in a deep breath, Enkara began to stretch, loosening his muscles up for the coming confrontation.

20 MINUTES LATER...

Enkara lifted himself from his spot on the ground as the rising dust grew in size. The creature was coming closer. The Sumerian reached down into his duffle bag and lifted two metal rods from inside. He passed on into his left hand, and stabbed the one in his right down into the ground. The banner flapped in the breeze, but when it settled, it was easy to see the ancient mark of Sumer had been stitched into it.

Enkara stared at the dust trail, and frowned.

"Can't even take a vacation to come see what they dug up from home without getting dragged into a fight with some monster," he muttered to himself as he spun the javelin in his left hand lazily.

As the dust cloud grew bigger in its approach, Enkara held up his right hand and called out in Akkadian, in a clear voice, "Hold, creature. You approach the ancient city of Baghdad, and you are not welcome here!"

With what magic has humanity learned to have the power to trap the sun? What Gods do they now pray to that have so freely beset this knowledge upon them? She knew not the answers, for time had moved on since her imprisonment. The sun had grown hotter, the jungles she once knew that scoured the land had been paved for crude human structures and her ancient city--her home--was all but buried beneath the sand, forgotten by humanity. It appeared she too had gone with it, abandoned by her slaves and worshiped by none other than the old bones that had long since added to the dust of the desert.

Even the stars look different.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the edge of the city, her massive, shadow-cast silhouette receding slightly as the brilliant orange lighting of Baghdad began to illuminate her features. Her approach by this point was no longer frantic, and as she drew near, her glimmering blue gaze spotted the single figure that had risen to greet her. Or, in this case, rudely unwelcome her.

"Hold, creature. You approach the ancient city of Baghdad, and you are not welcome here!" He spoke in a language she recognized, unlike the others she whom's essence she'd devoured. His tongue was ancient. For a moment, despite most of her still being curtained by nightfall, her figure took on a stance of being... unimpressed. Or at the very least, unamused. Then with resounding thumps, each of her chitinous limbs stomped forward, bringing her a few feet closer to the individual brave enough to stare her down. It brought her face, and her blood-soaked body--into the light. The teeth that lined her upper abdomen up towards her neck clicked and clattered as if she were growling at him and the porcelain mask that covered her face seemed to stick without any visible straps and didn't seem to muffle her voice in the slightest.

"You speak with the tongue of the Slaves."

Her voice was like that of molten silver, guttural to start, only to slip from the tip of her tongue without so-much a stutter or stumble as it resonated around Enkara. The massive spiny legs relaxed, lowering her onto her feet, and the giantess of a woman--or whatever she was--leaned down to get a better look at him. Her blue eyes shimmered in the brilliant light of the city, and her arms came to cross around her bosom, claws resting over her biceps.

"...How long?"

Enkara brought his javelin up, across his body, staring at the creature. As he met its gaze, the air began to ripple around him, though there was no change in temperature. He continued to stare at her, his expression remaining calm, and as equally unamused.

"Your corrupt empire has been dead for 5000 years, Baastique. I stood there, and watched it fall," he replied, lifting his free hand to point to a mountain in the distance. There was a change in his voice and language too. He spoke now in a tongue that, had he uttered it 5000 years ago, his head would have been torn from his shoulders, his arms from his torso, and his legs from his waist. He spoke now, in the long dead tongue of the Sumerian Gods.

"The 'slaves' have overthrown your corrupt contemporaries and new Gods have risen to take their place, to guide and protect them from such as the 'Gods' of Sumer," he remarked, as he spread his arms wide, smirking at her.

His arms dropped back to his sides, though the javelin remained clenched in his hand the whole time. "Now, why do you approach this city? Have you not done enough damage to these mortals so long ago? And earlier this day? Turn away, or I will turn you away," he continued, the smirk vanishing, to be replaced with a blank slate of a face. His arms came up, with the javelin tip pointed at Baastiques heart. "And it will not be pleasant for you," he finished, staring up at the creature before him.

His heart is proud and open, yet his mind is silent. All of them are silent. He is somehow impairing me.

She eyed him warily for a moment, her expression hidden behind her mask while her stance remained stoic and unperturbed. Even with the point of his spear aimed at her chest. Though his tone and his tongue would have typically inspired rage fueled by a commitment to the Old Gods if what he said was true then any Rule of Law she had known--any codex of what is and what must be had long turned to dust. Her irritation would only prove to be short-sighted.

For the second time in my life, I am afraid.

"I see," She began to say to that frightening revelation. It quickened her hidden heart, but only briefly, before her gaze grew sharp and locked with his. "It was more than slaves that climbed the temple steps that day. One, like you, with a weapon just as similar at the head of the snake." Her massive frame began to lean down a bit, her feminine curves becoming all the more apparent in the dim light of a nearby lamp, but almost every inch of her body was covered in the blood of her previous victims. Some of it was likely even stained from her time as an "Immortal Ruler" in the last ages of Sumer.

Her voice was no longer lined with silver. It grew dark and foreboding, baring with it a chest-deep guttural growl that was only amplified by the massive maw that lined down her torso. "He is but bones upon the old throne, now. Do you wish to chance the same?" Leaning forward, the tip of his spear prodded between two of her chest-mounted teeth with a soft click, like metal touching porcelain, and her mask lifted a hint as if she were grinning beneath it.

"If my time is done as a God, so be it." She finally conceded, "However, you will not dictate my place in this world, here or otherwise. You may speak the tongue of the old ones, but you are little more than the flesh of Man. Weak and mewling."

The bright, Middle Eastern sun beat down on the leather-wearing individual. Any other person would be sweating in his outfit, the leather jacket paired with thick jeans, combat boots, and a white T-shirt, but not him. If anything, he was a little chilly. Baghdad wasn’t his normal haunt - he preferred the lively streets of Tokyo, personally - but apparently, Scarlet had some business here today, so fuck it. He’s always down for something new, and this place. And by blood, was this place new. It was old, that was for-fucking-sure, nothing like the glitz and glamour of his hometown. The sun was bright, which is probably why all the people were so damn handsy, it addled their brains. He’s already had to break the wrist of two merchants who tried to grab at him to sell him something.

And the food was incredible! Incredibly disgusting, that is. Seriously, what kind of fuckin’ swill were they serving here? There were no burgers, no rice, nothing, just some weird fuckin’ … mush and bread and soup and shit. Needless to say, he was glad he brought his own food. In all honesty though, this place wasn’t half bad. Couldn’t hold a candle to Japan, of course, but not bad for a third world country. He leaned against the pole of the bookshop he was standing under, perusing some ancient tome on religion or some shit, he wasn’t paying attention. He was waiting for Scarlet to return, her tasks done, so they didn’t miss their flight back to Japan. She is so lucky he liked her.

And then, a roar split the air, and he shot up, book tumbling from his hands. Ignoring the protests of the bookseller about the mistreatment of his product, Lazarus straightened, sunglasses almost falling off his face at the motion to reveal the bright yellow eyes, slitted like those of a predator. Casually he nudged them back up his face, shrouded vision gazing past the city, to the hills where a certain excavation had recently been publicized. And instantly, a wide smile split his face.

”Well. Guess some things are universal.”

With a kind of easy grace and balance belied by his size, Lax stood up, each hand immediately going to his hip; one to one half of the pair of guns, the other to the thin white blade. Slowly, he drew both, testing the latter out by casually swiping at a nearby vendor who got in his way. The blade bit deep into his skin, which he didn’t feel due to the fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing through his veins. The wanton violence brought a smirk to his face and he set off in the direction of the commotion. It wasn’t a long way (mainly because he stole some poor schmucks moped, leaving him stranded) but it was still long enough that by the time he dropped the bike in the dirt, another person had already started to hog his glory.

Which was fine, if he was honest, it gave him time to soak in exactly what the hell he was seeing. A monstrously large women with spider-like features - the like being the operative, as she was no kind of spider he’s ever seen - was towering over a man with no sign of the fear he should be feeling. Heh. Lax immediately felt some kind of kinship with his man, as close as he could anyway. Staring down this thing wasn’t something to be taken lightly, no matter who you are; even he would think twice about it, though mostly because he imagined her breath would be outrageous. As the moped fell from beneath his legs, motor still running, he brought his gun and blade up in the same motion, the former pointed at the human, the latter at the monster.

”Now, we can’t be causing trouble around here, can we? Not unless you’re gonna pay me my fair share.”

His voice was serpentine, oiled and rich, but yet there was an undeniable evil in his tones. It was the voice of someone who would not hesitate to murder his own mother if it benefited him. His eyes furrowed underneath the glasses; it took him a minute, but he realized he couldn’t access the magic that lay within him. It seems this would be more interesting than he originally drunk.

”Well.” It came out almost like a hiss. ”One of you are certainly going to die tonight.”

"You don't have what it takes to put me down forever, creature," replied Enkara, as he prodded the chest with his spear, drawing a drop of blood. "We're nowhere near enough to what you would need," he continued, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.

He tilted his head up, to look directly into her eyes.

"I won't allow you to pass by me into the city without a fight. Those people deserve their peace, and you will not disrupt it," he stated, pulling the weapon back, and lowering himself into a crouch, as if he meant to fight. He was about to open his mouth again, when a man rode up to the two of them, on a moped.

The man dropped the moped to the ground as he came to a stop, and drew a sword, which he pointed at the "Goddess" and a gun, which he pointed at Enkara. Enkara stared at the man for a long moment, one eyebrow raising slowly as he did. When the man offered death to Enkara and Basstique, the Sumerian chuckled loudly, and gestured with his spear at Baas.

"This one is well ahead of you on that threat, molodoy odin*. Turn back now, before you get hurt," he offered, nodding his head towards the fallen moped. "You can walk away now, without taking the pain that is sure to follow tonight."

*

Spoiler:

Baastique leaned towards him when she felt the point of that spear dig into the gums of her maw, right at the apex of her chest cavity. She could feel the warmth of that single drop of blood escaping her pierced flesh and it caused her mask to lift slightly, a wicked smile forming just beneath. "Humans? Peace? You must think me a fool, slave, to believe those terms to be even remotely synonymous." Then she began to pull upwards, the spear's head no longer having anyplace to nestle as all four of her chitinous limbs lifted her with surprising ease, bringing her several feet off the ground and giving her an imposing stature that loomed over Enkara like the night sky.

"I tire of your heresy, slave. I offer you but one chance to flee my visage, before I enact upon you the same terrible punishment that I will bestow upon this city should it defy me. You-" Something howled in the air, interrupting her speech as it drew closer. She glanced off for only a moment, before glaring back down upon Enkara to reiterate her threat. "You-" The growling drew closer, and closer, and- ”Now, we can’t be causing trouble around here, can we? Not unless you’re gonna pay me my fair share.” As the man with the yellow eyes began to talk, his syllables slipping from his lips like the tongue of a snake, Baastique zoned out. I am surrounded by rebellious slaves and idiots. She thought to herself, blinking a few times in disbelief.

"You can walk away now, without taking the pain that is sure to follow tonight." Then she sighed, the sound escaped her entire mouth, causing the crevice that lined her torso to split open and reveal a massive array of dangerous looking teeth. It followed a roar, and one of her massive, chitinous limbs flipped over her shoulder towards Enkara, threatening to crush him in a wisp of dust and a thunderous clap if he didn't move.

Enkara blinked as he watched the limb come swinging towards him.

This is going to hurt, he thought to himself as he made no move to dodge. He did, however, plant the butt of his spear in the ground, point upward and brace it. When the limb came smacking down, there was a clap and an explosion of dust and blood as the man vanished.

She ignored him. Oh, what a mistake. He had been willing to let her live, if she bowed to him. In a sudden motion, the man next to him … well, blew up. Even Lax was surprised by this; but on the bright side, he thought, at least that’s one less guy to fight. The gun hand swiveled to face down the spider … creature. Whatever. His face was inscrutable behind the sunglasses and viper-like grin, though his intentions were clear; if the electricity coursing through the thin white blade pointed at her face was no indication, the gun now pointed at her midsection would be.

”Well. Looks like the itsy bitsy spider is a bit fuckin’ grumpy, aren’t they?”

His finger tightened on the trigger. If he had his powers, this would be a cake; no matter how durable her skin is, he could trap her with his Bane of Creation. And she was so damn big, missing her would be near impossible. Even his typically enhanced strength was gone, which could prove a problem if she tried to slam one of her arms into him. Not sure he’d be able to survive that particularly thing, and ol’ grandpa Yirah would be pretty pissed he lost to a chick.

Even a giant fucking spider chick.

”You should stop with all that fuckin’ ‘heresy’ bullshit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were suggesting you’re a god. I’ve met a real god. You couldn’t clean up his shit.”

"How delightful!"

The cry came amidst the small torrential downpour of what remained of Enkara, his blood spritzing across her ample flesh like a brief pocket of rain and adding to the already rich shade of crimson that covered her. Once withered musculature masked by plush curves now swelled, pressing against her skin with a rejuvenating glow as the color of her skin took on a far more healthy tone. After a brief moment of jubilance, she released a low, agitated sigh and sought to inquire of him.

"And what do you know of Gods?" Speaking with her back arched and her head presented to the brilliant stars above, she both questions and insults the Yellow-Eyed Man nearby. Then with a soft exhale of breath and a fanged grin, her head slowly pivots to the right so her own brilliant, ethereal hues can lay upon him... watching him for a silent moment before answering her own question.

"I am a seed from the Old Ones... The Sleepers and Spinners: those who created the web of life in a void of darkness! So I dare to ask again, what do you know of Gods?" As the words spill from her lips with that familiar guttural drawl, inklings of silver softening every other syllable, she turns towards him. Her massive, chitinous limbs lift her already hulking body up to new heights, so she may truly loom over her would-be opponent, and she smiles fully; all the piercings fangs and teeth, from her lips down across her abdomen, on full display. "I am--" She began to say, about to gloat and beset upon him with a speech of the ages, before a brilliant flash of green light from the sky above forced her to pause.

Her gaze, practically radiating from beneath the sockets of her porcelain mask, shot upwards, and where there had once been stars, dark, inky black clouds had spilled forth and covered the night-sky, bristling with crackling green lightning of an unnatural origin.

The fear that had gripped her heart before in the presence of a world under an order of slaves was only amplified by this unfamiliar magic, and she couldn't help but quip to the man nearby with a nervous, almost mewling stammer. "I-Is this you?"

"You know... No matter how many times that happens, it always hurt," mutters a voice from the ground in-front of Baastique says. Enkara sits up, brushing blood-caked dirt from his body. He stands and gives himself a once over, before looking up at the "Goddess".

"That was rude," he states, glaring at her. He blinks, and then looks up at the sky. "Huh... That's... weird."