The other apartment units were occupied by shrimp who hardly seemed to be part of the Hardbody Crustaceans. They were little fearful things with eyes that shifted nervously even as they pleaded for their lives.

  Unfortunately, Father didn’t find any other tomes or scrolls. The three fully offensive spells he had were likely enough to put up a better fight than his last run, but the utility of magic missile was still to be determined. If it only hit a single person, its usefulness would be far lower in a horde battle like the one outside the cathedral.

  By the time Father got back outside, a few tough-looking lobsters stood around the police car. They had broken a side mirror and were smacking pipes against the cracked windshield.

  “That is rude,” Father muttered. The neurotoxin seemed to be fading. His thoughts were moving a little quicker and his head wasn’t pounding in quite the same way.

  The lobsters turned to him, rolled their eyes, and turned back to the car. It took less than a second for all of them to swing back around. Their eyes lingered on the sword and the injury on Father’s chest.

  Spark

  Little embers flew through the water. A lobster stepped aside, clearly unworried about the slow moving spell.

  “Who are you?” a lobster asked.

  The spark spell collided with the car door and immediately engulfed the entire vehicle in bright, wild flames. All lobsters turned to the burning vehicle.

  Zap

  One lobster seized as electricity ravaged his body. He fell, smashing his face on the burning hood of the car, and smacked into the road like a bag of meat. Father lunged forward and skewered one lobster. The rest tensed, turned, and fled.

  Father sheathed the katana. He kicked one lobster corpse aside and pulled the shotgun from the burning car before the gun could take any damage.

  The lobsters had slowed their retreat upon reaching the other side of the street. They seemed to get a better idea of the carnage that had taken place in front of and inside the apartment complex from their new perspective.

  A firm stomp to the zapped lobster spilled crustacean brains that soon sizzled under the burning car.

  Father walked around the car and stood in the middle of the street. Three lobsters remained. Their jackets were singed slightly from the car fire.

  “Who are you?” one asked again.

  “Your death.”

  Anti-Levitation

  The lobster who had spoken suddenly collapsed to his knees. Chitin cracked as he hit the pavement with force.

  The other two took a step away.

  Father lifted the shotgun and walked toward them. “I need one of you to show me a way into the back of the cathedral.”

  The two standing lobsters exchanged glances.

  Father put a hole through the kneeling lobster’s chest. Some buckshot ricocheted off the chitin and pinged off the pavement by their feet.

  Both lobsters dropped their pipes and raised their claws.

  “I’m only taking one of you,” Father said.

  The one on the right whimpered just as his belt came loose and his pants fell to his ankles. Father turned and fired the shotgun, blasting the lobster backward.

  The last lobster looked over, but didn’t dare turn his head. “It’s me?”

  “It’s you. Put your arms down and start walking. Take us on the least busy route. I already killed every Hardbody Crustacean inside and outside that apartment complex. If you try to bring me to your friends, you will be killing them too.”

  The lobster turned and immediately walked the opposite direction. He was an old crustacean with some barnacles growing along his elbow and near his left claw. His chitin had lost some color and become patchy with reds and grays.

  Walking through the Buttress was a different experience. They traveled a path hidden behind a narrow row of apartments, hiked down a long set of stairs into one of the channels, through a park that was currently empty, and followed the wall of the next ridge.

  The lobster kept glancing back, but said nothing as he walked in the sand.

  Father always kept the shotgun ready, but spent time admiring the views in the Buttress. The wall on his right was either natural stone with a blue tint that jutted out before pulling back to the next apartment, or it was a blue cement wall that was more vibrant than the natural stone. Staircases like the one they had traveled down were spaced evenly, always along one of the blue cement walls.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “How far are we going down here?” Father asked.

  The lobster pointed forward, which did nothing to notify Father of their remaining distance. “A block up ahead can take us to the back of the Shell.”

  “Is that the cathedral?”

  The lobster shrugged. “I think so.”

  The route wasn’t complicated. Father watched for landmarks and tried to keep a sense of time going in his mind to be able to recreate the route, should it be necessary. As much as he wanted to pretend he wouldn’t die again, he had no idea what was actually inside the Shell. He needed to finish investigating and experimenting before truly assaulting the place to save his Son.

  Rushing in and dying again and again wouldn’t teach him a thing. It technically wouldn’t waste time, but he also had no intention of repeating the drive and the hike a million times. Even a dozen was too many.

  The hike had given the last of the neurotoxin time to finish its hike through Father’s body. His head felt like it had been battered around then left out in the sun to dry. There were many reasons why Father had lived such a clean and unproblematic life. A major one was the way that toxic substances did not agree with him. Even a little puff of neurotoxin had left him feeling drained.

  “Up here,” the lobster said. He pointed up a staircase set into a blue cement wall. He notably did not start walking up.

  “You first,” Father said.

  The lobster took a step away from the stairs. “You can get it from here.”

  Father pressed the shotgun against the lobster’s chest. “Up.”

  A claw clamped around the barrel and shoved it aside. Father pulled the trigger and sent a blast into the blue cement. Fragments cascaded down as a puff of dust erupted into the water and immediately obscured the lobster.

  Father felt a handgun get pulled from his shorts and immediately dropped to the ground. Rapid, wild shots flew overhead, cutting through the dust and water. Father stood and lurched like a sprinter out of the blocks. His strength and agility weren’t his highest attributes as a wizard, but Father had spent decades training his body. He had played moist rugby all through school. Even without strength or agility bonuses, Father at his base was still a body builder and still knew how to throw a bottom feeder around.

  The Hardbody Crustacean was thrown into the cement wall with force. Father’s stolen handgun fell to the sand, out of reach of the lobster’s claws. Instead of letting him go or beating him senseless, Father pressed his forearm against the lobster’s throat and leaned close.

  “That was a mistake, right?”

  The lobster’s claw pinched Father’s waistband in a poor attempt to reach for the second gun. He pulled Father’s shorts down, making the gun also fall to the sand.

  Spark

  Father stepped back as the lobster ignited. Screams of horror and pain left the flailing lobster, who was crazy enough to lunge for one of the fallen handguns.

  Anti-Levitation

  The lobster was forced to the ground where he writhed in pain. Father stared, lobster cheeks out, and tried to find any sense of remorse or sadness in his mind. He had killed so many sea creatures, even some who he had enjoyed. Most of them had died multiple times, sometimes in the same way, and sometimes with some more creativity. Father didn’t know the names of the lobster or officers he killed right at the start. He didn’t know the name of the crab or isopod who had the shotgun in Trash Co.

  And he really didn’t care. All of his crimes were meaningless until his Son was saved. Once the Hardbody Crustaceans were dead, Father would happily pay for every single crime. He’d serve twice the sentence if it meant his Son was safe once again.

  Father pulled up his shorts, grabbed both handguns, and stuffed them in the waistband. He stomped the lobster’s smoldering head into the sand and headed up the stairs. A trail of carnage followed wherever Father traveled, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Conversations reached Father as he neared the top of the staircase. He slowed and pressed himself against the inner wall of the staircase. A grunt escaped as the sudden movement brought more pain and a little bit of blood from his chest wound.

  “I’m not even drunk!” A fish smacked into the wall just above Father. A black-lined orange fin flapped the edge of the wall.

  “You’re past drunk, idiot.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.”

  “Chet will be pissed. You can’t be drunk here. We—”

  “Not drunk.”

  Father inched up, keeping close to the wall. The fish speaking were so close that even walking to the other side of the stairs might make Father easy to spot. He kept his head low to avoid his antennae from popping overhead. Father waved a claw above his head, remembering that he had lost half of one. It ached a little, but no worse than the rest of his body.

  “I’ll get you home.”

  Father hurried up the last of the stairs, crouched, dropped the shotgun, and drew his katana. As much as he would prefer to blast a hole through a clownfish, he figured the noise would get him more attention than he was hoping for.

  Two clownfish stepped around the corner, one supporting the other. Some vomit clung to the undershirt of the drunken fish. Both were too occupied to immediately notice Father.

  “You can nap and I’ll cook something. Maybe some fried algae?”

  Father gutted the sober fish. His intestines spilled into the water, which made the drunken fish choke. Father stood, slicing upward, and split the drunken fish’s head in two. Both fish fell to the ground. There was a slight relief when Father saw they were both wearing leather jackets. Even if they weren’t, he was going to kill them. There was no time for regrets. There was only time for murder until his Son was home safe.

  If he somehow managed to avoid arrest, Father’s second job, after making sure his Son was okay, was to rebuild and redecorate his yard. He stepped over the corpses and rushed through the cloud of guts. With the katana sheathed once again, Father had the shotgun ready and loaded.

  The cathedral, or the Shell, was a block back the opposite direction. Despite how it had ended, the lobster had kept his word and had helped Father reach the right place. In such a gaudy, massive building, there had to be things he could use to fix the broken yard decor. Or maybe he would just mount the Hardbody Crustacean leader’s head.

  Tickle

  Father hit a guard outside the Shell. The parrotfish fell against the wall in a giggling fit. Father sprinted over and smashed the barrel of the shotgun into the fish’s face. He was glad it was a smaller parrotfish and not like the giant that had nearly thrown him out of the apartment earlier.

  Stealth wasn’t a specific focus in Father’s mind, but the less attention he could bring would mean less of a horde. As much as he enjoyed killing swarms of the gang members, he did need to actually get inside the building.

  A coral door swung open to Father’s left. A wrasse stepped out, hunched over as he tried lighting a cigarette. “Can you believe it?”

  “I got it for you,” Father said.

  “Ah, thanks.” The wrasse turned with the cigarette between his lips. His eyes only widened upon noticing the dead guard.

  Spark

  Flames consumed the wrasse and also caused a nice stream of smoke to rise from the cigarette as the colorful fish thrashed. A claw to the face helped calm him, and a few firm stomps to the head stopped the thrashing. Father kicked the body aside, letting the two corpses rest together.

  “Time to find my Son.” Father wiped the barrel clean, then raised the shotgun and walked inside, eager to use some ammunition.