Shank A Bitch 3 Day Six: The Handsman Cometh (10/71 Alive)

Unlike everyone else on S.S. Whalenaught, Truegreen is utterly unfazed by the tentacular onslaught. He marches onto the stage, grabs the eternally-discarded microphone, and motions for attention.

It is a commanding motion, one the crowd responds to with alacrity, shaking off its lingering confusion. Truegreen had come out of the whale dimension a battle-hardened veteran, a fact that is obvious in every one of his movements. The crowd is drawn into rapt attention as he begins his tale, his words powerful enough to conjur images of the many battles he had faced.

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Dawn was breaking when I entered the kelp forest. Long delicate shafts of light lanced between the brilliant red stalks. My troops were ready, the scouts had detailed reports for me. We were in a relatively defensible position. An ancient ruin overgrown with kelp provided us with decent shelter from the other armies roving eyes. There were reports of an army growing in the west. It was rumored their leader was the legendary Scoffles. I was far more interested in the lobsters that lived in the area. Apparently they'd been trouble before. They were pirates, mercenaries. They craved fine things and often attacked unsuspecting merchant whales and pods when they passed out of the kelp. A plan began to take shape in my head, but I needed to know what I had to work with. I asked for information on the army. We weren't the biggest army, but we had some pretty big guns. That's when they introduced me to Spike. He was an ancient whale. One might even go so far as to say prehistoric. He'd seen many whales come and go, watched the gradual extinction of his people. He was one of the last of the Livyatans. He the biggest whale I'd ever seen, completely dwarfing myself and my guide. I felt miniscule in his presence. He was scarred and pockmarked from his many battles and he had a single enormous golden tooth. It gleamed in the light as we spoke.



He was a true warrior, a creature with unmatched strength and power. I knew at that moment that we could not lose. The guide then took me to the depths to speak with the shaman of the ruins. It was a site of great religious importance to the whales. They were kind enough to house us, but they insisted I observe their rites if I was to lead the army. In that ruin I learned the secrets of the kelp. For a time I felt at peace. It was soon broken by the first trills of whalesong. It was the army of Scoffles, approaching to do battle. Little did they know they were about to fall into a trap.

We called it Operation Lobsterfest. My army had swarmed into the lobster territories. There was great celebration, the chant of "Lobsterfest" resounded across the water. No doubt Scoffles' scouts saw the celebrations, the lobsters being devoured, the grand festival of their defeat. No doubt they would count the corpses of our dead on the ground. Calculate an attack. We were weakened by our recent battle...or so they thought. As their first wave closed on our troops they were surprised to see our 'meals' leaping into action. Our 'dead' rising to do battle. They were taken by surprise.



I had payed off the pirates, hired them. It took a great deal of treasure, but we had plenty from the army's past exploits. His troops were unnerved, demoralized by our display yet still Scoffles pressed forward. We retreated into the kelp where we fought a vicious fight within the stalks. It was late afternoon by the time Scoffles and I met face to face. He was fighting across the sea floor, where the kelp was dense and he had the advantage. I dove down to meet him, my shank practically glowed. We met and exchanged blows but he had not anticipated my mastery of photosynthetikinesis. The kelp wrapped around him. I gripped him in a vicious chokehold. "Give 'im a beating boys" I grinned, lifting him back into the line of fire in a tangle of red kelp.



His army was routed, and they fled the forest. Scoffles remained, bruised and bloodied. I probably would have kept him as captive if I hadn't received an emergency report. Schazer had attacked from the east.



I hadn't anticipated her attack. Her bladed whales sliced through the kelp. Our soldiers rallied to defend it. I had to release Scoffles to crawl back to his base, I had to focus on the real threat. I was carried into battle by a swift dolphin by the name of Liz. The battle was bloody, we were losing. I rallied the troops. They fought bravely, but they could do little more than hold the line against Schazer's horrifying combat whales. I charged into battle with my army. I slew several of her whales. Then without warning, I was kicked with such force that I was sent careening out of the water and into the air.



I could only gasp out in surprise as i saw Liz getting smaller and smaller as I shot towards the surface. I caught a glimpse of Schazer below, circling my agile ally. Then time seemed to stop. I smelled the ocean air, the sound of sea birds filled my ears. I was reminded of a time long ago, before the resort, before my people became servants, before this shanking nightmare. I remembered when we would go swimming, the salt and the sand. My mentor taught me the art of jumpango. It was a powerful technique allowing one to launch into the air with a series of backflips. I was always very good at it. My mentor had always warned me, not to do to many, not to fly too high. No one in two centuries had accomplished more than 897 consecutive flips and lived to tell the tale. It was a dangerous hobby but I had loved it. My mind cleared. I began to fall. I noticed a dark shape in the water. It broke the surface with a violent splash. It was Schazer, she rode upon a powerful creature for which I had no name. A sneer adorned her face, her weapon aimed at my heart. I began to flip. 1, 2, 3. And ever we climbed. 30, 40, 50, higher and higher. 100, 200, 300. I had to keep going, she showed no sign of descent. My heart dropped as I hit 800. Shazer was closing in fast, but I was nearing my limit. 860, 870, 880, 890...I could see the gleam in her eyes. There was a hunger there, a bloodlust. 895, 896, 897...I had to go on, I had to continue... 898, 899...There it was she was slowing down, but I was still within her reach. I pulled in my legs, flicking them out as I had been taught so long ago. My muscles ached and complained at the exertion...900. Out of reach, she gritted her teeth in anger as she began to fall, I as well. I didn't know what I was going to do when we hit the water, but I didn't care. It was a small victory, but it was invigorating. I couldn't help but smile as I plummeted ever downward. Schazer braced her weapon. She wasn't going to let me get away. The moment we hit the water, I would die. An ally of mine had other plans. Liz leapt into the air. It was a majestic jump, the water glittered around her. The weapon on her fin glowed, there was a bright flash of red light.



Schazer's weapon flipped from her hand and she lost control of her fall. I landed on her foot first, slamming into her with the force of my fall. I slid into the bloodied waters and Liz dragged me back to the line. I arrived just in time to see Spike ripping their troops apart. The livyatan was unstoppable, and they were forced to retreat, their leader in tow. Spike had lost his gold tooth in the battle. We decided to leave it at the bottom, a memorial to the brave whales and dolphins we lost in the fight.



We pressed onwards. Scoffles' troops fell like dominos. Schazer's were stronger, but with Spike's help we crushed them, driving ever onwards into both territories. Over the coming months our power grew. We were uncompromising and provided a stalwart defense. The more religious whales fought with such passion and zeal that we were never routed. "For The Red Temple!" became a common battle cry. We earned a reputation for our ruthlessness in battle. Often time's smaller forces would flee on sight of one of our pods. In the end few could even hold out against our onslaught. We conquered the most territory and attained much wealth and treasure. By the end of the year we were victorious.

The conclusion of Truegreen's history is punctuated by the boom of a 72-cannon salute to his fallen comrades, a single tear welling up in his eye as he stares at the sky.

The artillery rolls on for what seems like an aeon, but a final boom cues Truegreen's exit from the stage.

The lights go out.

The Herald readies itself to open the voting, but the spotlights seem to be having different ideas. They roll over towards the bowsprit, where a strange figure awaits them.

The Herald, perplexed, looks back down at his schedule.

Sruixan!?!?