The mist is thicker in the Underground, as we quickly find out. The entrance we enter through looks almost like a smokestack, the acrid, sickly fog pouring out in an unending stream, casting no doubts that this was the source of the fog.
"And to think I actually considered just trying to take the Tube when we were lost earlier." I note with a snort. "Singularity would've been over real fast if I had."
"It'd make for a poor story, though," Anderson notes.
"Bah! I have no doubt perils and wonders aplenty await us below!" Shakespeare counters. "It will be a glorious tale all the same."
"Less talking, more walking, people." I command, as we file into the dark and fog-enshrouded confines. "We don't want to give away our position."
---
Apparitions, strange beings of fog instead of flesh, attack us from time to time as we make our way through the empty stations and abandoned tunnels. We fend them off easily as we make our way ever lower, and the fog grows ever thicker. Soon, visibility is reduced to the point where we can't see more than a few yards away, and we have to bunch up just to avoid losing anybody. As we descend, a distant roar becomes audible, one that only grows in intensity as we march ever nearer to the Fog's creator.
At last, however, we reach the end of the newer, obviously freshly made tunnels, and found ourselves staring directly into a metal pipe, its aperture only a few feet away from the tunnel we finished walking through. The Demonic Fog gushes out of it, and the cacophony of sound we've been pursuing reaches a near-deafening crescendo.
We squeeze out through the gap between pipe and tunnel, and find ourselves in steampunk Hell.
The cavern is vast, its vaulted ceiling stretching at least fifty feet up, and its diameter stretching out about a thousand yards. The mist is thin here, and the reason is clear to see: Here lies the contraption that birthed it.
It covers the cavern, a roaring, clanking monstrosity that sprawls indolently within its domain, an endless sea of gears and boilers, pistons and pipes, all writhing in a symphony of chaotic harmony, each arranged in accordance with the beast's own inscrutable order. The cavern is lit by it, by the searing, muggy light of its furnaces, and the golden gleam of its heart, casting the cave into dimly lit shadows, in which it seems all the more sinisterly. It almost seems to live, this writhing monster of gears, and the roar of the pistons intensifies until I can hear nothing but its cries, the unholy ensemble surging to new life, in a frenzied orgy of activity, every belt and conveyer doubling its speed as if to spite me. Seven outflow pipes rise up from the indentation it rests in, each leading to a separate tunnel, and from them spew the vile, sickly fog that has dogged our steps throughout London.
I feel baleful eyes upon me, although I can see no watcher.
"GALAHAD, CAN YOU FEEL THAT?" I shout.
He says something, but for the life of me, I can't hear it. I can't hear anything that isn't the roar of the industrial behemoth laid out before me.
Then, I remember the mental link, and repeat the question.
'
I think we found our culprit.' he reports, pointing at something. I follow his finger, and see a man in an Ulster overcoat, with sharply angled features and purple hair, and sad, melancholy eyes. He says something as I look at him.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
He sighs (I think) and mutters something. Suddenly, the sound of the great machine vanishes, and I can actually
hear again.
"Thank you." I say, because it never hurts to be polite. "Now then. Professor Moriarty, I assume?"
"London must fall, by the order of-" he blinks. "Wait, what?"
"Professor Moriarty? I kind of assumed, because, you know, 'M.' But you're not Moriarty, are you?"
"No."
"Mycroft Holmes, then!" Galahad interjects, looking slightly cheerful at the chance to name the culprit.
"Zolgen Makiri!" the purple-haired man snaps, looking profoundly irritated. "I'm Zolgen Makiri!"
That name.. actually sounds slightly familiar. Where did I hear it before?
"Now, your efforts have proven fruitless. London shall be razed, by the order of-"
"Now I know where I heard your name before!" I interrupt as I remember the precise section of the Clocktower's records in which it featured. "You're that guy who blew the Cryptozoology Department's entire budget on trying to classify giant pandas as a Phantasmal Species back in 1772!"
He looks mildly irritated. "That was my grandfather, actually. And he also made numerous discoveries, including the proper classification of the Loch Ness Monster, the establishment of the Association's first unicorn preserve, and the identification and preservation of North America's indigenous Sasquatch population before his dismissal."
"And not a single soul outside your little country club for inbred Luddites actually cares about a single word of that."
He makes a noise like an angry teakettle. "And you call yourself a magus?"
"I don't, actually. I prefer to devote my time to things like having a life that doesn't revolve around doing the exact same thing my every ancestor has done since the dawn of time, but slightly worse, and waiting for the latest bullshit from Apple to render my entire family's legacy obsolete."
"I- YOU-"
He's so incandescently furious that he didn't notice Cursed Arm vanish. He does actually notice, however, when Cursed Arm reappears, and, in one smooth, practiced motion, slits his throat and then drives the bloodstained dagger into his heart, before stabbing him a few more times just to be safe.
"Right, he dead?" I call out, then wince as the noise resurges. I repeat the question over the mental link, and get a definitive '
Yes.'
'
Alright team, solid work. That's the last member of Project Demonic Fog dead, now all we have to do is-'
The roar redoubles.
The beast of steam, this Angrboda, has into even more fervent activity. As I watch, the outflow pipes
burst, and the Demonic Fog begins to flood the room, so unspeakably dense that it almost feels like I'm underwater.
And then, something happens. The fog begins to contract, drawn in by some unseen reaction, compressing into a single, towering figure.
And then a wave of crackling, irresistible force explodes outwards, knocking us all off our feet.
It is then, and only then, that I see him. Tall and proud, with the thunder as his raiment. He stands above the great engine, Angrboda, the mist halting in its increase, its power spent for the moment from the strain of bringing forth this modern titan.
And then he speaks. "Know, you mortals, that I am among you. I AM TESLA! WHO TAMED THE HEAVENS AND BOUND THE THUNDER! BY MY MIND THIS WORLD OF TODAY WAS FORGED, AND BY MY HANDS IT SHALL BE UNMADE!"
He advances, his every footfall an inexorable harbinger of doom, and I can't move a muscle to stop him. My hair's still on end, and even the Servants look paralyzed by the blast we just endured.
"Charlie? Can you hear me?" Roman asks, his holographic image finally appearing. "Sorry we haven't been in contact. The Fog kept jamming our signal. Listen, you can't let Tesla reach the surface. If he does, he'll ignite the fog, and destroy London in one fell swoop."
"Gablawa," I gibber urbanely, my jaw nearly biting my tongue off thanks to a poorly timed muscle spasm.
"Oh right. Electrocuted." he sighs. "We're boned, aren't we?"
"Not precisely." A deep voice calls out, and I manage to turn my head to look.
Frankenstein is still standing, his axe slung over one shoulder, grinning. "Galahad. Get Flynn out of here, along with the others. Reach the surface, and ready your defenses, prepare to stop him in his tracks. I'll hold him here."
Tesla stops in his march, turning to face the man-made man. "A bold vow. And one doomed to be broken. Only a demigod born of the Age of Heroes, with a mastery of electricity to match my own could ever stand a chance against me!"
"Thbought you... hated us." I manage to get out, as Galahad hoists me up, walking on unsteady legs himself.
"I do. I despise humanity. But you never judged me for what I looked like. You never lashed out, or dismissed me as a monster just because of how I was made." he grins. "If the future has people like you and Mary in it, then I suppose it might be worth fighting for." And then he turns and walks towards Tesla, the lightning rising about him.
"Who are you, to stand against me?" Tesla asks, cocking his head to one side with a look of honest confusion on his face.
"The folly and triumph of man in one." the hulking man growls, as Tesla starts to look annoyed. "You call yourself the Tamer of Thunder? Well I
am the Thunder. I am the fire and fury of the gods made flesh, and I-"
Tesla hauls back and punches him into a wall mid-sentence, before shaking his head in irritation. "I was asking your name, idiot, not inviting you to launch into a speech about how awesome you are.
Christ." He turns back to the rest of our group, looking annoyed. "Hmph. Well, guess I'll have to finish you lot off as well." He raises a hand crackling with electricity, and is interrupted by Frankenstein tackling him from behind, the two of them slamming into the cavern's wall and leaving a crater behind them as they roll away, grappling on the floor.
And that's the last I see of them, as Galahad helps me away into the tunnel, and away from the clashing titans of thunder.
Our ascent is near-silent, a desperate sprint through the cramped tunnels until we reach the surface, gasping and short on breath.
Once we've made it, though, and caught our breaths, Galahad turns to me.
"Do you have an idea on how we can kill him?"
I pause, thinking it over for a second, reviewing what assets I have available.
And then I grin.
"Yes."
Do you have something against Mash? What did that poor cinnamon roll do to you?
