Short Story: Lair of the Leviathan (2014)

Sunlight washed over the southern island of Lick, lending a terrible scene the sort of sharp contrast most of the observers could have done without. 

It was like some sickening jigsaw of a man: all the pieces were there, they just didn’t quite fit together in the right way. This was mainly because the edges were wrinkly and, in several places, enthusiastically chewed. 

Hieronymus Blush, journeyman magician and newly initiated outreach merchant for the southern islands, stepped between the two grizzled fisherman in order to get a better look at the corpse. 

He’d seen a lot of tragic accidents in his five years as an apprentice at the Magician’s Proving Ground, but these mostly involved the victims disappearing without a trace. For some reason, the look of complete shock on the face of the corpse was particularly unsettling. 

Nevertheless, Blush made a valiant attempt to pull himself together: something the poor native on the beach would never get another go at. 

He focused on the sand, drawing a small circle distractedly with his big toe while pointing a thin finger at the body. ‘I don’t understand why he’s…complete?’  

All eyes turned to Ryerson, the slightly senior of the two elderly fishermen.  

‘He’s all there because sharks don’t like the taste of us,’ the old man muttered, suppressing a burp.