Day 156: 04 Jan 2011
My men swam ahead of me -- they would assist our father, and I would hang back and deal with Travis myself. Part of me -- Jared -- screamed and railed against killing him, but that part is so easy to sublimate. Travis was a dead man.
But something was wrong. Far ahead of me, I could see several of my men stop moving. They hung in the water, inactive, stationary. In my mind, I heard their lives slowly ebbing. In the dark water, some of my men collided with the dying ones, and more after that.
Poison, I realized. Get out. . . get out NOW! I screamed into my people's minds. I turned around and sped back to the shore. As I pulled myself onto the land, I began to vomit.
A few hundred of my men staggered out after me, all hitting the ground, too. I could tell many of them were near death, and the rest were quite sick, like me. More than two hundred others were dead, sinking slowly to the sea floor.
And suddenly, Travis was there, a machine gun in one hand, one of the God of the Skies' obsidian swords in the other. He smiled. Then he started shooting.