He recognized the demon’s type. The physical body was a pathetic alchemical creation, stitched together out of animal parts and old cadavers and held together with magic barely fit to animate a zombie. A body like that was only capable of holding the weakest of the host in the mortal world. Franks sneered. He’d gotten shot in the stomach for this? Stupid imp. He’d been hoping for a good fight at least.

“Help us, O Great Sleeper of the Deep,” the demon begged as the ancient squid god’s bellows shook the sea. “Please save us from Franks.” It seemed the demon was actually more afraid of Franks than he was worried about placating the Elder Thing they’d just woken from its thousand years of slumber.

Good call.

Most of the cultists were still cowering because the ancient monster they’d summoned rising up all around their boat had scared the hell out of them, but those who had been in the circle rushed him. Their efforts would have been amusing if he hadn’t had more important things to do. Franks swung the crowbar in a wide circle, hitting several of them, shattering ribs and limbs. The impact was enough to flip one man over the rail to fall screaming into the ocean. Good luck swimming in those idiotic robes.

Someone grabbed him by the shirt. Franks took him by the wrist, twisted it until it snapped, and then spun and flipped the man into several of his friends, knocking them all down. Another man almost managed to hit him, but Franks merely moved his head out of the way, hooked the man beneath the jaw and pulled. That one only made it a few more steps before collapsing and clutching at the gaping hole where the bottom of his face had been. As he flicked the jawbone off the end of his crowbar, Franks noticed that there were gills flapping on the dying man’s neck. These fools had been intermingling with Deep Ones, and a few appeared to be hybrids. On land, that just made them squishier. Franks confirmed his hypothesis by braining a cultist and noting that the blood that sprayed out was an oily green. That would have to go in his report later, but right now he had to concentrate. One cultist was smart enough to draw a pistol, but Franks hurled the crowbar across the deck and shattered her skull.