Franks went back to killing cultists. Some of the fools were trying to communicate with the leviathan but it took a human years of effort to master the original tongue, and their demon translator was occupied. The old language was very difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend it, let alone speak well, but one cultist, apparently their leader, was giving it his best effort. He had spread his arms wide and was screaming up at the creature. “Great Sleeper of the Depths, forgive us as we trouble your rest. Humbly we request our enemies gone by devouring!”

A tree-sized tentacle paused over their boat, and fifty eyes opened up along its length to study the cultist in his wind-whipped robes. Franks found another gun and angled for a shot on the cult leader. He had to admit he was impressed; for a mortal the cultist was doing really well, up until the part where he screwed it up. “Our lives are food for you!”

The leviathan was happy to oblige. Thousands of spines erupted from the tentacle as it descended. Cultists screamed as they were pierced, encircled, and lifted into the air to be shoved into giant pulsing mouths.

Primary objective completed. The monster wasn’t going to fling itself at the civilian population now, but Franks still needed to secure his prisoner for interrogation before the leviathan sank the fishing boat. A female hybrid attacked him, fish eyes bulging beneath her cowl, fat frog lips smacking as she tried to bite him in the face. Franks merely kicked her in the stomach, launching her back, and before she hit the deck, a tentacle snatched her up, lifted her to one of the monster’s snapping beaks, and popped the hybrid in to be chewed.

Tentacles were striking everywhere. The monster could have simply crushed the boat, but it seemed to be enjoying the snacks first. But the boat was nearly depopulated. Franks did not want to be chewed, nor did he want to spend the time sawing his way out of a giant monster’s guts. It was time for extraction.

There was a white flash far beneath the surface. An explosion rocked the fishing boat. The leviathan screamed in frequencies that deafened whales. Either Franks’ message had gotten through or the captain of the attack submarine had seen the giant monster on his sonar screen and made the call himself. A circle of water a hundred yards across erupted upward as the second torpedo hit the leviathan.

A black, glistening bulk the size of a three-story building hit the fishing boat, and the vessel went sideways. The few remaining cultists were hurled into the sea. Franks fell, but caught himself on some machinery. Then, annoyed by this turn of events, began crawling toward his prisoner, who was dangling by its face over the churning water. “Bravo Team, this is Franks. Look for me in the wreckage.”