Weight of the Kraken

Chaz raises the weapon he holds in his left hand. He can feel the Weight of it dragging his arm back toward the earth, but it is that very same Weight that allows him to wield the hand cannon at all. When he first claimed the Kraken, when he first held the Object that had laid him on this path, this disparity had been distracting.

But he has long since made his peace with it. The weapon is now a part of him, an extension of himself that transcends the steel he now holds.

The creature before Chaz barely blinks. It is indifferent to the cold gaze of the Kraken. It knows Objects of this type, has lain waste to their bearers before. Chaz knows this, knows the creature will not be easily dispatched, knows that even with the force of the Weight behind each bullet he fires the creature will not go down easily.

Chaz has no words for the beast. It wouldn’t care even if he did. No, he knows the creature respects only action.

“Ok,” he says.

A deep breath, then, his finger squeezes the trigger, and time stops.

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