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Description
Chapter Two: Karuken Arises

If I was making this up in any way, shape or form, then this would be the point where I’d introduce my arch nemesis. You know the type, the one who wants to plunge the world into darkness, burn down an orphanage or make everyone eat muesli for every meal- something dastardly like that. Instead, this part of the tale involves me standing at a duck pond with a loaf of bride under my arm.

I’d left the shop ten minutes earlier and had headed straight for the mansion of my dead uncle. It was half an hour since I’d eaten my breakfast and I’d only just realised that I hadn’t actually had anything to drink for the entire morning. This was a troubling predicament but one that could not easily be overcome in the situation I found myself in. As I stood by the duck pond, I began to wonder if anyone would mind if I took a drink from the slightly murky water. Do not fear, dear reader, I did not do this as it would have severely tampered with the evidence; all good detectives know never to drink from the scene of crime especially if that would involve drinking the murder weapon. This piece of advice was even more important due to the fact that I was interrogating the murderer.
“Do you know anything about the murder of Maximillian Charlesworth?” I asked.
“Quack,” the duck replied.
It was then that I knew that this murder would be particularly difficult to solve.
“Showing off in front of you friends are you?” I inquired, noting that about four other ducks were now swimming towards the bank, “It won’t work. I’m a hardened detective; I’ve made grown ducks weep.”
“Quack,” the duck laughed as the others joined it, “Quack, quack.”
I glared intensely at the group of ducks. They stared back at me.
“Where were you on the night of the 14th?”
“Quack.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Quack quack.”
“Well, in fairness, your statement doesn’t hold much value in my eyes, sonny Jim. You are also a suspect of murder.”
“Quack quack.”
It was at this point that I realised the ducks weren’t even listening to me. They were staring, transfixed, at the loaf of bread that was resting under my arm. This was a predicament. I was being stared down by a group of murderous ducks all intent on taking the only form of sustenance that I would have until the end of the week. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let any ducks reduce me to having hand cooked Pot Noodles. It was then that I switched things up and became bad cop.
“So, you like my bread?” I stated, “Well, how about I give you some bread.”
Obviously, I was not about to give these ducks any bread- what had they done to earn my bread- but I needed them to believe that I was the type of sucker to just give anyone a free meal. Slowly, with an almost sensual delicacy, I peeled upon the loaf of bread. Whilst I did this, I stared deeply into the ducks’ eyes and licked my lips slowly in the hope of disturbing them so much that they would crack under the pressure. They did not. In fact, I think they quite enjoyed it.
Finally, after a few minutes of slow peeling, I managed to work the first slice of bread from its packaging. The ducks quacked with glee and began to swim around in really stupid looking circles as though they were trying to hypnotise me into giving them bread.
When I’d recovered from being hypnotised slightly by the ducks, I moved my hand towards the... wait, what’s a group of ducks called? A gaggle? A flock? A quack? Yeah, quack seems good enough. David Attenborough eat your heart out.
The duck at the front craned its neck towards the bread, desperate to get its beak on the meal at hand. I held just slightly out of the duck’s reach so that it could do little besides stare at it and flap its bill in an attempt to bite the bread but finding only the delicious texture of thin air. Slowly, the other ducks realised that they may be in for the chance of eating that elusive first bit of bread. I stared the ducks down for a full minute before enacting my plan. Swiftly, I raised the slice of bread to my mouth and took a deep bite.
Have you ever seen a duck’s heart break before? If not, then let me tell you, you are missing out.
The ducks, in disheartened union stopped flapping their bills and just stared up at me. One of them even let out a little heartbroken quack. I stood there, watching the ducks, whilst I slowly ate the slice of bread in my hand. I was almost tempted to fish out another slice of bread from the loaf but that would have been foolish and would have led to me starving. Still, I would have loved to have watched the glint of sadness in their eyes just a little longer but there was business at hand to deal with.
“You now know that I am a serious detective,” I gloated, “Do you want to tell me what really happened or do things have to get really ugly?”
One of the ducks lost his nerve completely and swam away right there and then. A couple of the other ducks swiftly followed suit but two ducks remained. I noted a look of defiance beginning to creep into their duck faces. None of us spoke.
“Do you have something to say?” I asked, breaking the silence at last, “Or do things need to get ugly?”
I realised as soon as I’d said it that I’d already warned them that things would get ugly but I believe it was ultimately the right word choice to emphasise the fact that things could, and would, get ugly.
Well, they would have done if that hadn’t been when Kraken arrived.

The first real plot twist of this whole thing is that the title of this chapter is wrong. There is no Karuken. There is, however, a Kraken. Secondly, he didn’t really do much rising I just thought that it sounded really cool.

I didn’t know Kraken at this point but I don’t see any reason in calling him anything other than Kraken seeing as it will ultimately turn out to be him. He was dressed in his usual long, thick grey trench coat which concealed the whips he was so deadly proficient with. His scarf, at this point it was of a deep crimson hue, covered his mouth so that his nose just poked out over the top. Why he wore the scarf in that way I will keep a secret for now.
Alongside him walked the woman who would turn out to be Crow. Contrary to what you might believe about someone called crow, she was an albino who dressed all in silver. She wore a leather jacket and tough looking trousers which finished with knee length boots. Her face was perfectly framed by her long, white hair and her sharp red eyes were highlighted by the slight point that her face tapered off to towards the chin.
I didn’t notice the pair when they initialled arrived but the ducks I was interrogating did and they gave out a frightened quack before darting off towards the opposite bank. This commotion is what caused me to turn around and notice the curious pair walking towards me. Behind them, the old mansion stood, a great brown building with a vast multitude of windows which seemed to indicate there being more rooms than anyone could ever hope to need; certainly more than the three I had.
“Hello there,” the woman who would turn out to be Crow said with a smile, “Do you live here?”
“Yes,” I lied, “Well, no, but I might do soon.”
“And why’s that?” Crow asked.
“Well, I’m investigating the murder of my uncle so that I may claim my section of his will.”
“I didn’t know that old Charlesworth had a nephew.”
“He didn’t, well... I mean, he does, obviously,” I explained with such composure that I spoke incredibly quickly, “I was excommunicated by the family but old Maxy boy kept in touch with me every so often- I think I was his favourite.”
“I see,” Crow said, contemplating something, “So you knew Charlesworth well?”
“Yes.”
“You know about his business?”
“Yes.”
“You know why he employed us?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Interesting,” Crow nodded.
She turned swiftly to Kraken and communicated in a bizarre form of sign language with which they always communicated with. Kraken watched intently before using the same sign language to reply. They communicated like this for a short time before both turned their attention back to us.
“How much about us do you know?”
“Not a great deal,” I admitted, realising that this was probably a good time to tell something which vaguely resembled the truth.
“Would you like to know more?”
“I would.”
“Would this involve renewing Charlesworth’s contract?”
“I suppose it would.”
“Very well.”
Crow gestured at Kraken and he nodded. Slowly, the surprisingly tall, broad shouldered man reached into his trench coat and removed a long, silver whip from an internal pocket. With a flick of his wrist, the whip unfurled and trailed on the ground. The wind drifted through his slightly spiked, jet black hair. In one fluid movement, Kraken brought his arm up causing the whip to latch itself onto my neck immediately cutting off air to the rest of my body. My hands flew to my neck, clawing desperately at the piece of chord that suffocated me alarmingly swiftly. Darkness seeped into the world around me. The last thing I saw before the world dissolved was Crow watching me with boredom and Kraken gazing at me with the look that was always on his face.
Then I died.

Description
Chapter Two: Karuken Arises

If I was making this up in any way, shape or form, then this would be the point where I’d introduce my arch nemesis. You know the type, the one who wants to plunge the world into darkness, burn down an orphanage or make everyone eat muesli for every meal- something dastardly like that. Instead, this part of the tale involves me standing at a duck pond with a loaf of bride under my arm.

I’d left the shop ten minutes earlier and had headed straight for the mansion of my dead uncle. It was half an hour since I’d eaten my breakfast and I’d only just realised that I hadn’t actually had anything to drink for the entire morning. This was a troubling predicament but one that could not easily be overcome in the situation I found myself in. As I stood by the duck pond, I began to wonder if anyone would mind if I took a drink from the slightly murky water. Do not fear, dear reader, I did not do this as it would have severely tampered with the evidence; all good detectives know never to drink from the scene of crime especially if that would involve drinking the murder weapon. This piece of advice was even more important due to the fact that I was interrogating the murderer.
“Do you know anything about the murder of Maximillian Charlesworth?” I asked.
“Quack,” the duck replied.
It was then that I knew that this murder would be particularly difficult to solve.
“Showing off in front of you friends are you?” I inquired, noting that about four other ducks were now swimming towards the bank, “It won’t work. I’m a hardened detective; I’ve made grown ducks weep.”
“Quack,” the duck laughed as the others joined it, “Quack, quack.”
I glared intensely at the group of ducks. They stared back at me.
“Where were you on the night of the 14th?”
“Quack.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“Quack quack.”
“Well, in fairness, your statement doesn’t hold much value in my eyes, sonny Jim. You are also a suspect of murder.”
“Quack quack.”
It was at this point that I realised the ducks weren’t even listening to me. They were staring, transfixed, at the loaf of bread that was resting under my arm. This was a predicament. I was being stared down by a group of murderous ducks all intent on taking the only form of sustenance that I would have until the end of the week. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let any ducks reduce me to having hand cooked Pot Noodles. It was then that I switched things up and became bad cop.
“So, you like my bread?” I stated, “Well, how about I give you some bread.”
Obviously, I was not about to give these ducks any bread- what had they done to earn my bread- but I needed them to believe that I was the type of sucker to just give anyone a free meal. Slowly, with an almost sensual delicacy, I peeled upon the loaf of bread. Whilst I did this, I stared deeply into the ducks’ eyes and licked my lips slowly in the hope of disturbing them so much that they would crack under the pressure. They did not. In fact, I think they quite enjoyed it.
Finally, after a few minutes of slow peeling, I managed to work the first slice of bread from its packaging. The ducks quacked with glee and began to swim around in really stupid looking circles as though they were trying to hypnotise me into giving them bread.
When I’d recovered from being hypnotised slightly by the ducks, I moved my hand towards the... wait, what’s a group of ducks called? A gaggle? A flock? A quack? Yeah, quack seems good enough. David Attenborough eat your heart out.
The duck at the front craned its neck towards the bread, desperate to get its beak on the meal at hand. I held just slightly out of the duck’s reach so that it could do little besides stare at it and flap its bill in an attempt to bite the bread but finding only the delicious texture of thin air. Slowly, the other ducks realised that they may be in for the chance of eating that elusive first bit of bread. I stared the ducks down for a full minute before enacting my plan. Swiftly, I raised the slice of bread to my mouth and took a deep bite.
Have you ever seen a duck’s heart break before? If not, then let me tell you, you are missing out.
The ducks, in disheartened union stopped flapping their bills and just stared up at me. One of them even let out a little heartbroken quack. I stood there, watching the ducks, whilst I slowly ate the slice of bread in my hand. I was almost tempted to fish out another slice of bread from the loaf but that would have been foolish and would have led to me starving. Still, I would have loved to have watched the glint of sadness in their eyes just a little longer but there was business at hand to deal with.
“You now know that I am a serious detective,” I gloated, “Do you want to tell me what really happened or do things have to get really ugly?”
One of the ducks lost his nerve completely and swam away right there and then. A couple of the other ducks swiftly followed suit but two ducks remained. I noted a look of defiance beginning to creep into their duck faces. None of us spoke.
“Do you have something to say?” I asked, breaking the silence at last, “Or do things need to get ugly?”
I realised as soon as I’d said it that I’d already warned them that things would get ugly but I believe it was ultimately the right word choice to emphasise the fact that things could, and would, get ugly.
Well, they would have done if that hadn’t been when Kraken arrived.

The first real plot twist of this whole thing is that the title of this chapter is wrong. There is no Karuken. There is, however, a Kraken. Secondly, he didn’t really do much rising I just thought that it sounded really cool.

I didn’t know Kraken at this point but I don’t see any reason in calling him anything other than Kraken seeing as it will ultimately turn out to be him. He was dressed in his usual long, thick grey trench coat which concealed the whips he was so deadly proficient with. His scarf, at this point it was of a deep crimson hue, covered his mouth so that his nose just poked out over the top. Why he wore the scarf in that way I will keep a secret for now.
Alongside him walked the woman who would turn out to be Crow. Contrary to what you might believe about someone called crow, she was an albino who dressed all in silver. She wore a leather jacket and tough looking trousers which finished with knee length boots. Her face was perfectly framed by her long, white hair and her sharp red eyes were highlighted by the slight point that her face tapered off to towards the chin.
I didn’t notice the pair when they initialled arrived but the ducks I was interrogating did and they gave out a frightened quack before darting off towards the opposite bank. This commotion is what caused me to turn around and notice the curious pair walking towards me. Behind them, the old mansion stood, a great brown building with a vast multitude of windows which seemed to indicate there being more rooms than anyone could ever hope to need; certainly more than the three I had.
“Hello there,” the woman who would turn out to be Crow said with a smile, “Do you live here?”
“Yes,” I lied, “Well, no, but I might do soon.”
“And why’s that?” Crow asked.
“Well, I’m investigating the murder of my uncle so that I may claim my section of his will.”
“I didn’t know that old Charlesworth had a nephew.”
“He didn’t, well... I mean, he does, obviously,” I explained with such composure that I spoke incredibly quickly, “I was excommunicated by the family but old Maxy boy kept in touch with me every so often- I think I was his favourite.”
“I see,” Crow said, contemplating something, “So you knew Charlesworth well?”
“Yes.”
“You know about his business?”
“Yes.”
“You know why he employed us?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Interesting,” Crow nodded.
She turned swiftly to Kraken and communicated in a bizarre form of sign language with which they always communicated with. Kraken watched intently before using the same sign language to reply. They communicated like this for a short time before both turned their attention back to us.
“How much about us do you know?”
“Not a great deal,” I admitted, realising that this was probably a good time to tell something which vaguely resembled the truth.
“Would you like to know more?”
“I would.”
“Would this involve renewing Charlesworth’s contract?”
“I suppose it would.”
“Very well.”
Crow gestured at Kraken and he nodded. Slowly, the surprisingly tall, broad shouldered man reached into his trench coat and removed a long, silver whip from an internal pocket. With a flick of his wrist, the whip unfurled and trailed on the ground. The wind drifted through his slightly spiked, jet black hair. In one fluid movement, Kraken brought his arm up causing the whip to latch itself onto my neck immediately cutting off air to the rest of my body. My hands flew to my neck, clawing desperately at the piece of chord that suffocated me alarmingly swiftly. Darkness seeped into the world around me. The last thing I saw before the world dissolved was Crow watching me with boredom and Kraken gazing at me with the look that was always on his face.
Then I died.