#and truly invisible on all skin tones. It claps back at dehydration

[empresskatariah]

Prologue

Fomorians were sea-folk, though they hadn’t always been, and those that took to land were often weakened by the absence of water. There was enough of their previous form left to give them proper legs and a means of breathing, but not even their tremendous reserves of magic could keep their skins from drying out. Containing one was simply a matter of waiting until dehydration set in and slowed it up.

But tonight the stars were hidden behind a thick layer of clouds that kept dumping torrents of rain. The air was heavy and humid, dank with the stench of wet asphalt that had been dry for too long. Oz surveyed the cityscape from his perch atop a high-rise for some bank or another, one hand stuffed in the pocket of his raincoat while the other held onto a small radio. His slitted pupils dilated as he scanned the streets for any sign of activity, then narrowed slightly as the radio crackled.

“Do you see anything?” came the query, a masculine but youthful tone.

“Nah. Sky’s still pissin’. Don’t bode well if it’s the Fomoire about.”

Oz’s voice was a stark contrast to the one from the radio. He spoke quietly but gruffly, with the barest hint of a lilting Scots’ brogue. Baritone with a growl, someone had said once; Oz didn’t disagree with that assessment.

“You never know, maybe it’s just another Kelpie and someone overreacted. It wouldn’t be the first time. I mean, how many years has it been since one of the Deep Ones came ashore?”

Oz’s face scrunched into a scowl and he opened his mouth to retort, but then his jaw clicked shut without a word. It was moments like this one that made him feel tired, or perhaps old was a better word for it.

“Three decades, give or take a couple years. Doesn’t feel that long to me, though.”

“Cheer up, old man.” A laugh came through the speaker. “Odds are we get to finish up here soon and then we’ll go to Waffle House, my treat.”

Oz’s eyes widened. Suddenly the promise of Waffle House shone like a flaming beacon in the midst of this dismal murk, beckoning him onward. He leaned forward, peering out at the desolate vista with renewed interest.

“Better be ready to pay dearly, then,” he said slyly, one corner of his mouth pulling upward in a toothy grin, “because I haven’t had waffles in–”

A scream cut him off. It was a man’s shriek of terror, a raw and desperate sound that cut through the muggy air like a knife. As if on cue, lightning lit up the sky and a clap of thunder followed merely half a second behind.

“What was that?” the radio demanded.

“I’m on it,” Oz grunted, stuffing the radio into his pocket as he lunged.

The ground was many stories down, at least twenty floors, but Oz hurled himself over the edge with no hesitation. For a moment he was flying, in the next he was falling – he plummeted carelessly as the air roared past him, his raincoat flapping noisily as he went.

He closed his eyes. Wondered how big of a splat he’d make if he just stayed like this and hit the ground. Wondered how long it would take to come back from a mess like that.

I always land on my feet, he thought absently, and dissipated into a cloud of black smoke.

When he reformed he was standing where he’d envisioned going splat, on a curb surrounded by loose litter and dead leaves. A large plastic bag full of waste lay nearby with several stray cats helping themselves to its contents. When Oz passed them by they stared at him, heads turning in unison as their eyes tracked him.

“It’s the King,” one of them murmured in cat-speech, amazed.

“Not anymore,” Oz growled, continuing on his way without pause.

He was glad for the lack of human presence on a night like this. It meant he could move faster than any human should without attracting unwanted attention. A man of his appearance had no business sprinting up Seventh Street at the speed of a cruising car, and yet he did so with ease. When he came to a large puddle he cleared it in a single leap, never losing his balance for an instant.

It should be around here, I know I heard it coming from this direction…

He skidded to a halt as another scream sounded. It echoed from the dark recess of a nearby alleyway, where a single electric light flickered intermittently. Immediately Oz felt an oppressive aura emanating from the shadows, a force of sheer wrongness permeating the rainy haze and causing his skin to prickle into gooseflesh. He only realized he was clenching his teeth when his jaw began to ache. Slowly, carefully he took the radio from his pocket and pressed the button.

“I know this stench,” he said quietly. “It’s one of Them. Put everyone on high alert.”

“A Deep One? A real Fomorian?” Oz could tell his comrade was truly afraid. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Aye.” Oz drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a weary sigh. “Listen. Perce. You’re a good kid. A brave one. But I’m tellin’ you, you need to sit this one out. Let me handle it. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you and believe me, you’re better off stayin’ where you are.”

“Like hell I am,” Percy scoffed. “I’m your handler, Oz. You’re my responsibility. As if I’d just let you face something like that on your own. I’m coming and I’m bringing backup, all right? You just wait for–”

Oz turned the radio off. Tossed it aside. It skittered over the pavement and clanged against a metal trash can.

“Backup,” he spat, shaking his head as if the notion was ludicrous. “Guess I’m to hurry, then.”

Advancing into the alley was like pushing through a series of disgusting membranes. It was completely invisible, even to fey sight, but Oz could feel the presence trying to ward him off with a field of pure thought meant to dredge up his every fear. To a human it might have been overwhelming, perhaps enough to induce insanity, but to Oz it was an annoyance.

The closer he got, however, the worse it became. When he looked down at his hands he was greeted with the illusion of being covered in a horde of slimy things that pulsed and quivered like disembodied intestines. When he breathed it felt like swallowing bile. His sanity remained intact, his intellect coolly refuting the falsehoods, but it was still monumentally unpleasant.

So distracted was he by the psychic onslaught that he failed to realize he had found the crime scene until his foot stepped on something soft instead of pavement. When he looked down he saw a hand. Just a hand. The blood leaking out of its stump of a wrist was still fresh.

“Oh,” he said aloud, and dared to lift his gaze.

The sight that assaulted him was something not meant to exist. It was a creature whose composition had been dictated by mankind’s fear of the unknown, specifically man’s fear of what lay hidden beneath the ocean. It was vaguely humanoid but obscenely inhuman, a conglomeration of gills and eyes and tentacles that inflicted itself upon reality with malevolent iron will.

It was a Fomorian. And it was still eating what appeared to be a homeless man.

Oz considered his options. Ending this quickly meant going all-out, but going all-out meant his compatriots would have… difficulties dealing with the aftermath. The rain was still falling in copious amounts, meaning this beast wouldn’t run out of hydration anytime soon. It would be a long and ultimately costly fight that would likely decimate this part of the city.

You are afraid to give in to your true nature?

Oz hissed and covered his ears with his hands, though he knew it was a futile gesture. The question had been projected directly into his mind.

“I’m not afraid,” he snapped, unwilling to give the Fomorian the satisfaction of conversing as it wished to. “I’m just pissed off. Why are you here? There’s nothin’ for you here on land.”

I could say the same for you, the entity replied. Its tone was flat and emotionless, much like the text-to-speech voices human devices produced. Why do you continue to play human, Irusan?

“Don’t call me that,” Oz snarled. “It’s complicated. And you’re avoidin’ the question. Why. Are. You. Here?”

He awakens soon. No longer will we be imprisoned Below in the ruined depths of Atlantis. We shall walk the Earth again as we did in the days of mighty Balor. We shall shed these cursed forms and reclaim our land from the Usurpers.

At the mention of Balor Oz’s glare deepened and he clenched his hands into fists. Tufts of black fur were beginning to emerge from beneath his sleeves. As he bared his teeth at the enemy, he could feel that his canines had elongated.

“Fuck Balor,” he declared, “and fuck you. I’m giving you one chance to go crawlin’ back into the depths and that’s it. One. Or I’ll tear you apart and turn you into pâté.”

The Deep One tossed aside what was left of its dinner and regarded Oz with what could be presumed as contempt, since its features were unsuited for expressing emotion. It was a smaller variant compared to others of its kind, but it still filled the entire alleyway and towered at least two stories.

You should be our ally, it complained. Your behavior is illogical.

“I’ve never been much good at doing what’s expected of me,” Oz growled, stooping down like a coiled spring ready to unleash, sharp claws emerging from the tips of his gloves.

“OZ!”

A shot rang out and the Fomorian recoiled as it was struck by an iron bullet. Vile vapors billowed from the wound and it loosed a psychic scream that brought Oz to his knees. He could hear cries of anguish behind him as the human personnel who had come to aid him were assailed by mental violence they had no way of fighting against. Despite his own pain, he managed to turn and saw Percy still upright, albeit on one knee.

“Percy, you fool,” he managed.

The man whose face was still that of a boy scowled and raised his handgun. Blood was trickling from his nose and ears but he stubbornly persisted, firing off another shot at the eldritch being.

“I called for more backup,” Percy yelled, his teeth stained red. “I told them to bring everyone. I–”

His eyes bulged and rolled up, showing only their whites, as his body began to tremble. The hand holding his gun swayed left, then right, then planted the weapon’s barrel firmly against Percy’s temple.

Human puppet, the Deep One rumbled. Die.

Oz reached out toward Percy, fingers spreading in vain as Percy’s life ended in a bang and a spray of red mist.

A memory flashed through Oz’s mind unbidden, a crystal-clear remembrance of the day they had first shaken hands.

Hi, I’m Percival Ainsley. You must be Oz! I’ve heard so much about you. I think we’ll work well together, you and I.

As he watched the young man’s body crumple to the ground, Oz felt the last tether that had been holding him back snap.

“I’ll kill you,” he bellowed, his voice deepening into a roar as he turned to face the enemy. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill...”

The sound of meat being skewered cut him off. The realization didn’t set in until Oz’s eyes followed the tentacles that had extended into his own torso, one shoved directly beneath his heart while the other had stabbed through his right side. The pain was oddly distant, save the immediate annoyance of his left lung collapsing.

“Kill you,” he wheezed, grabbing hold of one protrusion with both hands. It was strong but so was he; rage fueled him as he twisted the tentacle in an effort to remove it.

You have become weak, the Fomorian noted dispassionately. And with that it lifted him and slammed him into a brick wall with enough force to break through, sending up a cloud of dust as debris scattered.

The next few minutes seemed to last for hours. Oz slowly became aware of many things: the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, the pain of several broken ribs, a burning sensation that might be a punctured organ or two, and the fact that his right arm had become completely dislocated. His head felt wrong, as if his skull had cracked open like a walnut’s shell. Instead of getting to his feet as he wished to do, he could only struggle as his body refused to do more than thrash around feebly. A killing rage still burned in his chest, but it burned in vain.

“Dammit,” he swore, coughing violently. “Damn you.”

He’d been too slow. Too indecisive. Too willing to give a monster a chance to stand down, too attached to old allegiances that meant nothing now…

Percy. Lad. I’m sorry.

His left hand reached out, trembling, but grasped nothing. Then it fell and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Sounds of battle drifted to him from what seemed a far distance, though he knew they were mere meters away. Reinforcements had arrived. Oz had no doubt they would be able to kill the Fomorian, or at least harass it until it decided to flee back to the sea. But he could no longer muster the energy to care about victory or defeat. Simply breathing was a Herculean labor now.

Not again. Not again...

His last thought, as his heart ceased to beat and one last breath passed through his lips, was of waffles.

[glenmenlow]

Rihanna launches Fenty Skin in partnership with Kendo Brands

“Fenty Skin is my vision of the new culture of skincare – I wanted to create amazing products that really work, that are easy to use, and everyone can apply it.” – Rihanna

Rihanna, in partnership with Kendo Brands, an LVMH-owned beauty developer, introduces her second global beauty brand, Fenty Skin, following the game-changing 2017 Fenty Beauty launch.

Rihanna’s much-anticipated skincare brand is the culmination of her global experiences, personal skincare journey, and unwavering mission to provide simple solutions for all skin tones and types. As a result, Fenty Skin delivers clean, value-packed, multitasking products that work seamlessly with makeup and respect the planet with earth-conscious packaging and formulas.

After years of feeling overwhelmed by all the skincare choices and a bad experience with a product that discoloured her skin as a teen, Rihanna dreamed of creating a line that was easy and effective.

Now, she’s created an approachable skincare brand built on years of unparalleled experience, access and education, representing everything she wished she had known when she was younger. With Fenty Skin, Rihanna shares her real-life routine for achieving a bright, healthy-looking complexion. Known together as the “Fenty Skin Start’rs”, her regimen includes three 2-in-1 products:

Total Cleans’r Remove-It-All Cleanser, a makeup remover-cleanser with a creamy lather to remove dirt, oil, and long-wear makeup without drying out the skin, a game-changing toner-serum hybrid that targets pores, improves the look of dark spots, brightens, smooths, and fights shine—all without stripping skin, and a moisturiser-sunscreen that’s lightweight, oil-free, and truly invisible on all skin tones with its subtle pink hue. It claps back at dehydration, discolouration, and dark spots, and is makeup-friendly – no pilling or flashback. Plus, it’s refillable.

Fenty Skin features clean, vegan, gluten-free and oil-free formulas, and combines globally sourced ingredients, like vitamin C-rich Barbados cherry, with gold standard skincare ingredients, like hyaluronic acid and niacinamide.

Rihanna wanted Fenty Skin to be a complete sensorial experience, so the products feature warm, tropical scents inspired by their ingredients like Barbados cherry, coconut, and fresh desert melon. Making sure everyone could use it and see visible results were essential to Rihanna, so every Fenty Skin product was tested on all skin tones, textures, and types.

Fenty Skin’s packaging is sleek, modern and earth-conscious. The brand has eliminated boxes where possible, incorporated post-consumer recycled materials, and created refill systems where feasible.

Rihanna also welcomes skincare expert and licensed esthetician, Sean Garrette, as Fenty Skin Ambassador.

The article Rihanna launches Fenty Skin in partnership with Kendo Brands appeared first on World Branding Forum.

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