Storm Strider

Chasing down five orange crabs and then roasting them over the Harbour Guards’ dying bonfire took just a little under twenty-five minutes, and by the time Marisol finished stuffing her face, the ground rumbled again.

Bioluminescent bluish-pinkish light flickered around her, and she immediately skated back around the ship, jumping onto the hull to face off against the distant wall of water. It was fifty metres tall and imposing as ever, sweeping in fast enough to completely demolish the Harbour Guard’s ship in a single blow—there was no getting around it. It had to be stopped here and now.

Thankfully, the Harbour Guards had shown her how to protect herself before passing out themselves.

How many points do I have, Archive?

[Sixty-eight.]

And what are my attribute levels again?

[// STATUS]

[Name: Marisol Vellamira]

[Class: Water Strider]

[BloodVolume: 4.8/5.1 (94%), Strain: 132/632 (21%)]

[Unallocated Points: 68]

[Strength: 4, Speed: 6 (+2), Dexterity: 3, Toughness: 6 (+1), Perceptivity: 3, Strain Limit: 632]

[// MUTATION TREE]

[T1 Core Mutation | Striding Glaives]

{T1 Branch Mutation | ???}

[T2 Core Mutations | Ripple Sensors | Hydrofuge Spines]

{T2 Branch Mutations | Ripple Returner | ???}

[T3 Core Mutations | Preapical Claws | Gliding Wings | Segmented Setae] 150P

{T3 Branch Mutations | ??? | ??? | ???}

[// UNIQUE SWARMSTEEL LIST]

[Ghost Crab Scarf (Quality = D)(Spd +2/2)(Tou + 1/1)(Strain +76)]

The first change she noticed was her ghost crab scarf—she was now getting an additional level in speed and toughness, meaning her body had gotten completely used to it and was drawing out its fullest potential. The additional speed was nice to have, but the toughness would definitely come in handy for what was about to go down.

I don’t have enough points for a tier three core mutation, huh? she mumbled, chewing her lips as the wave of water moved in, two hundred and fifty metres until contact.

[None of the tier three core mutations would prove useful in this scenario. It is fine even if you cannot afford any of them.]

And there ain't no point saving up for them if I can’t even survive what’s to come, she thought, making up her mind. Raise my base toughness level to seven, then. That should put me at… eight times as tough as the average human, right?

[Toughness: 6 (+1) → 7 (+1)]

[Unallocated Points: 68 → 32]

[That was how I explained it to you back then, yes, but in actuality, it is a bit more complicated than that,] the Archive said. [While your toughness level may be at eight currently, what, exactly, is the measurement of ‘toughness’? The hardness of your skin? The rigidity of your muscles? Going down this path of thought, what, exactly, is the measurement of ‘strength’ and ‘speed’? Is it your muscle density or something else?]

Well, I assume the geniuses who designed you have the answer–

[The only satisfactory answer is: there are a lot of factors that play into the measurement of a human’s base attributes, and typically, we only say someone is twice as powerful as an average human when all of their basic attributes—excluding strain limit—are at level two. By extension, someone is only eight times as powerful as an average human when all of their basic attributes are at level eight,] the Archive explained. [In your case, you have four levels in strength, eight levels in speed and toughness, and three levels in dexterity and perceptivity. Considering your strain limit is also less than a hundred times your highest attribute level, which is eight… you are only ‘about’ as powerful as five average humans. You must raise your strength, dexterity, and perceptivity levels to eight as well if you want to be as powerful as eight average humans.]

She blinked at the little water strider on her shoulder, all the numbers and calculations going through one ear and exiting through the other.

… Okay. That kinda makes sense, I guess, she thought. Mama always said humans are made to be ‘balanced’ creatures. If all you have is incredible muscle mass for strength but no dexterity whatsoever, can you really say you can do the work of two people? Or if you can run three times as fast as the other kids in the town, but your skin gets chafed by the sand because of how fast you’re running and how not-tough you are, can you really say you’re capable of running three times as fast as everyone else without constantly being afraid of hurting yourself?

[Well, my explanation is more physiologically orientated, but as long as you understand the principle, I can meet you halfway there.]

But that ‘as powerful as five people’ measurement is still just an estimation on your part, right? I have thirty-two points left, but I don’t see how increasing dexterity and perceptivity now would help–

[You are correct. It would not help right now,] the Archive interrupted. [There have been cases of extremely stubborn Hasharana who focused only on increasing one or two types of attribute, leading to curious scenarios where their skin and bones were technically as ‘tough’ as brick walls, but because they lacked the muscle density that ‘strength’ provides, they were nearly unable to move. Especially for the attributes of strength, speed, and toughness, it is generally recommended that you do not leave any one of them too far behind.] Then it looked up at her pointedly, beady eyes squinting at her. [Especially for those with insect classes naturally inclined for speed. Please do not tunnel-vision on the speed attribute. Dexterity will help you control your speed, and perceptivity will allow you to see walls coming before you run into them.]

… Um.

Okay.

But, in this scenario, I can literally see that wall coming at me–

[Yes, yes, in this scenario. Now prepare yourself.]

[This will be the toughest obstacle you have faced thus far.]

…

Marisol nodded and faced the wall of water head-on, parting her lips slowly.

Air rushed into her lungs, filling her completely. A surge of strength flowed through her bones. Standing on the sideways hull with the Harbour Guards sleeping peacefully below and behind her, she exhaled coolly and dragged one glaive behind the other gracefully—she had one chance to make this work.

You can read my memories, can’t you?

Do that again.

Put her in front of me.

The Archive obliged, and the shadow of her mama shimmered into existence in front of her, standing proud and strong with both hands crossed in front of her.

A hundred metres, fifty metres, twenty metres—the wall of water loomed over her, threatening to smash and grind her bones into dust.

… I remember the day I first saw my mama dancing in a sandstorm.

I was ten years old back then, and though it was in the middle of the day, the sandstorm had plunged our little desert town into complete darkness. You could barely see sunlight filtering through the storm, but mama dragged me out there, onto the edge of a dune, and told me to watch.

Sand blew through my scarf and dried up my mouth, but I remember shouting at her, telling her we should go home. Men have died much worse for much less—it was suicide trying to sand-dance in the middle of the storm.

Mama laughed at me and told me to watch, though.

So she shrugged me off, raised a knee, and when the dust devil swerved in towards her as though it had a grudge against her, the manifestation of the desert’s will—she launched, spun in place, and kicked the devil away with the tip of her toes.

Just like that.

The rest of the storm still churned around us, but for that one, singular moment where her feet touched the will of the desert itself… it was like I’d stepped foot in another world where ‘miracles’ can be made.

It was a gamble. The Archive had said as much. She vibrated the tiny hydrofuge spines on her glaives, launched into the air, spun three turns in place, and right as the massive wall of water reached her—she kicked it with the very, very tip of her glaive, sending out a ripple powerful enough to redirect the first 'layer' of water around the ends of the ship.

It worked.

Ripple returner and hydrofuge spines combined made it possible, but if there were fifty ‘layers’ to the fifty-metre thick wall of water, she’d have to kick it fifty times consecutively—each ripple as strong as the last, as fast spreading as the last. But it worked, and that was all that mattered right now.

There was a half-second pause between the first layer of water redirecting around the ship and the second layer of water heading straight in, so she spun one more time, kicking one more time; she successfully redirected the second layer away as well.

That was the day I decided to take sand-dancing seriously, Archive.

A pained smile forced its way onto her face as she spun over and over again, stars swirling in her eyes, each and every last one of her kicks hitting the exact same spot on the wall of water. The torrent in her ears was deafening, the roar and groan of the ship being nudged back a single inch every second physically hurt her head, but the fight was exhilarating. The focus she needed to kick the exact same spot each time, the toughness she needed to resist the imminent muscle cramp in her legs, and the sheer speed she needed to maintain lest she spun herself off balance—was this not what she started sand-dancing for?

It may have been simple admiration at first, I’ll admit, but damned if people tell me sand-dancing isn’t something ‘normal’ people like to do.

You live and dance on the very edge of your life, and that is fun, Archive! I don't need more justification than that to do what I do!

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. The layers of water she kicked and redirected to the side seemed neverending, like peeling an onion still growing on the ground, but she could hold on. Cold water may splatter hard into her face, her thighs may be growing numb from the sheer exertion, and her glaives may snap off her knees after all was said and done, but this was sand-dancing: graceful and powerful, dangerous and fun–

And beyond satisfying.

She saw the light at the end of the wave, and the final layer of water smashed into her body as she suddenly lost all strength. The water knocked her off her glaives and onto her back, spine slamming against the hull, but then—fresh air.

Bright, bioluminescent light.

The deafening torrent in her ears moved away, washing deeper into the remipede, and every muscle in her body that could cramp, did. She immediately tensed and cried out in pain, biting her tongue so hard it bled, her body hurting in places she didn’t even know could hurt… but she also didn’t know she could laugh this hard, rolling left and right on the hull as she cackled and cried in equal parts.

… Haha!

I lived?

I lived!

Archiveeeeeee! I fucking did it–

Even her neck muscles cramped and she winced, convulsing on the hull for a few long, drawn-out seconds. Somehow she still managed to chortle; somehow she still managed to cry tears of joy.

I… holy shit.

I need water.

So much… salt… in my mouth–

[T2 Branch Mutation Unlocked: Filtrating Gills]

[Brief Description: You have tiny slits on your cheeks and necks that function as gills. You can now breathe underwater for upwards of thirty minutes. Furthermore, your hydrofuge spines can now filter any impurities in the water you intake]

Her status popped up next to her head while she was laying flat on her back, breathing heavily.

… What?

[It appears you have met the conditions for unlocking the other tier two branch mutation,] the Archive murmured. [To sum, you are now able to drink any type of water, and you also have small gills on your face and neck that allows you to breathe underwater for around thirty minutes, give or take depending on your strain limit.]

I have gills on my… what?

Fumbling, she slapped her fingers over her face and felt there were extremely thin slits over her cheeks—two on each side, and then two more on each side of her neck as though someone had scarred her with a knife.

If only she had a mirror to see whether they were pretty or not.

What a convenient branch mutation, though!

And now I can drink saltwater, no problem?

[No problem. Give it a try.]

She immediately licked her lips, swallowing as much saltwater in one go as humanly possible, and… her eyes lit up. The water was still salty on her tongue, yes, but it didn’t feel salty as it went down her throat. It felt like she just took a swig of clear well water from her desert town.

This is great!

I’ve got this, Archive!

With this, I–

[The next wave will arrive in approximately twenty-eight minutes,] the Archive said plainly, though she swore it sounded like it was actually very impressed with her. [Please use this time to catch more crabs, grow stronger, and tough out the next wave. There is no telling how long you can dance until you die.]

She snorted, cackling and groaning as she forced herself to sit up straight.

Come on.

Dance until I die?

That ain’t right, Archive.

I’ll dance until I win.

… The Harbour Guards woke up groggily, all of them rubbing the back of their heads in sync.

Captain Enrique himself had slept sitting upright on a wooden beam, and he was quite sure he’d watched the bonfire in front of him go out before he went to sleep. He was also quite sure he was the last to fall asleep, so, naturally, he was very befuddled as he looked around him with bleary eyes.

Fleshy walls… acid under my boots… my sideways ship behind me…

Ain’t I dead already?

The hell am I still alive for?

Clenching his jaw and looking around at his men, he was sure they were just as confused as to why they were still alive. The giant bug swallowed massive, unavoidable walls of water every thirty minutes, and they were consistent throughout the ten days they’d been stuck in here—he glanced down at the pocket watch in his hand and saw he’d been asleep for ten hours. They’d all been asleep for ten hours, which meant they hadn’t been consciously vibrating their laminate spines to repel the walls of water… so how were they still alive?

What sort of miracle intervened to keep them alive in this hellhole?

“Captain,” one of his men croaked, pointing above him. “Look.”

The rest of his men were staring dumbfoundedly at the ship behind him, too, so he turned and looked, rubbing his eyes as he did.

And there, standing above him on the hull of the sideways ship, was the shadow of a bug-slayer with an obtrusively bright pink scarf trailing behind her, billowing in the winds like a serpent’s tail.

"..."

But she was no bug-slayer, and that was no tail. The moment she heard them waking up in a shuffle, she turned and waved down at them, a pearly smile greeting them a good morning, and then—the plank of wood she was standing on snapped. Again. She plummeted ten metres down with a scream, and Enrique had never moved as fast before. He darted out of his seat and caught her before she could impale herself on anything sharp, the rest of his men immediately kicking off their beds to surround the two of them.

Enrique immediately kicked his men to the side and barked at them to make the girl a makeshift bed on a plank of wood, and then he lay her down on it, fumbling inside his trousers for anything she could drink. Anything she could chew on for energy. Seeing his and the rest of his men’s desperation, the girl laughed and wiped tears from the corner of her eyes; it was like it didn’t even matter to her that her whole body was twitching and shuddering uncontrollably.

“... Ye have a water-repelling mutation, too?” Enrique whispered, gripping his hands into fists.

The girl nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“And… how long?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she muttered, her black-rimmed eyes rolling around as she thought. “Maybe… ah. Archive said ten hours. That’s… uhh, Archive, do the math for– ah, that’s twenty waves I kicked away.”

His men grimaced and lowered their gaze, breaking eye contact with her. Enrique remained silent, though, and his face was dark as a forest on a windless night; guilt gripped at his heart and wouldn’t let go.

“Why?” he asked. “For a bunch of ants like us… ye kicked twenty waves off for us? For what? So we could live a little longer and suffer a little longer–”

“You wear the same necklace as that pregnant lady I saw up on the surface, right before I was swallowed,” the girl mumbled, almost in a daze, and he immediately stiffened; so did the rest of his men. “She’s… one of you guys, right? Come to think of it, she did mention a captain or something… before I kicked her off on a rowboat. You know her, guys?”

Enrique gripped the girl’s hand with both of his, staring deep into her eyes.

“Ye saw my daughter?”

“Oh. That’s your daughter? Aye, she’s fine… probably. I gave her lots of food before kicking her out of the fog,” the girl said, shrugging casually. “Also, I dunno… uhh, I dunno where you got the idea that I kicked off the waves for you, you drunk bastards.”

“...”

“I fear dying here… and my mama dying back home, in that little desert town,” she whispered, winking at him as her breaths slowed. “I’m gonna make it to the Whirlpool City, you’re all gonna help me with this plan I’ve got by fixing your goddamned ship—and that’s all there is to it.”

Then, the girl was out like a bulb. No amount of staring or poking at her cheeks could nudge her awake, and, for his part… Enrique didn’t want to wake her up.

She’d done enough for them.

And if she wasn’t lying—if she had seen his daughter on the surface—then he’d be the first to swear off mushroom wine for the rest of his life if it meant he could see the sun again.

“... Well,” he drawled, tilting his head back to glare at his men; they responded in kind, their Harbour Guards’ spirit still burning bright and strong. “I guess now we’ve got a whole-ass warship to fix, eh?”