Storm Strider

Minus the beating wings and the extra two arms jutting out their backs, the damselfly tribesmen were very much like Kuku and the crab children. The men only wore thatch shorts, the women wore loose-fitting reed dresses, and their tanned skin were blotched with intricate tattoos she couldn’t make heads or tails of from a distance. Each of them carried a blowgun with them, carved from dark wood with sharp, pointed ends, and they were designed with only one purpose in mind: to fire poison darts at unsuspecting girls trying to steal their prey.

… In that sense, maybe they weren’t so much like the crab children. With metallic masks over their faces and giant, hexagonal insect eyes boring holes into her from above, they looked far, far more terrifying than Kuku when she’d first met him.

[You know what to do at this point.]

[Loosen your wings and–]

She kicked off the giant carp as they jerked their blowguns up, firing a volley of darts at her. There was no warning, there was no attempt at communication; she slammed glaive-first against the side of the chasm and started skating up, speeding away from them as the Archive rambled off random numbers in her head.

[Going through database… locating Damselfly Oracle Tongue… automatic translation activated. If you wish–]

“Stop!” she shouted without looking behind her, throwing her arms up as she continued skating. “I ain’t here to steal your prey! I’m sorry! If you could point me to another giant carp you can spare for me, though, I promise I’ll entertain you with my speed and dance routines–”

In the blink of an eye, six of the tribesmen blurred in front of her, their beating wings a constant annoyance in her ears as they fired darts down at her.

[Evade!]

She kicked off the wall and backflipped, fanning her wings out in the same motion. The winds immediately jerked her to the right, and now she was gliding away from the grotto, away from the tribesmen; she winced as she wiped a streak of blood off her cheek and glanced behind her, scowling when she saw them flying after her at breakneck speed.

[It is not deadly poison, fortunately,] the Archive muttered, licking the wound on her face. [Avoid getting hit by any more of their darts and you should not be paralyzed. It is not their style to poison their prey to the point they themselves will get poisoned when they bite into you.]

Not their style? she hissed, slamming into a branch and leaping off it as the first of the damselflies caught up, his clawed insectoid feet smashing through the entire branch. What’s their deal, anyway? They’re fast! Almost faster than me, even!

[They are a known and documented tribe of cannibals who reside in the Dead Island Traits. The Hasharana believe they used to be normal tribesmen until they started consuming the Lesser Great Mutant damselfly’s carcass three decades ago, at which point they began mutating damselfly traits. For your reference, the crab children must have been eating crabs every single day since they were infants, too, but they did not have any visible crab traits because their ‘tolerance levels’ are much higher.]

What?

[You do not need a system to become stronger, right?] the Archive explained. [All the system does is allow you to control where your consumed biomass goes, but anyone can become stronger simply by consuming bugs. The Blackclaw Marauders looked like human crabs because they ate crabs without possessing systems. The Damselfly Oracles look like human damselflies because they ate damselflies without possessing systems. Some humans have higher tolerance levels, however—determined mostly by genetics and upbringing—and can maintain mostly human form while getting the strength increase from consuming bugs. The crab children, whose ancestors have been consuming crabs for a long time, are an example of–]

No! I ain’t talking about that! She snapped. So you’re saying it’s the Worm God’s fault I’m getting chased, then, for not properly cleaning the carcass up and letting these people eat the damselfly! The hell’s a damselfly, anyways?

The Archive made a description box pop up next to her face, and she gasped as she almost jumped headfirst into another slab of stone. She jerked her body down and swerved under it, her wings rippling at the abrupt change in direction; two of the pursuing tribesmen weren’t so quick to change, though, and slammed right into the slab with pained, ear-grating howls.

Don’t show me a status screen! Just tell me–

[Damselflies are like smaller, slimmer dragonflies, and they typically reside around aquatic habitats. Both have two pairs of wings, but the damselfly pairs are typically similar in size, compared to the dragonfly pairs where the hindwings are typically broader and more rigid than the forewings,] the Archive said curtly. [This means damselflies typically have a weaker, more fluttery pattern of flight compared to the strong flight capabilities of the dragonfly. They are less able to change directions sharply.]

Her mind raced to find a method she could throw them off her heels. So if I make sharp turns, they wouldn’t be able to follow me?

[Maybe. Dragonflies are the ‘fastest’ flyers of the Swarm, after all, so there is not much meaning in saying damselflies are their slower and weaker variations. They can still change directions faster than most winged insects. However, their peripheral vision, field of vision, and visual acuity are all weaker than that of the dragonfly, so make of that what you will.]

…

She was about to snap at the Archive when she spotted a waterfall sprouting from the side of the chasm in front of her, and she smelled a blood trail leading into the spring tunnel.

… And how good are they at navigating through the dark?

The Archive gave her an amused hum. [Not very good,] it said. [No insect can do everything well. In exchange for their powerful flight and highly refined visual senses, the damselflies have extremely tiny antennae that serve little to no olfactory function. Couple that with the fact that all damselflies are diurnal insects—‘daytime’ insects, in short—they would be almost completely blind and useless in the dark.

Then I’ve got an idea.

[I would tell you to refrain, but it is do or die.]

Forcing a smile onto her face, she jumped off the next piece of debris and charged straight for the mouth of the waterfall, a dozen damselflies following after her as she glided through the narrow opening.

Suddenly, all was dark around her. The spring tunnel was at most three metres tall and five metres wide, and the roaring torrent was so close beneath her that cold water could spray into her face, wetting her lips and revitalising her body. The whooshing sounds of gliding in open air turned into sharp whistles in the narrow tunnel, so she immediately slammed her glaives down on the water and began skating—she was a water strider, of course, and her specialty was on water.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and decided she wouldn’t open them until she reached the other side of the tunnel.

The bitter scent of blood trails would guide her through.

I owe you one, Catrina.

Gusts of wind whistled behind her as she skated through the tunnels, swirling through narrow passageways and turning deeper and deeper into the chasm. She hardly cared about skating slowly or treading lightly. Behind her, she heard shouts and screeches and tribesmen crashing into walls—their only compass being the incredibly thin light reflecting off her chitin glaives—so she vibrated her hydrofuge spines to make ripples shoot out in every single direction.

The ripples bouncing and echoing off the walls threw them off even harder, and she started chortling for a moment as she heard a whole bunch of them crashing each other—then she tripped over what felt like a thin stone bridge, and she would’ve fallen flat on her face if she hadn’t shot her wings out at the last moment to continue gliding, her tongue mere inches from the water surface.

[Focus.]

[You can smell the way out, but you cannot see anything on the way there.]

As she righted herself and began skating again, she gritted her teeth and opened her eyes, if only to catch the barest glimpses of light being reflected off her glaives. She still couldn’t see more than the occasional boulder in her way or a sudden dip in the ceiling she had to duck under, but not cracking her skull open from her sheer speed had to be good enough.

You know, maybe it ain’t a good idea to ignore perceptivity, huh?

[For speed-based insects like you? That is certainly true. While increasing your speed also increases your reaction time and mental agility, it means nothing if you cannot sense anything through environmental obscurants such as fogs, hazes, and simple darkness. I have not been nagging you to raise your perceptivity because you have not been skating in confined spaces where you must make constant sharp turns into unknown obstacles—you could kind of see everything from afar on the open seas—but please try to keep your speed level somewhat consistent with your perceptivity level from here on out.]

And what about dexterity? Should I be levelling that as well?

[As you are? Your current speed level is ten while your dexterity level is three, which is… acceptable. You are unusually competent at maintaining your balance even at incredibly high speeds, so until your speed level goes over twelve, you can still hold off on dexterity.]

[Of course, if you have the points to spare, do consider balancing out your attribute levels.]

She sensed there were twists and turns that’d take her deeper into the chasm, but she wasn’t trying to skate herself into a dead end. While it was surprising the damselflies were still somewhat able to follow her—they weren’t extremely powerful flyers for nothing, after all—they’d significantly slowed down, and they were probably decently injured from having been slamming into walls over and over. So she beelined straight for the end of the tunnel, following the strongest blood trail while she kept her eyes peeled for the smallest hint of sunlight.

… There!

The exit!

The whole way towards the exit where sunlight was a pure golden hole in the wall, she couldn’t stop herself from looking behind her. Four or five damselflies were still extremely hot on her heels, but their bodies were sagging, their wings weren’t beating consistently, and she couldn’t describe them in any way other than ‘drunk’. They flew like they were drunk.

And since their eyesight is way better than mine, they’ll probably be blind for about ten seconds after exiting the tunnels, right?

That’ll give me time to get out of their line of sight and glide back to the Harbour Guards.

I don’t want them following me back just in case they hurt Catrina.

Her pulse was racing in a painful staccato. She unfurled her wings and prepared to glide out. She pushed through the final stretch, skating as fast as she could, and the moment she burst out into the chasm on the opposite side of the island she’d just skated through—

She was met with the bloodshot eye of a giant white whale, a whole town of Marauders strapped to its back.

…

Her exit from the waterfall tunnel was a flashy one, her glaives reflecting bright sunlight in every direction. The Marauders on the floating whale’s back spotted her. The whale itself spotted her. There was only a brief, brief second where she soared peacefully over the wooden town on its back—and by the time she glided over to the other side of the whale, the Marauders were already banging their war drums, training their dozens upon dozens of cannons on her.

Oh, come on.

How unlucky is it that I–

The Marauders didn’t fire, though. A dozen damselfly tribesmen exploded out the tunnel after her and immediately changed targets, swooping down on the fourteen-armed men manning the cannons and loading their muskets. Shots fired into the air and shouting swelled; Marisol was allowed to fall under the floating whale with her back to the ground as she looked up at the fighting.

[What fortuitous timing,] the Archive said, sighing a breath of relief. [Go. Let them fight amongst themselves. You should be able to sneak away in the chaos–]

What’s going to happen to the tribesmen, though?

She glided into the side of the chasm and clung to the walls, looking up at the battle between the tribesmen and the Marauders with her brows furrowed.

The tribesmen weren’t winning, and not by a long shot. There were hundreds of Marauders equipped with Swarmsteel weapons and armour on that whale; the tribesmen’s poison darts were as ineffective as rubber balls against a metal wall, and the Marauders were starting to shoot nets into the sky, catching them right out of the air.

I wasn’t trying to… I wasn’t trying to kill them. I just wanted to throw them off.

[They would have eaten you if they had caught you. They are no different from the–]

It’s not like they fly outside this strait to raid ships and capture slaves and hurt other people, right?

From their perspective, I was the one who intruded on their territory.

[...]

The Archive sighed again and shook its head.

[You would make a good Hasharana.]

[Go.]

She nodded firmly back and kicked off the wall, gliding under and up the giant whale.

Now, she remembered all too well how powerful the Blackclaw Marauders were when she’d fought them unprepared, so she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could take on a hundred Whitewhale Marauders on their home territory like this. No. She’d do nothing of the sort. If she wanted to beat down the Marauders, she’d need the help of the Harbour Guards… and however many damselfly tribesmen she could tear away from the fight above.

If she could bring even one of them to safety, then she had to try.

That one!

Faster, Marisol!

More speed!

There was one damselfly tribesman still uncaptured by the countless nets and bullets the Marauders were shooting into the sky, so before the unmasked girl with one bleeding wing could get shot down as well, Marisol tackled her from below and dragged her up the chasm. The Marauders roared and fired after them, of course—a dozen cannonballs exploded around her as she skated up the wall—but somehow she managed to muster enough strength to drag both of them over the edge of the chasm, throwing them into a giant bone forest two hundred metres above water level.

Marisol let go of the damselfly girl as they tumbled into rolls, groaning with exhaustion. She didn’t know about the girl, but she’d overworked her wings far too much. She’d just learned how to glide less than an hour ago, and she was already swooping and swerving through cannonfire like she knew what she was doing; it was a damned miracle she still found the strength to stand and pick up the girl in her arms, skating straight into the forest of bones.

[Find cover, quick!]

She didn’t need the Archive to tell her that, but she just barely vaulted over a giant fish skull for cover as the Whitewhale Marauders rose after them. The damselfly girl tried to snap at her finger, but she managed to wrangle four arms with one as she clamped her other hand over the girl’s mouth, shushing at both of them to stay quiet—the giant whale was looming over the forest of bones, its gargantuan body casting a great shadow onto the top of the chasm as it swam in the air looking for them.

Marisol counted thirty seconds, cold beads of sweat dripping down her forehead, before the whale suddenly stopped fifty metres overhead in the centre of the forest.

A dozen anchors dropped from the wooden town, and she spotted fifty or so Marauders sliding down the chains.

… So persistent, that bunch.

Shit.

We gotta get back to the Harbour Guards–

“Get off me, plagas en mar!”

The girl bit her palm and made her wince, loosening her grip just enough for the girl to break out and slide across to the other side of the fish skull. Her immediate reaction was to throw her hands into the air and to keep them raised—her bleeding hand hurt like hell, but the girl was missing one of her wings, too, and breathing just as hard as she was.

They couldn’t be fighting each other now.

They had to work together.

“... Wait,” she breathed, smiling softly, only hoping her words were getting translated right. “‘Plagas en mar’… that’s what you tribesmen call the Marauders, right? I ain’t no Marauder. I’m with… uh, I’m with the people in that city right outside your strait. I’m not here to–”

“Lies!” the girl snarled, and her brilliant green irises flared with anger. “Mama told Hana! All outsiders plagas en mar! You, too—marred with no colour! You are danger! Something bad will happen to Whirlpool City if Hana let you go, so Hana must eat you!”

“...”

Marisol dropped her smile and narrowed her eyes, her face dark as a pond on a moonless night.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked in a low, quiet voice. “What… who are you–”

[It is rumoured that, because they are capable of flying so fast, the dragonflies and damselflies of the Swarm perceive time itself as moving slower than them,] the Archive said, a sliver of uncertainty in its voice. [The giant damselfly that used to reside here—the Lesser Great Mutant—was rumoured to be able to see the future because of how fast it was, but now the same rumours swirl around the cannibals who live in the Dead Island Straits, whose ancestors consumed that damselfly’s flesh three decades ago.]

[That is why they are called the Damselfly Oracles; tribesmen rumoured to have the ability of precognition.]