Despite Gillow’s promise, the first day passes without incident. It’s impossible to tell time down here, so I use my Core Bond spell’s beaded bracelet to track the days. The beads slowly dim over the course of a full day, so I know by the time one bead is halfway dimmed it’s about night, and when it’s all the way out, the next day has begun—more or less. And speaking of beads, I’m down to my last two. To pass the time, I draw a circle in the barracks—despite heated objections from Gillow—and get Zyneth to help me power my Core Bond spell back up. Between his mana and mine, we’re able to light thirteen beads. More than enough time to make it to Emrox; and of course, the plan is for it to only be a one-way trip.
I glance over at Zyneth, sleeping in his cot. Gillow’s still in the control room; they suggested we get some rest in shifts, and I wasn’t going to be the one to let them know I can’t sleep. Better to keep an eye out for any of their antics. Seeing Zyneth like this, though, is fracturing my resolve. Am I really going to leave him behind? Never see Noli again? Or Rezira and Attiru? The few months I’ve spent here have been surreal to say the least, but all the friends I’ve made—all the interactions we’ve shared—feel more real than anything I had back on Earth. Or maybe shared trauma just does that to you.
I shake my head. I don’t have a choice. I need to make sure the predator never has a chance to hurt anyone else again. If all else fails, I’ll trap it down here at the bottom of the ocean.
Of course, with us out of the picture, that means Zyneth will be left alone with Gillow. We’re going to need to figure out what to do about them soon.
Wearily, I pull out the Spell Scroll, as Zyneth and I have been calling it. It was his idea, actually, suggested during our Try-Not-To-Get-Killed-By-Gillow supply run. Given the number of spells I know that require spell circles, he thought it best I start drawing some of them out in advance—at least the ones small enough to fit on a roll of paper. Then, when I need one, I’ll be able to infuse it with my null arcana to activate the spell, similar to how the circles on Zyneth’s blades or my long coat are already pre-drawn and ready to activate. In our down time, Zyneth and I have each been adding spells to the scroll. I add the Location spell now.
But even this way to pass the time isn’t able to fill all the hours of my sleepless night. Back in the market, with the cash left over after I’d bought Zyneth’s sheaths, I’d found and picked up a book about Common Sign. I don’t know why I did—it must have been some impulse. But practicing the language helps keep me busy, and it feels good to be doing something productive (trying not to think about how I may never see Noli again, how these signs will be useless on Earth). How can being closer to getting my body back now more than ever simultaneously fill me with such relief and loneliness?
After a few hours of spell circle transcribing and sign practice, I allow myself a break, searching for something else to shake up the mundanity of sleepless nights. Checking my stats out of pure boredom, I suddenly recall something Echo had mentioned to me two days before.
Echo. You said there were other stats I’m not seeing.
[Affirmative,] Echo says.
I pause for a moment, but she leaves it at that. Well? I push. What are they? Are any important?
[Importance is a subjective descriptor and cannot be identified by this unit,] Echo says.
I sigh. Okay, well, how many are there?
[There are 1,426,712 identified statistics to date, though that number may increase if a new relevant quantifiable attribute is identified. However,] she adds, before I can have a heart attack over the numbers, [the vast majority of stats are redundant or even indistinguishable on an individual basis. Most users are specialized in ten or fewer statistics.]
Hm. So this “game” system is a lot more granular than I originally thought.
What are my ten highest stats? I ask.
[Obstinance: 98]
[Creativity: 91]
[Kinesthesia: 86]
[Parallel Processing: 82]
[Empathy: 79]
[Mana: 75]
[Charisma: 69]
[Intelligence: 64]
[Curiosity: 52]
[Wisdom: 41]
What? These aren’t stats. I mean, some of them are. Obstinance? I ask Echo. Empathy?
[Magical, physical, mental, and emotional qualities are all included in a user’s statistics,] Echo says.
But that doesn’t make sense, I say. You can’t level up your Curiosity. Can you?
[While some variables may change over time and with concerted effort, others tend to be static. Often the stats increase rapidly as the individual mentally develops, and then tends to plateau at adulthood. Within the System, stats can further be boosted depending on the user’s class and specialties.]
Now that Echo mentions it, my HP has been static this whole time, while my Mana has steadily been creeping up.
I look over my top ten stats again. On the whole, not bad, I think. Creative? Charismatic? Look, it even says I’m wise. I am not sure if I should be flattered or offended by that high obstinance stat, though.
Curious, I check Zyneth as well.
[Mana: 640]
[HP: 150]
[Stealth: 105]
[Dexterity: 92]
[Speed: 87]
[Curiosity: 85]
[Strength: 84]
[Charisma: 75]
[Wisdom: 74]
[Empathy: 73]
Suddenly my stats don’t feel so impressive anymore. At least my Intelligence is higher. No, wait, he could still have higher intelligence—it just doesn’t fit into his top ten. I almost Check to make sure, then stop myself when I fear I wouldn’t like the answer.
Ultimately, I decide to keep my default stat display mostly the same. I nix the Species and Void % displays, since they’re useless to me. But now at least I’m aware of other things I could be checking when I meet someone new. This opens up some interesting options.
After a time, I hear Gillow’s footsteps ringing down the hall. They throw open the door to our room with a tactful bang, causing Zyneth to jump out of his cot.
“Rise and shine, you two! Oh.” They look at me. “You’re already up. Well, that’s fine, I guess. Come on, I need at least one of you on the deck while I take my nap.”
Zyneth winces, rubbing a finger in his ear. “Was that entirely necessary?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gillow says.
“Should someone be steering the ship?” I ask.
“Well it certainly won’t be either of you,” Gillow says, offended. “The Prismatic’s set to autopilot for now. And she’ll stay that way while I’m on break. I just need you guys up front to watch for anything interesting.”
“Interesting?” I repeat.
“Don’t sound so excited.” They smile wickedly.
Zyneth finishes rubbing the sleep from his eyes and cracking every other joint in his body. “Alright then. What is it we should do?”
Gillow’s grin quickly falls into a bored look as they turn to Zyneth. “Oh, just crew the deck while I’m out. You’re not getting a lesson—there’s practically nothing to do, and I don’t want you touching anything. Besides, we’re not far enough out yet for—”
The ship abruptly lists to the side. I stumble forward and Zyneth catches me before I fall face-first into the opposite wall.
“Thanks,” I say, clutching his arm for balance as I stand back up. “What was—”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The ship crashes back in the other direction, as if struck by a battering ram. All three of us tumble toward the other wall, and this time I do hit it, shoulder first.
[8 points of Bludgeoning Damage sustained.]
Gillow is the first to spring to their feet, dashing back to the control room. Zyneth starts after, then stops to turn back and help me up.
“I’m fine,” I say, waving him off as I stagger to my feet. “Go!”
He turns and runs off without argument. I roll my shoulder, throbbing with pain along new fracture lines. I start to Sculpt it back into place as I stumble down the slanted hall. The void swirls around my injured shoulder; some of it had cushioned the blow, reacting faster than I had even been able to register, but clearly not enough to stop the injury entirely. I cast a mental glance in the predator’s direction, who is alert and watching through my eyes with great interest, but so far it hasn’t made a move to seize the void or my mind while I’ve been distracted. Hopefully, it stays that way.
By the time I make it to the bridge, Gillow is already strapped into their seat at the main controls, shouting orders at Zyneth. He’s in one of the extra seats, accessing a spell circle built into the armrest.
“You too, Homunculus,” Gillow snaps at me. “Get to the arms!”
A shape moves outside the window, and for a brief moment the light from the Prismatic reflects against the silhouette outside, illuminating a giant, ship-sized eye.
Cold static creeps over me. “What—”
“Just do it!” Gillow cries.
I join Zyneth and sit in the chair next to him. “What are we doing? How does this work?”
Zyneth’s eyes are screwed shut in a grimace, but he taps a finger on one of the spells anyway. There are six circles, one etched into the end of each chair’s arm. His hands are firmly pressed against the two on his chair, but only one circle is illuminated. “Touch one of the circles to activate the spell. It’s difficult. Be careful.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, hesitating.
The ship lurches again, and metal shrieks somewhere in the ship behind us.
“It’s got a hold of us,” Gillow says, straining against their controls. “Hurry it up!”
I don’t wait for Zyneth to explain further. I press a hand against one of the spells, and the pattern lights up. Instantly, a presence appears in my mind. My vision doubles.
I recoil, and both vanish. The predator is also alarmed, swirling agitatedly around, searching for the intruder. It takes me a moment to realize what I’d seen in that brief instant. Hesitantly, I touch the circle again.
The presence returns to my mind as my vision splits in two. But it’s not a person—not a creature. It’s more of a sensation. An extra limb I hadn’t had before. And my second vision is disorientingly outside the ship, where I can see…
Well, fuck.
The fish is giant, a fan of fluorescent fins shimmering around it like a lion’s mane. It has dozens of dull, car-sized eyes I’m not even sure can really see, and thousands of tiny short feelers, like an anemone. It’s also apparently decided we’re its next snack, as its tree-sized teeth have clamped around the back end of the Prismatic.
One of the Prismatic’s tentacles is slowly unfurling from the back of the ship—not fast enough, though. I grab the other tentacle, the one in my mind, and I reach my will into it.
As I adjust to the feel of the Prismatic’s limb, testing the limits of its motion and taking control of its entire one hundred feet of mechanisms, I realize it’s a lot like controlling my glass. There’s dozens of interlocked segments, and each one needs direction for the arm to move as a whole. Between controlling the foreign limb and dealing with the double vision, it’s no wonder Zyneth is struggling.
But this is just another day for me. I put my other hand on the second circle, and take control of a second limb.
Zyneth is still unfurling the one he’s controlling, clumsily reaching for the leviathan’s jaws, as I whip both my tentacles out, seizing the beast.
Or, I try to. It’s massive, and I can’t see behind the creature’s bright, hypnotic fins. But I can feel the creature’s body, still hidden in shadows, is much larger than I first thought. We’re lucky it didn’t swallow us whole.
I try to squeeze, and I’m somewhat successful, but the fish doesn’t react. Recalling how easily the tentacles could have crushed me when I was first brought on board, this discovery is extra disturbing. Switching tactics, I grab the creature’s mouth, attempting to pry its jaws apart. Its mouth gives the slightest amount, but not enough to release the ship. We need more power.
Alright, I say, and the predator swirls around me in tighter, excited laps. You’ve been watching. You get the picture?
Yes. It is ready to eviscerate the large prey outside. How dare this foul fish think it’s powerful enough to attack us? It will use the false void to disembowel the creature, and then eat its soul.
Eh, I sigh, no time to correct it. Close enough.
I loosen my hold on enough of the void for the predator to gleefully take control, slamming two inky tendrils into the spell circles on the empty chair to my side. I hover over the predator’s mind, monitoring its intentions, ready to clamp down on it if I get even the slightest hint it’s about to try something. For now, however, it seems eager to battle our aggressor. I turn my attention there, too.
The limbs the predator is controlling move even more deftly than mine. They stab toward the creature’s gills—why didn’t I think of that?—and the creature lets out a low, rumbling wail. Its teeth loosen.
“Let go,” I tell Zyneth, mentally nudging the predator to help me work the creature’s jaws apart. “We’ve got this.”
Zyneth opens his eyes, freezing when he sees the two void limbs. “Are you sure?”
I create two more void arms to hover over Zyneth’s chair, which he still hasn’t relinquished. “I’m sure. I’m in control. And we can work these limbs better than you.”
He still hesitates. “I don’t like this. Last time—”
“I know what happened last time,” I snap, frustration bubbling up as I strain against the fish’s jaws. “Can we argue about this when we’re not about to get eaten?”
Zyneth jumps from his seat. “Gillow, are these arms conductive?”
I wordlessly take control of the last two limbs.
“What?” Gillow cries. “Why would you—gods above, what the fuck is he doing?”
They’ve presumably just caught sight of me, but I don’t have the time or mental capacity to explain. I shut off my glass vision. I lock up my body, so I can focus everything I have on what’s going on outside the ship.
“Are they conductive?” Zyneth repeats, an edge in his voice. “Quick!”
“Yes,” Gillow says, their voice all business once more.
“And the door to the limb storage room?” Zyneth asks.
“The hatch is in the floor just before the cargo bay,” Gillow says. “Unlocked. Do it! Go!”
Zyneth sprints out of the room, and then it’s just me and Gillow. I don’t pay them any mind, however—six giant mechanical limbs is more than enough to occupy my attention.
The third and fourth ones are harder to control than the first two, so I pass them off to the predator as well. We work on prying the creature’s mouth open, slowly, bit by bit. The ship groans as it’s slowly released, and the fish’s jaws shiver, straining against our hold. It’s working, though. Teeth scrape over the Prismatic as we shove the creature away.
If only that were the end of it. As soon as the ship’s clear, we quickly pull the Prismatic’s tentacles away from its teeth, and the fish snaps its mouth shut. But instead of turning tail and looking for easier prey, the creature flips around with surprising speed, coming at us again from the side.
“Turn us around,” I tell Gillow. “Quick!”
“I see it, I see it!”
The ship starts to turn, trying to point the back end toward the behemoth once more, but we don’t make it in time. The fish opens its mouth wide, and I jam a limb across its mouth, wedging it open. It bites down anyway, several of the teeth puncturing the metal arm. The predator stabs at it with all of its limbs, plumes of dark blood spilling into the water. The predator repeats the action with eager bloodlust.
It’s all we can do to hold the leviathan back. One limb is still stuck in the creature’s teeth—at least until it opens its mouth again—so we use the other five limbs to do what they can to try to injure the beast. We go for its eyes, its gills, its fins, but it’s either too stubborn to let go or too tough to feel the pain. And to make matters worse, the anemone-like feelers that cover the creature like a layer of fur-like growth have stuck to the damaged limb like velcro, and the metal beneath their touch is starting to rust away. At this rate, we’re going to lose all the limbs, and then there will be nothing to stop it from eating us.
Indignation swells within us. No, we won’t be bested by something so primitive. We didn’t come this far to die—not again.
We fight back, slicing a tentacle across the creature’s scales, severing a large swatch of the glowing feelers. Finally! Progress. We slash at it again, relishing each little bit we chip away. The fish rumbles in pain.
And then—a flash of light. Lines of yellow-white race down each arm and explode into the sea beast. Lightning flashes through the creature, illuminating it from within like an x-ray. The fish goes slack and begins to drift aimlessly away.
“Ah!” Small sparks zap into our void, evaporating the four limbs we had activating the circles. Our hands are still pressed against two of the circles, unaffected by the tiny shock we’d received, and we use them to dislodge the Prismatic limb from the creature’s teeth and begin to reel the metal tentacles back in.
As we do, we realize we let our mind slip.
Crap. When did that happen? We turn our focus inward and begin the painful process of pulling ourself apart. Part of us resists. We’re stronger this way. Unified. And if we pulled more of us from the inventory—
No!
I wrench my mind away, clamping down on the predator’s will, forcing it into submission before it tries anything with our—my inventory. The predator seethes, but gives up the fight almost as soon as it starts. It knows it can’t beat me—not yet, at least.
I slump into my chair, taking my hands away from the last two spell circles when the limbs finish retracting into the ship. Four of them—the four the predator had been controlling—are still trailing behind the Prismatic like tassels, but I’m too mentally worn to worry about them now. I just need a minute.
Distant clanging footsteps gradually crescendo until they’re back in the room, and I wearily turn my vision back on.
“Is everyone alright?” Zyneth asks, skidding through the door.
“Yes,” Gillow says, and I realize they’re staring at me. “I think.”
Zyneth crosses to me. “Kanin?”
“We—I’m fine,” I say.
His eyes narrow.
“I’m fine. Really.” I still have a stranglehold on the predator, I belatedly realize, and gradually let it go. It angrily rips away from me, retreating to a recess of my mind. Whatever. As long as it doesn’t bother me.
“Good,” Zyneth says, reluctantly tearing his gaze away. “The lightning didn’t spread anywhere else? I tried to insulate it, but I was working fast.”
“Nothing fried up here,” Gillow says, falling back into their seat. They give me a hungry smile. “Not bad, Homunculus. You’re just as fun as I’d hoped.”
“I have a name, you know.” Ugh. Why do I feel like they’d get along with the predator?
Gillow waves it off. “Time for chit-chat later. For now we need to get back on track.” They swivel around to go back to their control console. A few magical panes appear in the air before them, including what looks like a hologram of the ship. “Some damage around the cargo bay, and—shit, what did you do to that arm?! It’s almost melted in half.”
“No,” I say, “No need to thank me. It’s not like operating six limbs at once was a lot, or anything.”
“You should go rest,” Zyneth says.
Ignoring the fact that normal biological functions like rest are now an experience residing outside my reality, Gillow shakes their head. “No, we need to fix the ship. No chit-chat, I said! Glass Boy, you reel those last limbs in. Zyneth, you follow me and help with the patch job. Come on, chums, let’s get to it.”
As Gillow springs out of their chair, grabbing a metal toolbox from an alcove in the wall, Zyneth gives me one last concerned look. I straighten myself up and press both hands—just my glass hands—against two of the spell circles.
“Watch your back down there,” I sign to Zyneth with some spare glass.
“I should be saying that to you,” he mumbles back. But he rests a hand on my shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze, then follows Gillow out the room.
The ghost of his touch lingers on my shoulder as I turn my attention back to the Prismatic and set about reeling the last of its limbs in.
It’s only day two, and we’ve already almost got eaten by a giant fish. How are we going to survive six more days if we’re constantly fending off these kinds of attacks? And that’s just to the null currents. Another two days to Emrox from there.
And then Zyneth will have to make it the whole way back without me to help. Alone, with Gillow.
I never should have let him come.