The second I enter the water, there’s a sort of prickling.

What-, this isn’t… It’s not pain, but it’s nothing so simple as displeasure, it’s like a thousand needles all across my body are poking into me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

But, in that same moment, I realize that I am currently underwater. I can’t breathe! I can’t-, no, wait, I don’t need to breathe. Doofus. It’s very similar to being in space, but not quite, and I’m extremely unused to it, and before I can even make sense of what is up and down, the salamander has slunk out of my grasp like the slippery son of a bitch it is. I flounder for a moment, and then…

I lose one of my secondary arms. Something shot past me like a torpedo, and as my eyes slowly squint open, adjusting to what feels like some acidic liquid, I can only barely see the salamander. Chewing down on one of my arms.

Hey! Give that back, you scoundrel! Why, I’ll-!

It snaps it up in a moment and starts swimming. With a tail like that, reaching top speeds seems to be way too easy for it and I’m left reeling when it shoots right past me, taking a tentacle or two right with it and into its jaws. I used to be able to swim as a human, yes, but when you have a body like this, simple things like that suddenly become very difficult.

...However, there is one thing that the salamander hasn’t considered.

It chews up one of my tentacles as I brace myself. Unbeknownst to the salamander, I sneakily present one of my primary tentacles, ripe for grabbing. Its eyes glimmer and I know I’ve caught it.

It swims around me a few times, circling like a shark smelling blood, speeding up and up and up, growing faster, hungrier, quicker, until finally its eye glints in that hungry predatory way I’ve come to know, and it shoots at me, jaws wide, teeth sharp and ready. I don’t fight it at first when it tears through one of my primary tentacles. But then, the second it has it in its jaws, I start my fight.

My primary tentacles easily wrap around the salamanders head, shocking it to such an extent that it briefly pauses, allowing me enough time to use the rest of my body to grab a hold of it. We’re almost the same size, but my tentacles are longer, allowing me to wrap around it fully, and before it even has the common sense to bite and thrash and claw at me, I crush it within my grasp, its bones snapping and popping like matchsticks.

It goes limp in my grasp.

-Alright, food time!

...Though, first, I really wanna get out of this water (or whatever it is). Just being down here kind of burns me, and I think my tentacles aren’t quite regenerating. Something here is up, and I have no idea what.

But I’m not leaving the salamander, so I grab hold of it tight with two of my primary tentacles while the rest grope after the hole, which I then hoist myself out of, to the great surprise of the herd.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Huh? Have you guys just been standing around here all this time?...

You should've escaped! If I didn’t kill it, the lot of you would’ve been eaten!

...Of course, they don’t answer, but I’m still upset. You’re just little cows!

Seeing me safe, the herd, all the cows and calves and the bulls all seem to relax, turning away from the water hole. Gee, fine, do what you want!

I pull up the salamander’s corpse, noticing a little unhappily how many of the cows react with well-earned fear and shock. I try to ignore them, even if it does feel a little bad to be feared. I eat the salamander as quickly as I possibly can, really hoping the sight of such gore isn’t off-putting to them. Hm. Soft flesh. Almost melts on your tongue. Very watery. A very similar texture to stockfish. Glad it doesn’t taste like it though, although it doesn’t taste like anything else either. 4/10.

900 -> 2 450

Hm. Maybe I should upgrade strength? This whole crush-then-eat business has worked very efficiently so far, so I think I could really get it working.

-Oh, my tentacles are starting to regenerate! Good. I guess I’ll try to stay away from water, huh?

Anyway, back to upgrading Strength!

Upgrade Strength? Cost: 300 (you have 2 450)

Upgrade Strength? Cost: 450 (you have 2 450)

Upgrade Strength? Cost: 550 (you have 2 450)

Upgrade Strength? Cost: 700 (you have 2 450)

Yes, thank you, all of those.

2 450 -> 450

Really? Whoa. Nice, love seeing it go even like that.

Anyhoo, now I’m even stronger! Which feels kind of weird to say, even though it’s true.

I turn to look at the herd. They seem a bit off-put, but at the same time, they haven't left or anything. Waiting for me to finish eating. A kindness that makes my heart melt yet again.

The trek resumes soon after.

As it turns out, “just over the horizon” is about as far away as the rainbow, and even after several hours of walking beside the herd, only stopping to fend off a pack of what almost seemed like wolves together with the head bull, it still seems just as far away as before. Eventually, after an unknown amount of time, the herd arbitrarily decides to stop and take a rest, the lot of them lying down straight on the ice. I don’t even consider leaving them anytime soon. After days (weeks?) of isolation, just a little company is all I truly want.

And so, I settle down beside them. Not sleeping, of course, I don’t think I even can sleep, but I lie awake. The bull doesn’t sleep either. Not constantly, at least.

We both remain vigil and half-awake.

When nobody is looking and nobody can see me, one of my tentacles slither over to a nearby cow, and while she slumbers, I slowly caress her fur. It’s soft. Very, very soft. I don’t think I’ve felt something soft in more than a week. Something that wasn’t sharp rocks or carapaces or bones and flesh. Something that doesn’t want to kill me on sight. Something I don’t have to kill to survive.

The herd rests for only a few hours, but I spend the entire time lightly petting several different cows and calves and even a few bulls. Not a single one seemed off-put by the soft touches, and that made me happy, though they might not have noticed.

We continue moving. Another herd appears, hesitantly mingles with ours and then continues moving in the opposite direction. I wish I spoke cow. Moo. Do cows have names for each other?

I know mooses (meese?) speak different accents in different regions of Finland.

Either way, I might just be going mad, but I’m starting to think that the pillar of light might be closer than before? Bigger. Maybe. I’m not sure, and until I get even closer, I won’t be able to tell.

Five days pass.