Ten metres. Thirty metres. A hundred metres. She couldn’t push off the surface very hard with her back glaive, but she was making steady progress into the fog, skating past the first wreckages on her left. Her back muscles ached at how much she had to bend over just to keep her body weight low, but she couldn’t stand up straight for the Silent Step; the idea was to skitter along the surface almost like a crab, and thankfully, she’d seen the children on the island do that enough times to know what she should look like.
It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the way she was slowly skating across the sea—the giant remipede’s shadow still lurking beneath her—felt quite ‘graceful’ to her.
I got this.
Mama’s techniques… are invincible.
Just gotta… keep this up… for about thirty more minutes.
The shadow of the giant remipede writhed and contorted, circling deep beneath her. It probably knew something was standing above it, but it didn't know exactly what; if it decided to surface and 'check', she'd be found out instantly.
Why does it care so much about a tiny little human, anyways? she thought, biting her tongue. How am I possibly worth its time and energy? Can’t it go eat something bigger?
[It is abnormal behaviour indeed, and one I have no explanation for.]
It was just staring at her from down under, too. Could she create her own ripple and lead it elsewhere, buying time for her to skate out of its shadow?
I ain’t got anything on me that I can toss far enough to create a ripple.
Maybe there’s some debris floating right under me that I can pick up?
Moonlight was present, but sparse. She didn’t have a firefly lantern or candle with her, either, so she narrowed her eyes and focused on the Ripple Sensors on the tip of her glaives—was there anything under her she could fish out and toss somewhere else?
Come on, come on, come on.
There’s gotta be something I can–
[There is something.]
[You have enough points to unlock the tier two mutation, second from the right. Give me the order to, and I–]
Do it.
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[T2 Branch Mutation Unlocked: Ripple Returner]
[Brief Description: You can vibrate your hairs, Hydrofuge Spines included, to send directional ripples away from you. However, this is a channeled mutation. Sending ripples away will drain your Hexichor Aura, so you cannot use this mutation indefinitely]
[Points: 245 → 195]
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… And I suppose now's as good a day as any to use the rest of the points I've been saving up?
[Correct.]
What do I put them in?
The Archive mused for a moment. [You are trying to be sneaky, but you are also trying to skate on water for as long as possible. Put a hundred and fifty into Hexichor Aura, and keep the rest. You may have need to unlock the last tier two mutation, but not right now.]
Makes sense.
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[Hexichor Aura: 474 → 624]
[Points: 195 → 45]
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[... As you can see, you have unlocked ‘Ripple Returner’, yet another tier two mutation] the Archive said. [Going by the description of Ripple Returner, why not try imagining a ripple travelling away from the tip of your glaives?]
She looked down at the Archive worriedly, a bead of sweat threatening to fall off her brows.
This better work, Archive.
[There is a one hundred percent chance it will,] it said confidently.
…
She closed her eyes and imagined the microscopic Hydrofuge Spines on the tip of her glaives vibrating, flicking towards her left, and lo and behold—it was like ‘magic’. A ripple line immediately shot left at her usual skating speed, and the disturbance was loud enough that the giant remipede immediately chased after it.
Just like last time, she didn’t dare turn to look as she heard the giant remipede surfacing to devour the wreckage she’d sent the ripple into. She simply began moving once more; dragging one glaive before the other at a Sand-Dancer’s crawling pace, moving one metre forward at a time.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Just keep sending ripples away, she thought, repeating what she did to the first wreckage every twenty or so metres, throwing the giant remipede off whenever it got close to her. Surely, at some point, it would realise it was being toyed with, but maybe she was giving it more credit than it was due?
What were the chances it was just a big, dumb bug?
[Very likely.]
Really?
[Really. Just keep doing what you are doing.]
With newfound confidence in her heart, she heeded the Archive’s instructions and kept on skating while sending ripples away, slowly getting the hang of how to control her ripples.
… You know, about my unknown Hexichor Art… has there really not been a single bug-slayer who chose the water strider class? she asked, having a bit of attention to spare on not focusing on skating. Back then, you already knew the mutations of the water strider class were difficult to use and control. That means someone before me must’ve picked it before, right?
[Correct.]
How many bug-slayers are there with the water strider class?
[Historically? Four.]
What about right now?
[One.]
The Archive’s curt answers were throwing her off a little, and she felt like snapping at it to give more detailed responses–
[The other three died gruesome deaths because they could not control their own speed,] the Archive said plainly. [They managed to unlock up to their tier five mutations and died, quite promptly, during a training exercise with the Whirlpool City’s Harbour Imperators. Six years of training and resources spent on them, and in the end, they did not even figure out what their Hexichor Arts were. It is because of their deaths that we, the Archives of the Altered Hexsteel Systems, never recommend the water strider class when there are plenty of other water-based insect classes that can do the same thing water striders can.]
She pursed her lips. Not to sound cruel, but… they’re just three deaths. I hear the Attini Empire in the south loses thousands of soldiers every single day. Are three deaths that significant to you–
[They were Hasharana, Marisol. The elite wandering bug-slayers of the continent. To become a Hasharana, one must have the aptitude to pass the Hasharana Entrance Exam that is hosted only once a year, consisting of three stages with an average fatality rate of ninety-eight percent. Only around twenty people pass the exam and are registered with Altered Hexsteel Systems every year, and as of this year, there are only two hundred and fifty-five registered Hasharana.]
Then the Archive stared up at her pointedly, looking strangely sad. [We are in Year Ninety-Four. Ninety-four years since the Swarm invaded the world and pushed humanity back to a single continent. The Seven Hexsteel Fronts demarcate the seven sections of the continent’s border where the battles against the giant bugs are the fiercest, so we can only assign thirty Hasharana to each Hexsteel Front to reinforce the local warriors—now imagine losing ten percent of the Deepwater Legion Front’s forces to accidents easily preventable by simply picking another insect class with equal potential.]
…
[Antonio Saranno’s death was a fiery one. I did not mention this to you because it was not relevant back then, but it was not a single fairy shrimp that attacked his fleet. It was fifty-two fairy shrimps that attacked all at once,] the Archive said. [By himself, he managed to slay all but one of them, and he even managed to die on his ship so he would not sink, taking the Altered Hexsteel System down with him. He died so he could implant me into your nape, giving you a chance to survive. He was an immensely powerful Hasharana to the very end, and he had served the Worm God faithfully for over two decades—so please do not look down on the death of a Hasharana.]
[Antonio Saranno was my previous user.]
[I understand that, as an Archive of an Altered Hexsteel System, my capability to empathize with my users extends only so far as to ensure perfect synchronisation in and out of battle. I cannot afford true ‘companionship’ as humans are able to do for each other. My voice can never be given physical form, and to establish sentimental connections with my users is fundamentally impossible given the nature of my design parameters.]
[Even still, I… cannot help but wonder what I would ‘feel’ should you die because I did not resist your decision to choose the water strider class.]
…
Marisol looked at the Archive in a way she’d never looked at it before, and among the catalogue of the little water strider’s ‘expressions’ that she’d created in her head, she couldn’t form a conclusion as to what the Archive could be thinking now.
It could read her thoughts, but she couldn’t read its thoughts in return.
… Are you sure you can’t afford true ‘companionship’ to me, Archive?
[No,] it repeated. [There is a one hundred percent chance that it is fundamentally impossible given the nature of my design parameters.]
On her face was cold sweat and exertion, but on her lips was a soft, knowing smile.
I see.
You’ll just have to keep taking responsibility for my safety until the very end, then.
The Archive hummed in what could be disappointment or ire, but she was getting so, so close to the wreckage she was aiming for. Just three hundred more metres and she’d reach what looked like the silhouette of a fully-functional rowboat—it must’ve survived the destruction of its original ship. If she could just climb on board and survive until dawn, maybe she could even row it all the way to the perimeters of the Whirlpool City.
Maybe I don’t even need to row it, she thought. If I can get a rope and tie it around my waist, I can skate and drag the boat forward during the day, then rest in it during the night. For food, I guess I can just try to… fish?
[Freshwater might be a little difficult to come by, but I believe you can manage somehow.]
You know, you could at least try to sound a bit more… confident…
Her thoughts trailed off for the second time tonight as she caught a glimmer of silver light on the left, and she turned to see what looked like an empty husk of a man standing on the water with his back turned towards her, facing a set of half-sunken shipwrecks.
It looked like a ‘ghost’.
Then, all of a sudden, a sharp crack splintered the air and made the husk of a man sink into the sea—revealing a pregnant woman lying on her back on a single piece of wooden debris, holding up a bright red pheromone flare that sputtered a column of smoke into the sky.
The shadow of the giant remipede immediately charged over, heading straight towards the pile of wreckage the woman was lying on.
…
A surge of anger rose inside Marisol when she realised, for a brief second, that her very first emotion was ‘relief’ at knowing someone was distracting the giant remipede for her.
In the next second, she abandoned the Silent Step and charged full speed ahead at the woman, determined to make it there before the giant remipede could.