Fall on your feet, Marisol!

Don't land on your back!

If you fall even once—

She didn't even manage to finish her own thoughts. Somehow, she twisted mid-air and landed on the tip of her glaives. She skated a good ten meters back as the rest of the warship creaked and crumbled around her. The masts fell. She watched with pained, watery eyes as the giant sails came crashing down like trees felled by an unseen hand. Splintered wood and knotted ropes rained down like deadly hail.

The crew were screaming, their voices drowned out by the storm. Those who'd been tossed far away enough were bobbing on the surface, clinging to debris. Some were struck by falling beams and others were dragged down by tangled ratlines. Far to her side, she spotted Enrique and a few of his close confidants clawing onto a piece of wood. Of the four dozen Harbor Guards who'd been on board, she spotted only half or so of their heads. When the spotlights from the lighthouse shone down upon the sinking warship, all of them could do nothing but stare at the Mutant standing perfectly straight on the slanted bowsprit.

The spotlights shone through its translucent chitin. The form of its bony body segments, its twelve arms, its two legs, and its horn-like antennae were outlined in the flashing lightning behind it. If Marisol didn't know any better, she'd even have thought the storm was bowing to it. Wind, rain, and water swirled around it like it was a god of the sea. As it stared blankly down at all of them bobbing on flotsam, all she could think was the name she'd been hearing since the horseshoe crab island.

The plague of the ocean, 'Plagas del Mar.'

[Identification Complete]

[Common Name: Wraith Shrimp]

[Grade: F-Rank Mutant-Class]

[Swarmblood Art: Hypercompression]

[Aura: ~7,000]

[Strength: ~8, Speed: ~6, Toughness: ~7, Dexterity: ~10, Perception: ~9]

[Brief Description: Seven body segments, seven pairs of legs, and extremely difficult to detect. Wraith shrimps are remarkably slender and flexible, and each pair of limbs has a different function. The first two pairs are modified raptorial appendages that specialize in grabbing, cutting, and swimming. The third and fourth pairs are reduced swimming limbs that also double as gills and brood pouches where females raise their young. The fifth to seventh pairs are lined with segmented setae that allow them to grasp and anchor on hard surfaces. Their Swarmblood Art is 'Hypercompression', which allows them to compress themselves into extremely small sizes to hide inside other living beings—]

"Mutant-Class sighted!" the lighthouse guards bellowed through their conches. "All warships, fire at will! Bring it down before it can reach the city!"

There was no hesitation. There was no delay. A hundred cannons from the dozen warships docked in front of them fired at once, cracking the sky with fiery streaks, and every last cannonball converged on the sinking warship and the Mutant standing on it.

Marisol braced her arms in front of her as wooden shrapnel flew everywhere, tearing through her skin, clothes, and hair. The resulting shockwave would've knocked her off her back, too, were she not pouring a hundred and ten percent of her focus into not falling. Gritting her teeth and covering her face, she only weathered the shockwave by skating ten more meters back. That would have killed her otherwise.

But the same couldn't be said of the Mutant.

Because when the smoke cleared and thunder cracked, the Mutant emerged alone, standing atop the stormy sea with twelve claws wrapped around twelve cannonballs.

Then, it whipped its arms forward and sent the cannonballs flying back. Black streaks speared through a dozen warships, decimating them in one fell swoop.

[... To the lighthouses, Marisol!] the Archive snapped, the little water strider poking her cheek over and over. [Get off the water! Do not engage it in battle!]

It was easier said than done. Her muscles seized up as she watched the Mutant reach down, pick up an entire mast, and chuck it at one of the still-intact warships in front of them. The warship managed to fire off another volley before the mast rammed straight through, sparks of fire detonating the gunpowder on board—the cannonballs were just more fuel for the Mutant to grab onto.

With a bored, idle click of its mandibles, the Mutant started walking towards the lighthouse on the left. Marisol's eyes widened. She hadn't noticed it before, but—just like her—it could stand on water. It flexed two of its arms, stretched two more, and with the remaining eight it scooped up more debris from the waves to toss at the lighthouse. Most of the projectiles merely bounced off the hard white stone, but it was evidently getting irritated by the crossbow bolts and harpoons it was getting pelted with by the lighthouse guards.

It lowered itself on all fourteen limbs, cracked its chitin, and then went under the water.

[Marisol! Get out of—]

She gnashed her teeth together and flicked the little water strider, skating straight over to Enrique before grabbing him by his collar. He understood her immediately, grabbing another man's collar, and that man did the same to another man, forming a chain of six people. Quickly then, she dragged them all ashore onto the base of the lighthouse on the right, practically throwing them up onto the rocks with her superhuman strength.

Then, she skated back out and did it all over again, pulling all of the surviving Guards ashore as she kept stealing glances at the Mutant approaching the lighthouse on the left. It closed the distance with ease, and then punched out a shrimp-sized hole at the base of the lighthouse.

She couldn't see what was going on behind the thick white walls, but she could hear the screaming, the thumping. Entire sections of the giant lighthouse were being punched out from inside as the Mutant made its way up to the very top. By the time she dragged the last of the Guards ashore, the glass dome at the top of that lighthouse exploded with a belching roar, the entire building going up in flames.

[... To reiterate, there are five grades of bugs.]

[First, Critter-Class bugs are small, tiny bugs. You can see them everywhere. They are the spies and the scouts of the Swarm, but they do not typically fight or do anything normal critters do not do. As far as we care, they are bugs we squash under our boots without sparing a single glance, and eating them does not yield many points. This is because all Critter-Class bugs are 'unspecialized bugs', meaning they are simply generic ants, beetles, butterflies, moths, et cetera. Their Swarmblood Arts are not very impressive, and are hardly worth mentioning at all.]

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[Once a Critter-Class consumes enough bioarcanic essence, they will become a more specialized bug, gain a more powerful Swarmblood Art, and rapidly grow in size. The fairy shrimp you slayed was once a Critter-Class shrimp. The horseshoe crab you encountered was once a Critter-Class crab. These are your Giant-Class bugs: the frontline soldiers of the Swarm. However, while their sizes can range from three meters to upwards of a hundred meters, they are still mostly unintelligent monsters who can only fight with brute force. They can still barely use or control their Swarmblood Arts, which is why I do not even list their Arts whenever I identify them in a status screen. You can simply consider them as oversized Critter-Classes, and if you are simply 'stronger' than them, you can overpower them. You can slay them.]

[However, once a Giant-Class consumes enough bioarcanic essence, they will become an even more specialized bug, gain an even more powerful Swarmblood Art, and… simply put, Mutant-Class bugs are human-like. They have human-like features. They have human-like intelligence. They typically stand on two feet and compress their incredible power into small, human-like forms. They even have full control of their Swarmblood Art, which finally allows them to use their biomagic competently in battle.]

[Now, if an S-Rank Mutant-Class consumes enough bioarcanic essence, they will be given a name as an Insect God—who are capable of intelligent human speech—and if they consume even more bioarcanic essence, they may even become a Greater Insect God, of which there are only seven known individuals in the entire world. One of them is 'Corpsetaker', the Greater Crab God of the Deepwater Legion Front.]

[In sum: do not engage the F-Rank Mutant-Class wraith shrimp in battle.]

[As you are now, considering your aura and attribute levels, you will not win.]

The Archive had never sounded more sure and confident, and Marisol could understand why. As black rain continued battering her face, she spotted the Mutant standing on the very edge of the lighthouse on the left, staring blankly down at all of them.

They were separated by a hundred meter distance of churning, wreckage-filled waves, but even from here, she felt an indescribable tightness in her chest as she locked eyes with it—it was the shrimp's aura. It was killing pressure. It was fear she thought she'd cast away when she first performed the War Jump, and the emotion stabbed at her gut, freezing her on the spot.

She knew she had to do something. She could prioritize the safety of the Guards. Skate them somewhere safe. Heck, the smart thing to do was run away herself—but she knew she couldn't.

The Archive knew it, too.

And as Enrique and the Guards glared daggers up at the Mutant, she dragged one glaive back and leaned forward.

What happens if I don't try to fight it?

[The Guards in the lighthouse above you are most likely beginning the evacuation protocol. They will enter conch shell shelters, bolt the door shut, and drop themselves into the ocean in an attempt to survive the Mutant-Class. They will definitely try to get the captain and his Guards into the shelters as well.]

How long would it take them to get all that done?

[Three minutes.]

And how long did it take that Mutant to completely decimate that lighthouse over there?

[Two minutes.]

Silence.

Neither of them said anything, nor did they need to—they hadn't spent the past few months stuck to each other for nothing.

I'll buy them two minutes to get inside the shelter and evacuate.

The Archive didn't blink. [But you will die in the process.]

What are the chances?

[Ninety-nine percent chance of death. Its attribute levels are much higher than yours.]

She couldn't resist a short laugh as she forced a small, quivering smile onto her face.

You could've said one percent of survival, she thought. I really have corrupted you with my own principles, haven't I?

[... All good Hasharana do,] the Archive said, bowing deeply. [Without exception.]

As the gate at the bottom of the lighthouse opened behind them—a dozen lighthouse guards rushed out to drag the Guards inside. Their rescuers shouted at them to evacuate or something of the sort.

Marisol paid them no mind.

She took off onto the stormy sea to begin her interception mission.

The Mutant pounced straight at her, a hundred meters across, and she launched into the War Jump. Four spins. Five spins. She kicked out at the last moment, putting rage and sadness into her attack. Her focus was on her glaives, and she slammed them into its segmented torso.

But her eyes widened in horror as its body simply folded around her glaive, and six arms punched out at the speed of a blink.

Shit!

She jerked her head and evaded, though just barely. One of its fists grazed her cheek. Her lungs were tight. She spun an extra time and flung the Mutant off her glaive, sending it flying into a sinking warship.

Through the waves, the lightning, and the rain pelting her face, it chucked volleys of wooden debris her way. She heard the projectiles whistling through the air before she saw them. She launched into a Whirlwind Spin to kick up a small cyclone of water, blocking the first few projectiles. When more came, she knew defensive tactics wouldn't help. She'd be overwhelmed. She hissed, dodged, and skated around, trying to put some distance between them.

It pursued her, diving in and out of the sea like a burrowing worm occasionally popping up for air.

It's fast, tough, and strong!

How do I usually beat types like that?

[With your speed and speed alone.]

She glanced behind her, growling as she vaulted onto a sinking ship. She grabbed a harpoon from a crate, and chucked it back at the Mutant as she backflipped over the railings on the other side. The Mutant simply grabbed it out of the air and chucked it back, the spear tip whizzing past her ears.

I'm not fast enough! I need information! Tactics! Weaknesses to exploit!

[It is an F-Rank Mutant-Class wraith shrimp. Its limbs are highly dexterous, each of the seven pairs possessing its own specialization, and from what I have been able to observe, it is also able to manipulate each individual arm like they have their own minds. They are nothing like the whale lice's clumsy appendages. Each of its limbs are as precise and powerful as the Whitewhale Marauder captain.]

Weaknesses! Stop telling me—

[We are quite fortunate that normal wraith shrimps are quite poor swimmers, so you are only slightly slower than the Mutant-Class.]

[If all you do is keep skating away, you can easily buy two minutes before it will eventually catch up to you.]

Of course.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to try her damndest to put a dent in it somehow.

As she skated through the sea of wrecks, she pivoted here and there to kick chunks of debris back at it, trying to poke holes in its defenses. It easily swatted away her projectiles with its upper pairs of arms. Its legs and lower pairs of arms were more for running, swimming, and diving. It didn't seem to have any ranged capabilities like the barnacles or the Blackclaw Marauders, but it more than made up for it with immense physical power. She dodged, spun, and launched in a desperate dance across the wrecks. Her own speed surprised even her—she hadn't known she could go this fast if she really, really needed to.

To a certain extent, she was elated. She was exhilarated to be going this fast, to be dancing on the edge of a storm… but it'd be a lie if she said she was happy sharing a stage where more eyes were on the Mutant then her.

So the Archive counted—one minute, two minutes—and when she spotted what looked like half a dozen giant conch shells dropping out the top and bottom of the lighthouse, she pivoted and spun a full half-circle to face the Mutant head-on.

She hadn't come to a stop, no. Her momentum was still there. Her grit was still there. If 'misfortune' was to catch up to her no matter what, then she'd reach it first, and she'd kick it too.

The Mutant reared only one of its fists back for a punch as it pounced at her. She launched into the War Jump, spinning five times in sequence.

I got this, I got this, I got this!

Finish the routine with a bang!

But she was tired. She was exhausted. She was hurt, wounded, and she misjudged the distance. The Mutant's fist slammed into her right glaive just as she tried to kick out faster than it could punch.

Her chitin shattered as the Mutant broke her leg with a sickening crack.

She barely even felt pain as the force from the attack sent her flying down into the sea, cold and dark water enveloping her senses, fogging her mind.

There was only silence as she sank.

She lost her speed.

She lost her balance.

And she'd known, from the very beginning, that she wouldn't be able to climb up if she ever sank into the abyss.

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