There was no other choice for now. Marisol skated back on the snowy streets, her glaives screeching against the ground as the first parasitized Guards and Imperators lunged at her, claws and blades jerking at her with unnatural spasms.

  She twisted and turned, narrowly avoiding another crab claw that swiped at her face, then ducked beneath another's outstretched arm.

  Above the chaos of it all, Rhizocapala remained perched on the roof of the crumbling factory, and his voice cut through the biting cold like a serrated blade.

  “Yer quite irritatin’, ye know that?” he said, his tone almost amused. “‘Ah was sure droplets of my blood landed on ye a good few times, but here ye still are, skatin’ around like ye’ve got somewhere better to be.”

  Marisol clenched her jaw, refusing to reply. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale stinging her throat as she darted through the swarm of staggering soldiers.

  “It must be a mutation makin’ my blood slide off yer skin,” Rhizocapala continued muttering, “or maybe it’s that lightnin’ coursin’ through yer veins. Keeps yer internal temperature too high for my blood to propagate into barnacles. Shame, really. ‘Ah think ye’d look delightful covered in them.”

  She gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus. Her glaives cut clean arcs through the air as she dodged another claw swipe—she couldn’t afford to think about him. Not now.

  The Guards and Imperators, jerking around as if pulled by invisible strings, still moved with eerie coordination like they hadn’t forgotten their training as soldiers. They were faster than they had any right to be in their state, and their movements were… unpredictable. One of the Guards lunged at her, his barnacle-covered arm swinging down like a club. She twisted to the side, kicking out and redirecting the blow into the snow. She pushed off, gliding backward, but another Imperator was already closing in, his jaw distended unnaturally as he let out a guttural groan.

  She refused to counterattack, and though she managed to skate back again, the man’s jaw managed to rip through the chitin plates on her forearm, making her bleed and wince.

  I can’t kill them.

  They’re… they’re still in there.

  Her stomach churned as she glanced at their faces—twisted with pain, their eyes glassy but filled with a faint glimmer of recognition. It was horrifying. She’d never seen barnacles parasitize people like this before, but now, she couldn’t help but wonder what Catrina’s face looked like when she realised the skeleton shrimp was coming out of her.

  She darted to the left, narrowly avoiding another swipe from an Imperator whose torso was almost entirely encased in barnacles. His missed strike shattered a nearby metal pole, sending shards of debris scattering, and as she tried skating away even further, she ran her back into something solid. Her heart sank as she whirled around, realising she’d run herself into a full surround of parasitized soldiers.

  The Imperators and Guards closed in, their groans a synchronised symphony of anguish, and then one of them—a hulking Imperator with some sort of Giant Crab Class—suddenly leapt at her.

  Her instincts kicked in. If she dodged, he’d crush several weaker-looking Guards behind her, so she snapped forward and caught him mid-air, her glaives bracing against his weight. She staggered back under the impact, but then another Imperator leapt at her. Then another. And then another.

  They piled onto her, their barnacle-encrusted bodies pressing her down. With her strength level, she could hold up four, maybe five of them, but she gasped as the weight became unbearable incredibly quickly. Her knees buckled beneath her. Panic clawed at her throat as she was forced onto her stomach by the mountain of soldiers trying to smother her on all sides, pinning her arms behind her, the icy snow biting into her skin.

  Rhizocapala’s voice echoed mockingly far, far above.

  “Don’t take it personally, water strider,” he murmured. “‘Ah just don’t fancy gettin’ too close to yer lightnin’. Melee combat’s not my style, ye know? So let’s keep things simple and end this how yer journey should’ve started—with yer death at the hands of a few lowly bugs.”

  The Guards and Imperators weighed down harder, their groans rising to a fever pitch. She kicked out, she extended her apiclaws, she discharged sprays of mist, and she most certainly tried to activate Storm Glaives, but nothing worked. She couldn’t bring herself to strike them at full force.

  But just as an Imperator pressed his giant pistol shrimp into her forehead, something… changed.

  All of their groans changed, becoming screams—raw, guttural, and defiant. The weight on her lessened as the parasitized humans began thrashing violently. The ones directly crushing her tore themselves away, and they began swiping back the rest of the parasitized soldiers. She was allowed to see the sky again. She lifted her head, gasping for air, her vision blurred with shock and exhaustion.

  And she watched in horror as the Guards and Imperators clawed at the barnacles clinging to their own flesh, one by one by one, all screaming as they stained the snow-covered street red with blood.

  About twenty soldiers killed themselves right in front of her, and she swore she saw all of them performing the Whirlpool City’s salute before their inhuman screams were cut off one by one.

  …

  She lay there on her stomach, trembling, as the street fell silent. Blood soaked into the melting snow around her, steam rising faintly from the warm liquid.

  She looked around at the carnage—the broken, lifeless bodies of the Guards and Imperators who’d been her enemies just moments ago.

  They weren’t moving anymore.

  And from a distant factory roof, Rhizocapala stood silent, his grin replaced by a contemplative frown.

  “Huh,” he said finally, his tone almost… respectful. “Ah’ll admit, ‘ah didn’t see that comin’. Tenacious lot, aren’t they? ‘Ah was sure they’d all lost their minds already, but ‘ah guess they snapped back to their senses just in time to—”

  “Of course my soldiers are tenacious, you fucking bug.”

  A thunderous shockwave tore through the air, a force so sudden and immense that Marisol barely registered it before it roared past her on the ground. The wind screamed in her ears, rattling her bones as it surged forward, and it slammed into the factory in front of her with devastating power.

  The factory didn't just collapse. It disintegrated. Steel beams twisted like paper, walls imploded, and a fiery burst erupted from its core, scattering debris into the sky. The explosion’s concussive wave flattened the surrounding snow, and the acrid scent of burning metal filled the air. Rhizocapala had to dodge. He leapt to the roof of a nearby building, his expression flickering between irritation and amusement as he glared down at her.

  No.

  Not me.

  She groaned, her body trembling as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Pain lanced through her limbs, and her vision swam, but she still managed to tilt her head backwards.

  Reinforcements emerged from the smoke of the main street, and leading them was Andres, the Imperatrix, his broad shoulders towering over those who followed.

  For the first time, his enormous fur coat was gone, discarded in the snow behind him, and her breath caught as she took in the sight. Wrapped in blood-stained bandages, his mantis shrimp-like arms gleamed under the pale light, shimmering with an otherworldly bluish-orange sheen. Steam hissed off his fists where he’d punched the air so hard it fired a shockwave strong enough to rival the Art of the Pistol Shrimp Class. Behind him strode Claudia, Maria, as well as dozens of Guards and Imperators bolstered by the march of cannons and heavy warship artillery. He wasn’t alone in his strength.

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  Marisol’s heart surged with a mix of relief and awe as she realised she’d bought enough time.

  “... Nobody outside the island can help us,” Andres continued, his voice rising above the crackle of flames and the groans of twisting, collapsing metal. “We live each and every day with the reminder that one day, it could be our turn in the abyss. One day, we will face the most gruesome of deaths, and one day, it will be our turn to sacrifice ourselves for the Deepwater Legion Front.”

  Then he raised one of his massive, chitinous arms, his muscles coiling and trembling with restrained fury.

  “So I’ve trained them well,” he said, fixing his one-eyed gaze on Rhizocapala with unrelenting fury, “and you, too, will see your turn in the abyss.”

  While the Barnacle God scoffed softly, Andres marched past Marisol and barked orders from the front.

  “Guards, scatter and pull out the reserve cannons from the underground pipes! Imperators with ranged Arts and mutations, stay back and pelt the bastard whenever you’ve got a clean shot! If you can’t hit him, then focus on destroying the barnacles! Do not let them outnumber us!”

  His commands were met with a roar of acknowledgment, the Guards and Imperators immediately dashing around the streets in chaotic formation. Marisol forced herself to sit upright as Claudia and several medics slid to a kneel next to her, running their glowing antennae across her skin, while Maria gave her a tense nod as she, too, walked past—it was like they were telling her she’d done her part already, and now it was their turn to shine.

  But Rhizocapala pulled her attention away from the reinforcements as he laughed above them all, spreading his arms far and wide.

  “Yer wastin’ yer energy, Andres.” He leapt to another rooftop, scattering more blood with the force of his movement. From his vantage point, he surveyed the scrambling defenders with disdain. “Did ye think ah’d face ye directly? ‘Ahm not that stupid. To begin with, ‘ah ain’t here to fight any of ye. ‘Ahm just here to buy time, and that, my dear Imperatators, is somethin’ ‘ahm very good at doin’.”

  Rhizocapala flung his arms out again, and even more arcs of blood scattered across the district. The crimson liquid hit snow and machinery, lamps and walls, spreading like veins through the frost-covered landscape, but Andres shouted for everyone to brace their faces with their sleeves—this time, not a single soldier got a speck of blood on their skin. Nobody became parasitized.

  But still, Marisol’s stomach twisted as the ground began to rumble. Rhizocapala’s blood ate into the soil, the buildings, and the frozen earth, and soon, hordes of giant barnacles began sprouting like grotesque flowers once more.

  Hundreds of them.

  They grew rapidly, twisting into towering structures that reached for the sky. Some bristled with spiny projectiles, others cracked open to reveal snapping maws, while others sprouted thread-like tongues that lashed through the air like whips. The barnacles surrounded them on all fronts as they always had.

  “‘Ahm happy as long as ‘ah can keep most of ye here,” Rhizocapala said, his voice dripping with amusement. “If yer busy with me, ye ain’t with Eurypteria, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Destroy those barnacles!” Andres roared, his voice cutting through the rising panic like a whip. “Don’t let them spread! Protect the remaining factories at all costs! Stick to the plan—our priority is keeping him here, so do not let him join the others!”

  The response was immediate. Imperators unleashed their ranged attacks, shockwaves and spiny projectiles streaking through the air to strike the growing barnacles before they could take complete form. Cannons roared behind Marisol as the Guards also fought to suppress the rapid infestation, and the sounds were deafening enough to make her want to climb onto her feet.

  But then she felt herself being lifted, and she let out a startled yelp as Andres scooped her up effortlessly in both arms.

  “Hey! What’s this? Let me g—”

  “Can you still fight?” he asked, his tone blunt but not unkind. Marisol hesitated, her gaze flickering back to the dead Guards and Imperators who’d killed themselves to protect her. Their faces, their screams, the blood that’d splattered across her—those images clung to her like a second skin.

  Her teeth clenched, and she blinked back the sting of tears.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I can fight.”

  Andres nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Good. Then listen closely.” He adjusted his grip on her as though she weighed nothing, his mantis shrimp arms flexing with restrained power as he turned around, facing away from Rhizocapala. “I’m throwing you to the eastern residential district.”

  Marisol blinked. “You’re gonna… what?”

  “Victor’s still in the south watching over Kalakos. He believes she’s done the exact opposite of what Rhizocapala did, weakening herself down to E-Rank so she can come out in about thirty or so more minutes, so he can’t leave the south,” Andres continued, ignoring her. “Reina and Hugo are the only ones engaging Eurypteria right now. Claudia, Maria, and I will stay here and keep Rhizocapala contained in the north. We probably won’t be able to kill him—he’s too fucking slippery for all of us—but at the very least, we can keep him from leaving. That means it’s all on you.”

  “Me?”

  Andres’s piercing gaze locked onto hers. “You, Reina, and Hugo are going to kill the E-Rank Water Scorpion God within ten minutes. Then, the three of you will rush here to reinforce us in the north so we can kill Rhizocapala within twenty minutes, and then we’ll all go beat up Kalakos. Do you understand?”

  Things were moving too fast. Too messy. Her head was still spinning from when the parasitized Guards and Imperators had crushed her and suffocated her in their heat, but then she felt the Archive speaking [Stimulating release of adrenaline], and it was like a dagger of ice stabbing through the back of her head, making her suck in a sharp breath of icy air.

  Then she swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod.

  “Got it!”

  “Good.” He shifted his stance, one of his massive arms curling beneath her as he prepared to throw her. “Just to be sure, though… those wings on your back can be used to fly, right? You won’t die if I throw you as hard as I can?”

  Marisol blinked again.

  “It… uh, well, I guess it depends on how hard you throw me. I don’t know how strong you are—”

  Before she could finish, Andres hurled her into the air with a precision and strength that stole the breath from her lungs.

  The world spun for a moment as the force of the throw sent her hurtling eastward. Wind tore at her face and clothing, cold and sharp as knives, and her stomach lurched at the sheer velocity.

  Then, instinct took over.

  Marisol unfurled her streamlined wings in one fluid motion, the translucent membranes snapping open and catching the air. The Archive flared to life. Silver arrows, lines, and trajectories projected themselves over the dark, storm-ridden skyline, helping her correct her flight path with minute adjustments.

  She twisted her body, streamlined herself further, and soared above the city like a javelin.

  For a moment, there was nothing but the sensation of speed. The sheer, unadulterated thrill of it. Her heart pounded in her chest as her wings carried her higher, faster. Below her stretched the vast sprawl of the Whirlpool City—she could see the jagged edges of the whirlpool in the centre and the dazzling blue sea around the shores, picturesque landscapes of legends she’d read all about in textbooks as a child—and yet she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime view of the city.

  Fires burned across the island, casting plumes of smoke into the air. Buildings lay in ruins, their once-proud facades reduced to rubble. Streets were littered with the dead and dying, the destruction wrought by three—two—Insect Gods tearing through like a plague.

  Her awe was swallowed by a surge of fury.

  This was supposed to be a city that sold healing seawater like nowhere else on the continent.

  So she gritted her teeth, tensing her body as she angled her descent. The Archive’s giant silver arrow in her vision guided her toward her target. She didn’t even need to be close by to spot the telltale signs of battle: bursts of wind blades cutting through buildings and streets, carving devastation into the cityscape. Eurypteria. The Water Scorpion God moved through the eastern residential district like a storm incarnate, her bladed limbs and tail slicing through everything in her way with terrifyingly little resistance.

  Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of two familiar figures amidst the fighting in the residential district—Reina and Hugo. The two Lighthouse Imperators, accompanied by half a dozen Imperators behind them with melee weapons, were fighting with everything they had, their Arts and mutations flaring bright against the Water Scorpion God’s relentless assault.

  The sight only fueled her rage even further.

  Faster!

  She tucked her wings closer to her body, streamlining herself further as she shot downward.

  Faster!

  Rapid rehydration cleared her mind. Spraying discharge for more propulsion. Hydrodynamic chitin to reduce air resistance, Storm Glaives to temporarily boost her speed. Lightning surged through her blood and crackled around her glaives, tightening her muscles, coiling them with single-minded, unblemished focus.

  A hundred and ten percent of her power.

  [{Temporary} Speed: 9 (+1) → 13 (+1)]

  The wind roared in her ears as she hurtled toward Eurypteria, flipping mid-air and pressing her glaives together into a single spear, aiming for the bug’s shoulder blades—then she struck with the force of a lightning bolt.

  Impact.

  A deafening shockwave rippled outward as her glaives collided with three of Eurypteria’s bladed arms, shaking the ground and sending rubble flying. The jarring force of the clash shot up her legs, but she gritted her teeth and held firm.

  Eurypteria may not have budged—and her glaives may not have stabbed right through the bug’s heart—but she most certainly cracked a few chitin plates off the Water Scorpion God’s arms.

  “So,” Eurypteria said, grinning up at her as they locked sharp edges, sparks flying where metal-like appendages met electrified glaives, “the water strider’s joining in on the fun, too?”

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