Pain flared like fire across Eurypteria’s torso, searing through her nerves and pulling a guttural snarl from her throat.

  Having cut through her shoulder, Marisol’s glaive was buried halfway down her torso, crystalline edges shimmering with lightning that crackled and sparked. She staggered back, her bladed limbs twitching, struggling to regain control.

  This is bad.

  Her tail, still lodged in Reina’s waist, jerked instinctively as she tried to wrench it free to lash out at Marisol—but Reina clung to it with both hands, blood-slick fingers digging into her chitin. Worse, the Imperator’s own scorpion tail coiled around hers, locking them together in a spiraling clash of vortexes.

  The air between their tails warped and screamed, their opposite Swarmblood Arts cancelling each other in a chaotic, pulsing stalemate. Eurypteria growled. Her voice was ragged and feral, the sound echoing across the battlefield.

  “You’re both! So! Annoying!” she bellowed, thrashing against Reina’s hold, but the Imperator refused to yield, even as blood streamed down her legs. Marisol, too, wasn’t done. Lightning arced up the rest of her body, flickering pinkish-blue like veins of electricity were coursing through crystalline plates of chitin under her skin.

  For a split second, the glow intensified, and the water strider’s entire body seemed to shine with an otherworldly vibrance.

  And then the water strider pushed everything down through her glaives, into Eurypteria’s body.

  Lightning surged into Eurypteria, ripping through her body like a torrent of molten energy. Her vision went white. Her eardrums exploded. The lightning overwhelmed her senses, her muscles locking in place as though she were a marionette held captive by invisible strings. It was unbearable pain, a burning tide that ravaged her from the inside-out.

  Her limbs spasmed, and her tail faltered. Loosening its grip on Reina. When the surge finally ceased, Marisol crumpled to the ground with a wet, sickening scrape. Reina gasped at the same time, her face contorted in pain, but with trembling hands, she managed to yank out Eurypteria’s tail from her waist.

  Blood spurted from Reina’s wound as she stumbled backward, clutching at her side. She didn’t hesitate, though. She grabbed Marisol’s limp body and started dragged her away, staggering as far from Eurypteria as her battered form would allow.

  Eurypteria barely registered their retreat. Her entire body still screamed with pain, her internal organs feeling as though they’d been set ablaze. Her movements were sluggish, her limbs heavy and uncooperative, but still—she managed to lift one clawed hand, pointing weakly at the two retreating figures.

  “Get… back here,” she rasped. “Fight… me—”

  But her demand was cut short by the deafening roar of a shockwave.

  A blast slammed into her side, sending her reeling. Another followed, then another, and then another—each one hitting with the force of a battering ram. She stumbled with each impact, her footing unsteady as the relentless assault from the Pistol Shrimp Class Imperators bombarded her from a distance.

  The shockwaves forced her back, step by agonising step, her bladed limbs scraping against the ground. Her vision swam, the edges blurring as exhaustion and pain took their toll.

  Then came the artillery.

  A volley of explosive shells rained down from above, and some of them jammed into the chinks of her chitin armor. They lodged themselves between her plates, embedding deep before detonating in rapid succession.

  Her world became fire and shrapnel.

  Each explosion tore through her, ripping away chunks of her exoskeleton and sending fragments of her body flying. The force of the blasts hurled her backward, her tall and lithe frame crashing into the ground like a felled titan.

  When the smoke cleared, Eurypteria lay sprawled on her back, her once-mighty form shattered and broken. Several of her limbs were missing, severed clean by the blasts. Her remaining appendages twitched weakly, their movements jerky and uncoordinated. Cracks spider-webbed across her carapace, oozing dark blood that pooled beneath her.

  … Ah.

  She stared up at the sky, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Snowflakes drifted slowly down, mingling with the ash and rain, their gentle descent a stark contrast to the unfair violence that’d just been wrought on her.

  The battlefield around here was alive with noise, sure—voices shouting, weapons clattering, boots crunching against rubble—but Eurypteria’s hearing was dulled, and all she could make out were snippets.

  “Get them to the medics!”

  “Miss Reina, please sit down—you’re bleeding too much!”

  “The Storm Strider’s charred her own skin with her lightning! Someone get her stabilised! I need ice bags here now!”

  Eurypteria’s gaze shifted, her eyes following the movement of the humans tending to one another. Medics, Guards, Imperators—they were all helping each other, leaning on one another for support. Some were laughing weakly, relief etched on their faces. Others were crying, clutching their fallen comrades tightly.

  And then it hit her, not so gently.

  Nobody was coming to help her.

  Her claws twitched, scraping feebly against the rubble. Her chest heaved with effort, each breath rattling painfully through her ruined body. She opened her mouth to call out, to demand for aid, but no sound came.

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  For the first time in her existence, she felt truly alone.

  Nobody… cares.

  A bitter chuckle rasped through her ruined mouth.

  It hadn’t seemed that long ago when she was but an E-Rank Mutant-Class. Two decades ago. Back then, Depth Five was her world—a realm of jagged canyons and suffocating pressure, where only the brood of about twenty Mutant-Class water scorpions she’d been born into were formidable. The fact that they were the family of bugs with the most number of Mutant-Classes in the whirlpool at the time was a testament to their strength… but pride was also their undoing.

  The whirlpool's water scorpions refused to fight alongside the rest of the Swarm, mocking the very idea of cooperation. Even among themselves, they’d viewed each other as rivals. Challengers to the throne of supremacy.

  A battle amongst themselves had been inevitable.

  The canyons in Depth Five had become a battlefield, the walls echoing with the sounds of clashing tails and screeching cries. Eurypteria had fought her brothers, her sisters, her fathers, her mothers, and one by one, she had bested them. Her strength had grown with every victory, her heart had hardened with every death.

  She still remembered the taste of their blood on her mandibles. The way her brothers’ eyes dimmed as life fled their bodies. Her claws had trembled with exhilaration and exhaustion as she rose from the carnage, the last water scorpion standing. That pride that swelled in her chest had been suffused with something else—something hollow.

  She still remembered emerging from the canyons of Depth Five alone as an S-Rank Mutant-Class. She remembered looking back once at the bodies of her brood before the abyss called to her, pulling her deeper and deeper into the whirlpool.

  It was there, at the border between Depth Eight and Nine, that she met them.

  Rhizocapala. Leptostrasa. Marculata. Corpsetaker. The Three Leviathans back then and their Greater Crab God—the only bugs she couldn’t beat by herself.

  … Haha.

  Eurypteria’s thoughts returned to the battlefield.

  The sky seemed brighter now. Snowflakes danced in the air, mingling with the rain, as though the heavens themselves mourned her fall.

  She blinked, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the swirling clouds above—and then her lips twisted into a weak snarl.

  She wasn’t human.

  She wasn’t some soft, pleading creature begging for mercy.

  She was Eurypteria, the E-Rank Water Scorpion God, and her pride wouldn’t allow her to die begging or broken.

  So her mouth moved, her voice barely a whisper, rough and ragged like wind through broken glass.

  “... Go fuck them up for me, hermano,” she breathed. “For the Swarm.”

  A soft, rasping laugh followed as her body failed her and the world grew dim, but she heard it before she passed—a deep, resonant, primal roar.

  The roar of Kalakos, the Remipede God, echoed across the city.

  Victor leaned heavily against the railing of his watchtower, the biting wind cutting through his bandages. His breath was laboured, his chest heaving beneath the white, bloodstained wrappings. He’d been having troubles breathing ever since Kalakos’ wormhole started warbling and threatening to collapse a while ago—the wormhole was starting to suck in even the air around him, after all—but he didn’t once tear his eyes away from his Archive’s live map.

  Fifteen status screens filled his vision, all half-translucent maps that overlaid each other in the air, flickering and updating in real time. Coloured markers representing his comrades blinked across the glowing diagrams. In the north, Andres, Maria, and Claudia were still locked in battle against Rhizocapala’s endless horde of giant barnacles. In the east, the lass and his niece had finally succeeded in defeating Eurypteria. That was a big triumph for the Deepwater Legion Front, though he couldn’t exactly bring himself to feel glad about the harsh reality of the cost: Hugo’s marker had gone dark during the battle.

  And still, there was Kalakos.

  He turned and looked behind him, where the wormhole of the colossal Remipede God still loomed like an abyssal nightmare. The glowing circular edges were practically scraping the air now, distorting light and sound, and very soon—very, very soon—Kalakos would claw her way out of it.

  The hundreds of Guards and Imperators below him manned their defensive positions, their faces pale but resolute. Cannons were aimed, fortifications were reinforced, but Victor could see the tremors in their hands and the wavering of their gazes. They were brave, yes. Incredibly so. But they were human.

  And Kalakos was not.

  He turned back to the live maps. The flickering markers painted a grimmer picture that only he could see. Andres and the others in the north wouldn’t make it here in time. His niece and the lass were too battered to reinforce them against Rhizocapala. That left Kalakos unattended, free to tear through the city’s defenses and plunge them all into oblivion.

  Unless, of course, he used his Swarmblood Art and fought her head-to-head.

  …

  Just as his fingers tightened around the railing, the metal creaking under his grip, a familiar voice boomed across the city, echoing through the shattered conch shell speakers scattered everywhere.

  “Victor!” Andres’ voice, raw and forceful, carried over the din of battle. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare! She isn’t worth it!”

  And Victor froze, his hand just hovering over the bandages on his face.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Andres continued, his tone commanding, brooking no argument. “Abandon your posts! Hereby, as the Imperatrix, I am giving the executive order: we’re evacuating from the Whirlpool City! Fall back to the southern harbors and prepare the ships! We will battle Kalakos and Rhizocapala as they pursue us across the great blue!”

  The Imperatrix’s words hung in the air like a death knell.

  Victor looked down from the watchtower. The Guards and Imperators were all looking up, their weapons ready, their eyes fixed on him. They were waiting for his command, their faces a mixture of fear and determination, because even though he was no Imperator—and he was certainly not the lord of the island—he was still the Chariot, ranked sixth of the Arcana Hasharana.

  They’ll stay.

  If I order it, they’ll stay and fight Kalakos to the last.

  They’ll die for this city.

  His teeth ground together, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He turned his gaze to the live maps one last time, watching as the markers flickered and moved. The city was bleeding, crumbling. Though Eurypteria was defeated, Hugo was dead, his niece was out of commission, the lass was half-conscious, and neither Maria nor Claudia could really put up a good fight against the strengthened Rhizocapala as he was now. The tide of this battle hadn’t turned in their favour just yet—the whirlpool was still swallowing them whole.

  So Victor exhaled, his breath fogging the cold air.

  “... Dammit, Andres,” he muttered.

  Then he stepped forward, climbing onto the railings. The wind whipped around him, tearing at his feathered cap and flower-patterned cape as he steadied himself.

  And his voice, when it came, was a roar that echoed across the southern harbour district.

  “Listen up, everyone!”

  The Guards and Imperators below him snapped to attention, their eyes locked on him.

  “Abandon your posts! Leave Rhizocapala and Kalakos alone! Get to the southern harbours and prepare to evacuate! We’re not holding the city anymore!”

  For a moment, there was only silence.

  Then, like a dam breaking, the soldiers below sprang into action. Orders were shouted, weapons abandoned, and formations broke as they turned and began their retreat.

  Victor watched them go, his chest tight. They were the best soldiers he’d ever had the honour of leading, and here he was, sending them running from their own home.

  But he knew better than anyone else—even if he were to use his Swarmblood Art and fight Kalakos right here and now, everyone else would be killed in the crossfire, and the city wasn’t worth their lives.

  They’d already lost enough soldiers fighting Rhizocapala and Eurypteria.

  They didn’t need to lose any more to Kalakos.

  … Sorry, lass.

  Guess you’re not going down to Depth Nine after all.

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