Chapter 230: Chum

Chapter 230: Chum

Tek lounged under the light of early dawn, humming the tune of The Fishwife’s Daughter as he whittled a scrap of wood. Two days had passed since the last-minute announcement of the southern cut, and one could only maintain a constant state of terror for so long. That first night, with the lights off, he’d been confident they were all going to die. All of them had, all the sailors who’d spent a lifetime tempting the sea’s wrath. When the sun had risen, it had felt like nothing but a stay of execution. When the first monsters had found them, banging and clattering against the hull, he’d again thought that was it.

But they’d merely sailed on.

The metal hull had proven itself immune to claw and tentacle. Whether by the dark gods’ luck or the ship’s mysterious stealth field, nothing big enough to change that had appeared. The rare monsters that made it over the railing were ones he was familiar with. Scratchlings, Oetena, Toothy Stars, and the like. Even such weak monsters could damage the wooden top deck, though, so they had to be dealt with. Clearing the table, it was called in the business.

His team consisted of himself, Roan, and Nemet. They were one of a half-dozen teams on rotation, tasked with sweeping the deck as Temerity sailed in waters no ship should ever have dared. Granted, this was no ordinary ship. Beside him rested a long wooden catchpole. It was one of the few familiar things on this voyage. Gone was the stink of rotting fish and unwashed bodies. Gone was the yelling of the deck master, replaced with the quiet efficiency of hands that knew their business without needing to be told.

When they weren’t just waiting, that was.

“How fast you reckon we’re going now?” Roan asked.

Tek shrugged, not looking up from his carving, which was starting to look disappointingly like a seagull. He was trying for an eagle.

“Tek?”

“Heard ya,” Tek said. “Don’t know more than you do.”

“You both know more than me,” Nemet said.

This time, Tek looked up. He didn’t know Nemet like he knew Roan, having crewed on and off with the latter for more than ten years. Nemet was from Eastspar. He seemed an okay sort, but he wasn’t a sailor. He was a fisherman, at least, which was better than some limp-legged inlander.

“Well?” Nemet asked, looking between him and Roan. “Just take a guess, one of you.”

With one last look at his half-completed carving, Tek clicked his tongue and tossed it to him. “You guess.”

“I don’t even know what unit to use,” Nemet admitted, catching the easy lob with no trouble. “The engines are louder than before, so...faster?”

“There you go then,” Tek said.

“Is this supposed to be a turtle?” Nemet asked, inspecting the carving.

“Never claimed to be an ar—” Tek began.

“Look alive!” Roan shouted as he leapt to his feet.

Tek cursed, realizing that the distinctive clicking he’d been hearing had grown quite close. Too close. It sounded like a Clacker, but a Clacker shouldn’t have been able to climb the hull, so he’d been ignoring it. Levering himself up, he sheathed his knife and reached for the catchpole. Whatever was coming, bloodshed was something to be avoided. Nemet had gotten up as well, hefting a shield and a hooked hammer.

“Sounds like a Clacker!” Roan called.

“Probably something else!” Tek shouted back, airing his thought. “A Clacker couldn’t climb—never mind!”

Clearly it could. A head-sized claw had clamped onto the railing, and the overgrown crab creature’s body rose into view a moment later, legs scrabbling for purchase on the metal bars.

“Red Clacker!” Lyn’s voice rang out behind them. “Level three! Full health!” She was the awakened on watch, but any intervention from her—even being a Defender—risked attracting yet more attention from the deep.

“We’ve got it!” Roan called, rushing forward. He’d dropped his net, knowing as Tek did that the Clacker would just snip through it. In its place, he drew a cudgel from his belt. “Nemet, move, damn it!”

“Coming!” Nemet shouted.

Tek was already there, reaching with the catchpole. He slipped the hempen noose over one of the Clacker’s eye stalks, then yanked the cord tight. Clackers couldn’t scream, but its immediate spasm told him how unhappy it was with this development.

“Let go, you gullshit!” Roan yelled, hammering at the claw grasping the railing. After three solid thunks from his cudgel and two from Nemet’s hammer, his next hit landed with a crack. The claw opened, the creature tumbling away. Rather than be tugged over, Tek released the catchpole. They had spares.The origin of this chapter's debut can be traced to N0v3l--B1n.

“Toothy Star! Level two! Full health!” Lyn called, and Tek glanced over his shoulder. There was indeed a Toothy Star, but another team was already moving to engage it.

“We’ve got it!” Nemet cried.

Confused as to why Nemet had called out, Tek looked back at him, then his eyes went wide. A second Toothy Star was hauling itself over the railing beside them, right where the Clacker had been. Its main body was about the size of a dog, with six long, whiplike tentacles ending in fangs. The only detail that mattered, though, was the crimson, ragged wound carved into its back.

Tek dove for the net, but he knew it was already too late. “Blood! Blood in the water!”

The Clacker climbed over it! That’s how it got up!

“Second Toothy Star!” Lyn called. “Level two! Quarter health!”

“It’s a frenzy!” Tek yelled, cold certainty creeping into his bones despite the fire in his blood. It looked like they’d be dying after all. “It’s the start of a frenzy!”

“Oi! Here!” Nemet yelled. “I’m right here...you...thing!”

While he needed to work on his sailorly insults, his provocation proved effective. The Stinger Star reared back, revealing its mouth, from which launched a trio of barbed teeth, stabbing harmlessly into Nemet’s shield. Roan took advantage of its distraction, slamming his club brutally against its backside and flattening it to the decking with a sickening squelch. Blood went everywhere, but at this point, it hardly mattered. Another was already clambering over the railing to replace it. A rising chittering told him there were Scratchlings not far behind.

He drew his own cudgel from his belt, shifting the net to his free hand.

“Having trouble?” Mahria asked, offering her a hand.

“Some,” Lyn admitted with a grin. A chill ran through her, and the slimy water coating her gambeson froze and cracked away as the Ice Mage hauled her to her feet.

“You’re welcome,” Mahria said with a smirk.

A sudden plume of fire lit the night from beyond the wall, followed by a mad cackling. “Burn, fishies! Burn, HAHAHAHA!”

“Damn it, Kettel,” Mahria muttered, releasing Lyn’s hand to retrieve her fallen staff. “We’re all going to die. Could you at least try to act cool?”

“I don’t plan on dying today,” Lyn said, laying a hand on Mahria’s shoulder as she rose. She smiled, then darted forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Just in case things don’t go to plan.”

Mahria snorted. “At least make it count, then,” she said with a smile, then kissed her back. On the lips. When she pulled away a moment later, it was to offer her her weapon. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Lyn replied, fighting not to blush. She hadn’t thought they were there yet. She took the staff as the entire ship shook with a massive clang. “Come what may.”

“What was that!?” Bluewash shrieked, her shrill voice cutting through the ringing that filled Tallheart’s ears.

“Step aside,” he said calmly, pushing past her to spread his hands against the wall. Her expertise in the past few days had been welcome, but it was of no use here, not with metal. He frowned, feeling the broken enchantments. Whatever had struck the ship had done so at the damage limit. Given its position, the engine room benefited from the protection of the original hull, but that protection wouldn’t last long under this kind of attack.

Another blow shook the ship, and the plate under his right hand was dented inward with enough force to launch his arm behind his back.

“Oh, gods, is it a Whale?” Bluewash asked.

“No,” Tallheart said, returning his hand to the spot only for it to be blasted back again. The brief contact told him the enchantment on the entire section had failed. It was not a Whale, but it was a problem.

Another clang resounded, and a silver-blue, chitinous spike punched through the metal a few centimeters to the left of his head. Without flinching, he diverted his fist into a sweeping haymaker, striking the spike just where it had punched through the titanium. The spike didn’t shatter as he had hoped, and the rent in the hull was torn wider, a high-pressure spray of water blasting him in the face. The monster—whatever it was—attempted to pull its weapon free, but that was not allowed. Grabbing the spike with both hands, he braced his legs on the hull, then pulled. The water stopped. Metal twisted as he drew more and more of the creature through the tiny hole. A health bar appeared, followed by armor-like scales and the corner of a gigantic eye. A Chivalrous Carp, the system named it.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Bluewash shrieked. “L-l-l-level fourteen!”

Tallheart rumbled, pulling harder. Scales shattered. The monster’s health began to drop precipitously. It was clear the fish was suffering from essence starvation, to be wounded from just this. It was also clear that Bluewash had never seen combat. No one else in the compartment was screaming.

Stiffening his fingers into a blade, he punched them into the monster’s eye, now fully through the rent in the hull. It took four hits before the gelatinous flesh yielded, the creature’s health dropping to zero as he found its fleshy brain. He grasped, twisted, then pulled, whipping his arm free and painting the wall with a spray of steaming blood and gore.

“How?!” Bluewash screamed.

Ignoring her, Tallheart slapped a hand on the wall beside the fish’s head.

Planarity

Metal shrieked, barely hot enough for the skill, but knowledge of titanium’s rune and his Strength made up the difference. The hole slowly irised closed, biting through the dead Carp’s neck and snipping its head off completely. The repaired plate was perfectly flat and did not match the concave interior of the compartment, but perfection could come later. He looked down to inspect the creature he had killed, then frowned. It did not look much like a carp, really.

Bluewash screamed again as another clang shook the compartment. “We’re all going to die!”

“Be helpful or be silent,” Tallheart rumbled, again placing his hands against the wall. Dimly, he felt impacts of increasing strength all over the ship. He couldn’t do anything about them, though, not from here. Not like this. Not without the ability to see.

“Help how?!” Bluewash yelled back. “I’m just a crafter!”

“So am I,” Tallheart rumbled. He closed his eyes, knowing what he was about to do would take everything he had, perhaps more. Not concerned about disrupting enchantments that were already failing, he pushed.

Soul of Metal

Knowledge exploded in Tallheart’s mind, and with it, pain. The Metalworking capstone allowed a crafter to feel what they were working on as if it were an extension of their own body, be it a sword, a piece of armor, or something as honest as a plow. With the perfect knowledge it gave, he would be able to target any of his skills on any part of it without having to move from this spot.

Though only if he could endure.

Temerity grew in his mind; more than just his creation, it swelled to encompass the entirety of his being. The skill was not meant to be used on something remotely this large or complex. Anyone would have said it was impossible. He did it anyway. The pain continued to grow, and not just from the wounds inflicted upon the vessel. He ground his teeth, listening to the metal’s wants, knowing its needs, feeling its aches and stresses. Already, the skill had begun exacting its toll on his body, though his armor was intercepting the bulk of the damage. It would protect him. For a time.

Removing one hand from the wall, he reached for his hammer.

Temerity would not break.

He would not break.

Not ever.

Impact after impact shook the ship, and Rain rode with them, clinging to the flagpole atop the roof of the bridge with one hand. The engines were screaming, pushed beyond maximum as wind whipped Ascension’s flag above his head. The battle on the deck behind him raged hot and hard. Ascension was doing well, but it wasn’t enough.

The gamble had failed. He had likely doomed them all.

Off the stern, a plume of water exploded high into the air. The waves swelled, breaking as the back of a colossal gray form breached through. Though it was still over a kilometer behind them, a name appeared. The health bar that accompanied it seemed to span from horizon to horizon.

Whale - Level 43