Chương 4: 3 How NOT to Get Ready for Graduation

My boots pounded against the wharf. Bianca's footfalls slapped the planks beside me. The Deeplings raised their weapons, most lifting dart guns to their fishy lips. I let out a bellow as I jerked my suit coat in front of me. Needles hissed towards us, darts snagging in the loose fabric. A lead ball from a sling buzzed as it snapped past my ear, sending an icy chill through me. A system user with high resilience could brush off such a blow. For me, one solid hit and it was over.

I hissed as I pulled my jacket aside and executed a three-strike cutlass combo. My technique was flawless; the results, less so. I hadn't expected the fish to be so tough. My blade bounced off the Deepling's shoulder, and the second cut deflected off hard scales on its brow. The third strike finally scored a shallow cut on the Deepling's arm. The bug-eyed fish-face shrieked at me, flashing wedge teeth. Three diagonal red war paint stripes slashed its muddy scales.

I recoiled from its mutant face, and it lunged with a rusty harpoon. I shouted, kicking the shaft aside, and it stumbled—perks of being three times its size. With its shoulder turned, I slashed, this time dropping technique in favor of brute strength. Cold red sprayed in an arch. The wounded Deepling shrieked, falling back as one of its comrades took its place. I danced back, cutlass angle shifting with each step to maintain a center guard.

To my side, Bianca's arms and fingers swelled, elongating and sprouting reptilian claws. With two whip-like blows, she sent a pair of screaming Deeplings back into the sea. I didn't even have time to be properly impressed. A chunk of coral from a sling smashed into my shoulder, and something cracked. I howled with pain, quickly scanning the docks. I had initially counted six Deeplings. With the Deep Ones and the Dagonite still hurling crates into the sea, where had the coral come from— I spotted them.

Four more Deeplings clambered up the pilings. Of course—fish people. The shallows could be concealing a hundred more for all I knew. My left arm hung uselessly, hot nerves pulsing through it. I gritted my teeth, shifting my stance. Luckily, I was right-handed. Unfortunately, my fencing style required me to use my other arm as a counterweight. The Deeplings rushed me, and I stumbled back, grateful my fencing instructors weren't here to watch a couple of fin-faces force me away.

I struck a vertical chop at the one in the lead. My blade stopped abruptly. The ripjaw had caught my cutlass in its—claw? I blinked in confusion. That was correct; instead of a fish-scaled hand, a massive lobster claw tightened around my blade, fused at the Deepling's wrist. I jerked my blade, yanking the Deepling forward, but it held fast. A sphere of ice, the size of a swivel gun cannonball, zipped past me, missing the other Deepling by several feet.

"Tony, get down! You're blocking my shot!" Ingred called, already conjuring another frost strike.

"I'm trying!" I snapped back as the Deepling jerked me to the side. The handle of Naomi's dagger cracked me on the back of my head, and I flinched as it clattered to the planks at my feet. I whirled, grip tight on my stuck cutlass. Our fearless leader flinched back, eyes wide, her other dagger wobbling through the air before her.

"Watch it!" I barked, itching to rub my head where she'd accidentally clipped me.

"If you can't aim with those things, don't use them at all!" Claw-hand gave my blade another yank, and I let go. The Deepling staggered back, and I cross-drew my pistol.

"Who needs magic?" I snapped, then pulled the trigger. The Deepling's head snapped back, and it collapsed. I rushed to recover my sword, but another one stomped over Claw-hand's body. I cursed, brandishing my empty pistol like a club. It hissed, waving a rusted crowbar filed to a point. It lunged. I opened my mouth and shrieked. This was death, and all I could do was scream at it. The Deepling's body locked up mid-lunge as if it'd struck an invisible barrier.

Its jaw lolled open, and its arms dropped loosely to its sides. Color drained from its black eyes, replaced by a milky sheen as drool dribbled from the corner of its mouth. I glanced back at Naomi, who had her finger to her temple, her other hand extended in a focus gesture. Her eyes had also gone white, and the irises had completely vanished. Finally. The psionic was doing her job supporting the tank. I jammed my empty pistol into its holster and plucked Naomi's fallen knife from the decking in a pick grip.

"Stay off my island," I snapped before jerking it sideways into the Deepling's temple. Naomi shrieked, flinching back. She clutched her head, as if I'd driven the knife through her skull instead. That couldn't have been good. Was I not supposed to hurt monsters with whom she had a psionic link? To make matters worse, the Deepling toppled sideways into the bay, taking her dagger with it. I was pretty sure that knife cost more than my cutlass and a month of rent. Hopefully it wasn't an heirloom or something.

A shriek of pain snatched my attention further down the pier. Four motionless Deepling corpses lined Bianca's path. Boy, was she doing work. But she'd pulled too far ahead. Both the much larger Deep Ones and the Dagonite abandoned their sabotage and turned their full attention to her. She had changed again, forearms swelling bigger than my head. A crude melding of hair and scales blended across the back of her hand and face, turning her into a chimeric blend of—honestly, I had no idea—a lot of somethings.

Good thing she was built for function, not beauty. An ice ball whistled through the air, clipping one of the massive Deep Ones and knocking it away from Bianca.

"Get to her, Tony!" Ingred snapped, trying to conjure a new projectile that fizzled out. Frozen sweat glistened on her forehead. The other Deep One slammed Bianca, driving her to the planks. Standing head and shoulders taller than me, with no neck to speak of and eyes wide as plates, Deep Ones were proper brutes. Beyond that, these Deep Ones differed from the bestiaries. One had a thick tentacle lined with puckered suckers, writhing from his wrist and curling around his arm.

The other had a pair of tuna tails sprouting from his ribs. Beyond that, they seemed bigger than they should have been. Fuller, like they'd been getting plenty of protein. I was off, snatching my cutlass as I sprinted the length of the wharf. Good thing I moved when I did, because more poison needles spat past me. In my peripheral vision, I glimpsed two more Deeplings sticking up from the water, mounted on sharks' backs. Desperate breaths tore from my lungs. I didn't have the air to warn the others.

Hopefully, they saw and dealt with the waterborne cavalry. A Deep One planted a knee on Bianca, then hefted what appeared to be a rusted cleaver as she thrashed under its weight. A nauseating prickle shocked my nerves. Bianca, weird, quiet Bianca, whom I'd never initiated a conversation with in my life, was in danger. My squadmate. A member of my party. I don't think I'd ever felt so protective of anyone who didn't share my last name. I bellowed, launching myself and kicking with both feet.

I didn't train to be heavy; I fluctuated somewhere between one hundred eighty and one hundred ninety pounds. At my height, that was pretty lean, but with my speed, my heels blasted the brute off of her. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. They don't call it a drop kick for no reason. I slammed down on top of Bianca. Is it a reckless move? Yes. Had I also drilled it to a point where I could fall from chest height? Also yes.

In that moment, with all the adrenaline, did I forget about my broken shoulder? You see where I'm going with this? My arm was ripped off. At least, that's what it felt like. I screamed as I landed, armpit to elbow flashing in a twisted sting. Bianca shoved me, whipping around and raking at a Deep One's thighs. Two against three, our odds went from dying quickly to getting murdered a little slower. I forced myself to my feet, blinking tears as I tried to go back to back with Bianca.

Favoring a more primal tactic, she abandoned me, hurling herself at the tuna-tailed Deep One. Her twisted mouth of bear fangs and crocodile teeth flashed. Great, thanks teammate. I pivoted to the tentacle-fisted Deep One, and the Dagonite. Unless Ingred started throwing some very hard snowballs really soon— I shifted to a high guard, my preferred stance against taller opponents. My left arm dangled uselessly, pulsing in fiery waves. The Deep One snarled, flicking his rusty cleaver in preparation.

I bobbed on my toes, calluses going hot through my glove. Cautious of my two opponents, my gaze flickered to the Dagonite, but it wasn't watching me. Its eel-like neck shifted, a shell crown writhing around its head. Water dripped from soaking robes draped around its body. Talismans and charms hanging from its neck clinked as it shuffled. Its eyes traced something over my shoulder. I tensed, following its gaze and expecting to find more pygmy Deeplings swarming the dock. The Dagonite didn't look to its allies.

It focused on Naomi, who cautiously inched onto the dock. Sensing movement, I flinched as a cleaver sparked off my high guard. I gritted my teeth, cursing myself for giving the Deep One an opening. It chopped once, twice, three times— The thing was heavy; each of its blows staggered me. It lashed out with its off-hand, tentacle uncoiling. I slipped back. The wet, rubbery appendage cut the air inches from my eyes. It overextended, giving me a juicy shot at its shoulder.

This time, my cutlass bit deep, adrenaline pushing my body into overdrive. It barked, lashing back with the tentacle. My turn to overcorrect. My heel hit something slick, Deepling blood, frozen by one of Ingred's spells. I fell back, nearly stabbing my own leg on my way down. Tentacle Fist should have gone into investing, because he leaped on opportunities when he saw them. And by that I mean me. His weight blasted the air from my lungs, his tentacle snaking around my throat and pulling my neck tight into his palm.

I must've lost hold of the cutlass because I flailed at its scaly hand as I gagged. It grinned, fishy teeth slick with slimy saliva. It shuffled on its knees, keeping its weight on me as it slid me closer to the edge of the deck. My vision darkened at the edges, my leg kicking as I clawed at the planks. And the suckers—they pulled at my neck, leaving rings of bruises on my skin. It shuffled again and forced my head back over open air.

I craned my neck, just about wetting my pants when I saw the pair of circling dorsal fins. Tentacle Fist wasn't going to finish me himself; he was going to feed me to his hounds. It sneered, croaking something in its deep tongue. I gripped the mooring cleat for dear life, but strength sapped from my fingers as I felt consciousness fading. It grunted one last time. I shifted. And then I was falling.

I readied myself for the cold impact of water, the flash of teeth, and churning red water, but I struck something hard; a cold cracking sounded beneath me. I gagged before sucking in air. My vision blurred, but through the haze I glimpsed Ingred leaning over the decking. She held her hand out, her face tight with concentration. I rolled, icy water licking my shirt as I spun. I had landed on a flat sheet of ice; the water frozen beneath me. The platform lurched, two shark fins fixed in place through the sheet.

The predators thrashed, jerking the rapidly melting ice platform. I coughed loudly, sucking in deep breaths. I just needed a second. A moment to catch my breath and— Tentacle Fist glared at Ingred, who concentrated on solidifying the ground under me as the much warmer, salty sea fought her. The Deep One hefted its cleaver and started for her. My boot slid out from under me as I scrambled to my feet. I was the tank, and Ingred was my long-time friend.

I'd throw myself to the sharks before I let her face that mutant alone. Energy gone, I threw myself at the slick pilings. I half-expected more Deeplings to leap out at me from the churning tide. In my mind, I could see their flashing piranha teeth as they latched onto me, tearing into flesh. Ingred and Naomi must have dealt with them because the only obstacle I faced was my own fatigue. My left arm stopped hurting. That was bad. One-handed, I tried to scale the pole, but failed.

"Tony, get up here!" Ingred cried, fear thick on her Coppersmeldt clan accent. I cursed, leaping and catching the lip of the decking with my right hand. I was strong but lean by choice, exactly for situations like that. Being large enough to blast through a shield wall wasn't worth it if you couldn't pull your own body weight. The fingers of my right hand tightened while my left dangled uselessly. I doubted even someone with a 10 in strength could do a one-handed muscle-up.

"Tony!" she shrieked. The dry patches on my forearm prickled, fresh rashes stretching along my jaw and cheeks. Sometimes, motivation told physics and biomechanics to take a dive. I bellowed as I pulled. Muscles tore in my arm, but I inched to the edge of the dock. Jerking my shoulder, I threw my numb left arm onto the deck. The pain came back all at once, an electrified probe drilled into bone. I didn't remember actually getting onto the dock, but the next moment, I was charging Tentacle Fist.

Ingred cowered from Tentacle Fist, muttering incantations and twisting her hands in arcane signs. Frost vapors misted into existence before dissipating. As a mage, Ingred packed a punch, but she was tapped. The Deep One tensed when he heard my boots on the planks, then he whirled. My flying knee took him in the chest. A most satisfying crunch sounded from his sternum. He went down, and I followed.

Since my time in the cadet corps, my mentor, Uncle Lance Coralfin, has drilled three lessons into me about being a fighter. First, all known weapons should be familiar in a fighter's hand. Second, barring a proper weapon, any object becomes a weapon in a fighter's hand. And finally, when empty, the hand of a fighter itself is a weapon. My fist curled, and I slammed down. I pinned its chest with my weight as I struck, again and again. My knuckles split under my glove, but I didn't care.

I barked, something between a snarl and a shout with every impact. The mutant's fish head slammed back with every blow, striking wood. Then the bone structure broke. Whether it was in my hand or its face, I couldn't have told you. I kept pounding. In case you hadn't put it together, I had something of a wrath problem, and while I'm not dodging responsibility for my actions, it's genetic, at least partially. The tough skin on my arms and face prickled, and the edges in my vision sharpened.

"Tony!" Ingred yelled, yanking me off the Deep One. I gasped, my chest heaving.

"It's okay!" she called, grabbing my wrist, trying to ground me in the moment. I jerked my fist away, covering the skin on the back of my hand where my rashes were crusting over. Her gaze snapped over my shoulder, and her eyes widened. I whirled. The Dagonite towered over Naomi, his webbed hand clutching her face. She convulsed on her knees under his touch. I cursed, lurching to my feet and staggering sideways. The Dagonite's eyes had gone milky white, so he was a psionic, too.

"Stop him!" Ingred called, stumbling after me on short legs.

"They're linked. I don't want to hurt her!" I called, recalling her reaction when I killed the Deepling whose mind she had invaded.

"A migraine at worst!" Ingred called.

"Do it!" I pulled up to a stop at the pair, both frozen in psionic combat. My hands shook as I raised the cutlass.

"Big mistake," I hissed.

"Never touch my party members." My cutlass sheared through its eel-like neck smoothly, and the fish priest collapsed into a heap. Naomi gasped, spasming and flailing as her link was abruptly severed. Ingred caught her, grasping her hand as she cradled her head.

"I've got you!" she said. Mid-convulsion, Naomi's dark fae eyes shifted from Ingred to me.

"Bianca?" I went cold and spun. Bianca was missing, along with Tuna Ribs.

"Bianca!" I called, swaying to stay on my feet. I scanned each corpse until my gaze landed on a pool of blood that slipped over the side of the dock.

"Tex," I cursed, starting forward. Something erupted from the water, scattering droplets as it thumped onto the deck. I flinched away, recoiling as the Deepling head rolled to a stop at my feet. An arm slapped onto the dock, and Bianca pulled herself over, slit gills melting away from her neck. Her soaking shirt and jacket hung loose, stretched from several form shifts.

"Where's the Deepling?" I demanded, heart racing as my hand tightened on my cutlass.

"Belly up," she said, adjusting her blouse.

"You mean," Naomi stated, rubbing her eyes as she recentered herself in her own mind.

"You took that thing by yourself. In the water?" Bianca shrugged, wringing seawater from her jacket. My jaw may have dropped a little. Here she was, shy, timid Bianca again.

"What level is Ourabora going to start you at?" I demanded.

"Like ten?" She shrugged. Feet pounded on the planks behind us, and we all turned. The Lieutenant had arrived, with a fresh squad of musketeers and a half-inebriated crew of goblin mercenaries. They gripped weapons as they scanned the bloody docks.

"Well," I murmured, casting a final glance at the carnage around us.

"This is going to be a lot of paperwork."

"Later," Naomi said, picking herself up and rubbing her head.

"We're already going to be very late to our own graduation."