Marisol and Reina pushed downwards, weaving through the rubble-strewn streets and choking clouds of smoke. It was hard enough for Marisol already, trying not to get her glaives caught on the cracks in the ground. It was even harder trying to ignore the bodies littered across the upper and lower city alike, left behind during the mass wormhole evacuation.

  Maybe it’d simply be too much to ask of the Worm God to warp away even the dead, considering what he was probably facing down in the whirlpool, single-handedly holding back the rest of the leviathans from breaching the surface.

  When the two of them reached the Harbour Guard Academy in the lower city—the giant chapel-like building dominating most of the eastern end of the city—they paused for a moment outside the giant doors, catching their breaths. The entrance adorned with banners of a nine-headed serpent was smeared with blood and grime, and the doors were already swung inwards. Imperators and Guards walked in and out, none paying either of them a passing glance.

  Marisol didn’t want to go in for a second, but Reina, still holding her hand, pulled her up the stairs and into the building.

  The entry hall of what must’ve once been the foyer of a pristine academy was now a battlefield—a place where the war wasn’t about killing, but about keeping people alive. Study tables had been dragged into haphazard rows, each occupied by bloodied Guards and Imperators. Some lay unconscious, faces pale and slick with sweat. Others writhed in pain, their voices breaking as medics worked frantically to stitch wounds or amputate limbs. Buckets of water, stained pink and red, were scattered across the hall, alongside blood-soaked bandages and discarded bits of armor. Tarps were pulled across the beds and every window was flung wide open to let in as much fresh air as possible, but still the place stank of death and misery. Marisol’s stomach churned.

  She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure as she let Reina drag her through the temporary infirmary. The metallic tang of blood and the sharp odor of antiseptics stung her nose. She wasn’t trying to avoid anyone’s eyes, but the flashes of mangled flesh and torn bodies were difficult to look at.

  “... There.” Reina nudged her gently, pointing at two empty cots against the wall. “We can… take a break there.”

  They stumbled toward the beds, collapsing onto them without grace. For a moment, Marisol closed her eyes, letting the weight of her body sink into the cot. Her limbs felt like lead. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heartbeat. She clutched her broken ribs, winced, and gritted her teeth as she tried to tune out the rest of the groans and screams across the infirmary.

  Then a familiar voice cut through the haze.

  “Well, well. Look who’s awake this time.”

  Marisol’s eyes snapped open to see Claudia standing between the two of their beds, her four thin shrimp antennae twitching as if in exasperation. Her white and blue-lined doctor’s coat, once regal and elegant, was now splattered with blood, but her expression was still sharp despite the dark circles under her eyes.

  She didn’t say it aloud, but Marisol really, didn’t want to talk to anyone besides Reina right now—especially not to a Lighthouse Imperator who could abandon a hundred people down in Depth Five without hesitation.

  “... What?” Marisol muttered, irritation creeping into her tone. She lay her head back against the pillow, one hand resting on her forehead. She felt hot. Sticky. Sweaty. The best she could do was hope she’d fall asleep and wake up, miraculously, with fully healed ribs.

  “Each time ye’ve been here, ye’ve been out cold,” Claudia said, musing aloud as she bent down, popped open a box of medical supplies, and started rummaging through it for medicine to treat the both of them.

  “I ain’t never been here before.”

  “Sure ye have. Three, maybe, four times now,” Claudia countered. “There was that time when Victor first brought you into the city, that time when ye fainted after fightin’ the pistol shrimps, that time when ye fainted after meetin’ Rhizocapala for the first time, and that last time when ye fainted after ye met Eurypteria for the first time. One, two, three… ya. Four times in total.”

  Marisol coughed painfully, scowling with her eyes squeezed shut. “I… ain’t got no memory of any of that.”

  “Well, ye always get transferred out onto a different bed before ye wake up each time. ‘Sides, that’s what being ‘out cold’ means. I’d be more worried if ye remember everythin’ I did to ye before ye woke up.” Claudia pulled out five rolls of clean bandages, turned to Reina, and her shrimp antennae started bleeding glowing blue blood all over Reina’s bloody cuts, tears, and scrapes. “Rest assured, though, that I’m the one who’s always been puttin’ ye back together. My job’s to tend to all of the Lighthouse Imperators.”

  “Maybe you should go help someone who actually needs the help, then,” Marisol mumbled, “and leave the two of us alone. Our injuries ain’t gonna kill us. We can afford to—”

  “I’m helpin’ ye recover quicker so ye can get back out there quicker,” Claudia interrupted. “So if ye’ve got nothin’ else to say, shut the hell up and let me do my thing.”

  Marisol didn’t respond, her jaw tightening as Claudia finished bandaging Reina’s wounds and turned to her. The Fourth Lighthouse Imperator’s antennae glowed faintly as she activated her Swarmblood Art, and it to be some sort of healing magic, because when her four shrimp antennae rubbed Marisol’s sides and bled glowing blue blood, there was a warm but slightly invasive sensation. Like tiny needles stitching Marisol’s torn flesh back together.

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  Claudia’s glowing blood diffused through her skin, mended her broken ribs, and she gripped the edges of her bed with whitened knuckles the entire time. It was still a strange and eerie sensation, feeling someone else’s blood flowing in her veins. She felt goosebumps all over her as her bones clicked back in place.

  “... This is way overdue, I guess. I never actually formally introduced myself,” Claudia said, washing and disinfecting her smaller cuts and scrapes with a wet towel. “I’m Claudia, the Fourth Lighthouse Imperator. I oversee the Harbour Guards, train them while they’re still in the academy, and then send ‘em off to Hugo to train as Imperator initiates if I think they’ve got potential to do some good in the whirlpool. I also work as a traumatic medic. I’ve got the Cleaner Shrimp Class, and my Art lets me bleed onto people and heal them quickly provided the injuries are still fresh—I ain’t gonna be healin’ someone who’s had broken legs for the majority of their life.”

  Marisol had already figured as much. And she going to ask if Claudia could heal ailments like what her mama has, but the Imperator answered that question preemptively.

  “You know about my mama?” she mumbled, trying to breathe and relax and calm her pounding heart as Claudia’s antennae continued rubbing all over her skin.

  “I know most everythin’ there is to know about ye,” Claudia said, shrugging nonchalantly. “What ye did for the Captain Enrique and his Guards before comin’ here… the Guards still talk about it, ye know. The story of the ‘Storm Strider’ and her mad skate from the mainland shoreline to the docks of the Whirlpool City. I owe ye my thanks for protectin’ as many Guards as ye did when that Mutant-Class skeleton shrimp caught us at a shitty time.”

  Then Claudia bowed slightly, and Marisol didn’t know how to respond.

  The unexpected gratitude caught her off-guard.

  Now, she felt a bit… immature, for having addressed Claudia with scorn.

  The medic had saved her life—and plenty others in the city—many, many times before. If Claudia was also the Imperator in charge of the Guards, then, most likely, abandoning the hundreds of Imperators and Guards in Depth Five hit her even harder than it hit Marisol. She simply did what she had to do. Made the choice she had to make—and, as a Lighthouse Imperator, she couldn’t show any sort of dejection on her face now.

  She was just a more composed and measured lady than Marisol was.

  “But,” Claudia added, her tone sharp again, “that don’t mean I’ll let ye run yerself into the ground in this state. Sure, we need every fightin’ hand we’ve got on the wormholes outside, but if ye can’t even stand properly, yer just a liability. Both of ye are stayin’ here until yer fully healed.”

  Reina groaned, shuffling and sitting up straight on her bed with groggy eyes. “And… how long until you can dismiss us?”

  Claudia glanced at the front door, grimacing at the few dozen wormholes still thrumming and warbling right outside on the main street. “Until tomorrow mornin’, at the very least,” she muttered. “Yer bodies need at least that much time to recover after goin’ at Eurypteria down in Depth Five. I imagine Andres will call for a meetin’ with all the other Lighthouse Imperators tomorrow mornin’ after we’ve regained a foothold in every section of the city, too, so all ye’ve got to do is rest here and wait.”

  But the sounds outside—the distant clashes, shouts, and the occasional roar of a bug clawing out of its wormhole—continued gnawing at Marisol’s nerves. Every second here felt… wasted, almost.

  She hated this. Being stuck while others fought and bled. Healing was necessary, and she knew that, but it didn’t mean she liked it. She shifted uncomfortably, her body protesting every small movement. She turned to glance at Reina on the cot beside her, and the Imperator, too, was leaning back with her arms crossed and eyes closed, lips tight with thought.

  Reina opened one eye suddenly, her sharp gaze cutting across the infirmary's dim lighting. A dozen Imperators stumbled in through the entrance, each dragging a large, grotesque carcass of a Mutant-Class behind them.

  Marisol and Reina immediately recognised the carcasses. They were the Mutant-Classes Victor had killed before the Worm God shot into action.

  “... Thought we’d bring these in, boss!” one of the Imperators said, wiping sweat from his brow as he tossed a Mutant-Class crayfish at Claudia’s feet. “Can’t just leave ‘em out there. Other bugs might eat them and get stronger.”

  Claudia grinned. “Good thinkin’. We can—”

  “We can eat them,” Marisol and Reina said simultaneously. Claudia and the two Imperators immediately whirled on them, evidently startled, but… at the very least, Marisol wasn't joking.

  The sight of the human-like crayfish sparked a mix of revulsion and interest in her—mostly revulsion—and her stomach practically churned at the thought of eating the disgusting parts of the crayfish, but she knew better than to let her squeamishness get in the way.

  She didn't respond to the Archive as she swung her legs slowly off her bed. Reina did the same, and with a single look from her, the Imperators gulped and started dragging the carcasses between their beds.

  Then they hurried off, rejoining the fight outside.

  “... Claudia,” Reina said, examining her lobster carcass with a critical eye, “got any sweeteners? Sugar? Something to make this thing more edible?”

  Claudia gave her an incredulous look. “Yer actually plannin’ on eatin’ it full?”

  "They're dead. Might as well get stronger from them.”

  “And ye don’t wanna share the carcass with everyone else in here?”

  Marisol and Reina took one more good look around them, but, for her part, Reina didn’t hesitate. She shook her head, moved her scorpion tail over, and severed one of her lobster’s legs.

  “Just this once,” she said. “We’re eating the Mutant-Classes. All of them.”

  Marisol smiled softly. “You’re welcome to join us, Claudia.”

  “I’ll pass,” Claudia said quickly, backing away with a wave. “If eatin’ the carcasses means ye’ll be stayin’ here until yer fully rested, then I ain’t got any complaints. Just… don’t make too much of a mess, alright? There’s other people here.”

  Reina nodded, and so did Marisol, a quiet determination settling in her chest.

  She’ll rest reluctantly for today.

  Tomorrow, she’d fight again—and she’d be leaving the infirmary with at least one tier five mutation unlocked.

  Next chapter on Saturday~

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