Chapter 235: Fog Creatures Three shapes materialized from the fog, constantly shifting and writhing like smoke trying to hold solid form. Finn barely had time to register them before the first one lunged. He dove sideways, the navigation station he’d been gripping suddenly becoming an obstacle as he rolled across the deck. The creature’s strike missed him by inches, its limb slamming down at where he’d been with enough force to crack it. Finn came up with his sword already drawn, though he couldn’t remember consciously reaching for it. Instinct. His weeks of training with Althea had embedded the motion into muscle memory. The second creature attacked from his left, it had changed its form again, rippling and expanding into something with too many limbs. Finn parried the first strike, but barely. The impact jarred his arm, sending vibrations up to his shoulder. Heavy. He gritted his teeth. These things had weight. Mass. Despite being made of fog. The third circled behind him, forcing Finn to pivot constantly, trying to keep all three fog creatures in his field of vision despite the limited visibility. The creatures changed form again. The one on his right dissolved and twisted into something low and serpentine, whipping toward his legs with terrifying speed. Finn jumped, slashing downward as he dodged the strike. His blade connected and tore through flesh, causing the creatures to rapidly retreat a few steps. The retreat gave him a short reprieve. But even that was momentary. The leftmost creature had changed its form into something vaguely humanoid but with arms too long and joints that bent in weird directions. It charged at him in a rush, moving faster than before. Finn’s training kicked in again. With minimal movements, he blocked, parried, sidestepped, and countered. His blade work wasn’t perfect, nor was it even particularly elegant. But it was competent, and that was enough. The creature’s strikes were powerful but there was a pattern to it. They became predictable once you accounted for the different anatomy and long reach. Before long, he adapted and even caught the creature across its torso, slicing through the grey mist it had used to create its form. The creature stumbled back, flickering and destabilizing from the pain, before rapidly reforming into a new form. This time something with claws. Finn cursed under his breath. The third creature attacked while he was focused on the second. He sensed it more than saw it, spinning just in time to meet a strike that would have taken his head off. His sword caught the blow, but the force drove him back several steps. His foot caught on something — rope or debris, he couldn’t tell — and he stumbled. The creatures pressed their advantage immediately. All three converged, their forms changing into configurations designed to better exploit his momentary imbalance. Finn rolled and came up swinging, managing to keep them at bay for precious seconds. But he was tiring. He was breathing harder now, and his arms ached from the constant impacts. If he could call upon his Transcendent powers without being sure he would be the one to suffer instead, then he would’ve. These creatures wouldn’t have lasted this long against him. But right now it was only his mortal strength and the sword skills he had. The creatures on the other hand, didn’t tire or slow. They just kept changing forms and adapting, finding new ways to press him like they could sense him slowing, tiring, weakening. One of them changed tactics, changing form into something small and fast. It darted in low, faster than Finn could track, and raked across his side, tearing flesh open in the blink of an eye. Finn sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and struck back, but his blade barely caught the small creature before it joined the others and they began to circle tighter. Like a pack of hyenas, they were hunting Finn now. Finn placed a hand at his side and watched with narrowed gaze, seriously considering using his Transcendent powers, even if a bit, to level the odds. These were supernatural creatures fighting against a mortal man. He was going to take the risk and level the playing field— But just before he could take that final step and activate his Error magic, a blade flashed through the mist. Purple hair came into view, with a determined expression and a beautiful sword dance. Althea. She moved through the fog like she was born to it, her sword an extension of her will. One of the creatures turned to face this new threat and lost its head — or the fog approximation of one — to her first strike. The creature dissolved partially, then reformed several feet away, more cautious now. "Don’t stop moving," Althea said calmly, not looking at Finn as she engaged the second creature. Her blade work was far superior to his, each strike hitting vital points and weaving through the creatures’s attacks like they weren’t there. Finn frowned slightly. He wanted to trust that this was really her. His heart certainly seemed convinced, recognizing her movements, her voice, the way she held herself in combat. But his mind remained skeptical. "Where’s Ailin—" he started to ask, but the question died as he heard the sounds of multiple inhuman shrieks, followed by the sound of splashing, the sound of things hitting water rapidly like they were fleeing from something. Finn’s first thought was that more sailors had succumbed to the illusions. But then a figure passed close by, close enough for him to make out some details through the mist. And then he saw her. Ailin. The Blessed walked through the fog like she owned it, and the grey creatures scattered before her like she was their bane made flesh. They threw themselves into the black waters, diving deep, anything to escape her presence. "I think," Althea said, breathing slightly harder from the exertion of fighting, "the Blessed can handle herself for now." The fog creatures that had been attacking Finn and Althea hesitated, sensing their kin fleeing. Then they too retreated, melting back into the mist, choosing escape rather than continue a fight they suddenly seemed less confident about winning. Finn kept his sword raised, not trusting the reprieve. But the creatures were truly gone, leaving only him, Althea, and the oppressive white silence. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the fog began to thin. It took an hour. A full, agonizing hour of standing in reduced visibility, listening to the occasional distant splash or scream, wondering who else had survived. But gradually, visibility increased. From an arm’s length to two. Then five. Then across the deck. Finally, full vision returned, though the quality of light remained strange. There was no sun visible, and neither was there any clear source of illumination. The light was just a dim, diffuse glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, like they existed inside a perpetual overcast day. The deck was eerily still. Those who remained stood frozen at their positions, gripping whatever they’d been holding when the fog first swallowed them. Some were crying silently. Others stared at nothing with hollow eyes. A few shook violently, unable to process what they’d just experienced. Finn’s eyes swept across the entire deck, counting the survivors, and his stomach immediately sank. More than half the crew were gone.