Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

On a far-distant galactic arm, there was a war ongoing. It had been fought for untold centuries now, between the various Osine forces and those of the incursion. This would not normally be of any relevance here in the Pantheonic territory, the farthest inhabited sector from the warfront. However, in 1586 the calculation engines had by chance opened a voidgate leading to a nearby sector. The inevitable result had been the vast infusion of war refugees into the territory. Of these, some had made their way to Tseludia Station.

Nestled in the bowels of the slum district, Little Celah was the nickname for an enclave of Jobu and Korlove. The two races shared ancestry dating back to an isolated planet deep within incursion territory. Here, too, they had found themselves brought together by the shared attributes of their cultures.

Little Celah was a multi-story area composed of various buildings, alleyways and tenements, with skywalks and bridging crossing them to create a vast, interconnected construction. It was so enmeshed into the rest of the Station’s residential area that I didn’t even realize I had entered Little Celah until I noticed the growing abundance of small metal charms and talismans they had hung over windows and doorways. The charms were shaped into odd geometric forms and patterns. As far as I could tell, not part of any sort of recognizable script. Perhaps they were an element of some Celan religion.

Now aware that I had entered the enclave, I noticed that the majority of the passersby, rather than the wide mix of alien species I had adjusted to in the business and port districts, were mostly of only two races.

The Jobu were tall, broad shouldered humanoids with four limbs and grayish-brown skin. Their features were somewhat similar to those of my own people, though the average Jobu teenager likely had as much muscle mass as a Seiyal bodybuilder.

The Korlove, on the other hand, were barely recognizable as sapient beings. They were short and spindly creatures that appeared visually similar to the spiders of my homeland. They were a dark shade of gray, having a small main body that was all torso, and ten long legs with small hands on the ends used to ambulate and pick up objects. In Little Celah, the Korlove were everywhere, scuttling around at high speed while they went about their business.

As I moved deeper in, I started getting odd looks from the residents. I couldn’t blame them. I doubted they saw many Seiyal this deep into the enclave. In fact, chances were I was being taken for a disciple of the Hadal Clan. The sword still residing at my waist likely did not assist in this perception of me.

This wasn’t a big deal, however. In fact, it might even benefit me for such a false assumption to be made. I checked my tablet to make sure I was going the right direction, forced to move to the side of the level and up a flight of stairs.

Feeling the awareness of those observing me, I quickly realized that I was being followed. Two Korlove were sneaking their way through the the crowd. It struck me that this race was quite stealthy. Small and fast, the sound of their pedipalps skittering across the ground was far quieter than the lumbering footsteps of a humanoid. If I lacked the awareness of a martial master, I would not likely have even noticed them. I allowed them to follow me. My business would not take long.

In Tseludia, warehouses were found on the top floor of the stacks. In the open air above, various freight drones soared above the tenements bearing freight and passengers to different parts of the city. The dome’s underside was a veritable warren of criss-crossing sky trails.

At the topmost point of Little Celah, about two thirds of the stacks bore warehouses, the rest consisting largely of skydock access points. I observed one as I walked past. Covered in graffiti, it looked as if it had not been used in decades, despite the presence of a hulking Jobu security guard. I imagined he likely worked for the Heirs. Organizations like that would certainly be the sort to maintain a private skydock or two.

Past the skydock was a massive prefabricated building, composed of large aluminum sheets that appeared to be riveted to the building’s skeleton. It, too, was covered in layers of graffiti caked onto the surface. The graffiti was composed of both letters in some Celan script and the same odd shapes and symbols I had been seeing so much of in the neighborhood. Comparing it to the image and address recorded on my tablet, it was a match.

I continued walking towards it as the two trailers continued their pursuit. Now that we were on the more sparsely inhabited top level of the stack, the number of passerby had drastically reduced, and my stalkers had become more obvious in their work. I continued to ignore them.

The Heirs could keep an eye on me if they wanted to, but I doubted they would be able to bring a sufficiently high level combatant before I was on my way out. It was better to just take what I needed before they had a chance to take it somewhere else. It was a matter of time before my information became outdated as well.

With another glance at the warehouse before me, my casual pace turned into a run. It was time. My sword slid out of its sheath almost without thought, my hand moving as if by its own will.

I cycled my internal energy, veins igniting with vitality. Back in my homeland, there was a creature that could move at great speed across the mud and water as if it were flat ground, unhindered no matter what might be in its path. In my mind's eye I saw its shadow move across the mud flats, swift and near impossible to track. A beast hidden in the darkness of the rainstorm. My legs and core shifted, following a movement technique that had been drilled into me over the course of countless hours of training. The Downpour Sect’s famous Water Striding Steps.

Formless miasma swirled within my meridians, and I dashed to the oversized door of the loading dock. Each step skidded across the cement path as if I were sliding over a puddle. The Korlove trailing me froze in shock, unable to even react before I arrived at the door, arms already wound back.

The miasma within my meridians exploded with energy, straining my body as my sword swept outward. A faint blue line trailed behind my blade, as if I had sliced through the air itself. My third technique, Torrential Downpour.

Successive slashes were delivered in mere moments, tearing the door off of its rollers and sending it crashing down onto the warehouse floor. I continued my sliding motion and soon found myself within the cavernous building’s interior.

The inside of the warehouse was surprisingly clean and well-kept compared to how it seemed from the outside. It was mostly open space, with some offices on the far end and a host of shelving units. The units were stocked to the brim with weapons, machinery, and various tubs containing what looked to be expensive materials.

My information had clearly been on the mark so far. Hopefully the rest of it was true as well.

This warehouse was, as I had anticipated, a base of an underworld organization local to Tseludia Station. Calling themselves the Heirs of Ottrien, the group was largely composed of Celan immigrants, and Little Celah was the heart of their territory.

From what I could recall, their name was a reference to some revered historical figure from their home-world. I had little interest in their origins, however. What I did care about was a certain natural treasure that could not be found except in very rare locations.

Locations such as my homeland.

While the loading dock had been falling before me, several armed members of the organization had been lounging on a table, playing some game on some odd form of tablet. After a moment of surprised hesitation, their trained instincts kicked in, driving them to reach for their guns. Like an insect running across the surface of a pond, I continued my movement technique, arriving at the group in seconds. I cut down the first, a Jobu man, before the rest had even finished drawing their weapons.

Celan technology is odd, even by the standards of a low-development species such as my own. Their firearms operate not with gunpowder or electricity, but a strange form of micro-scale warping that is not only able to accelerate chunks of metal at high velocities, but also tear apart any ashatic effects they encounter. In the case of a Seiyal martial artist, one well placed bullet would shatter their dantians, rendering them unable to infuse internal energy into their techniques. I needed to take them down before they could get any good shots in.

My second slash ripped right through a Korlove’s shooting arm, and I transitioned directly into the second stance of the Rising Downpour Sword Art. My sword slid up in a torrent of motion, bisecting a third combatant. The remaining two, pale faces, or whatever the Korlove equivalent would be, fired, letting off a sound of rushing air that bore more in common with ripping paper than a gunshot. The bullets whizzed past me, the gunmen’s aim too imprecise to track me. There were few I had seen who could truly follow me when I was using the steps.

It only took one more technique to silence them.

As I turned back, peering out through the giant hole I had ripped in the wall, the dome-light beamed in. Behind the hole I could see the skydock and other warehouses stretching long on either side of the balconies. I could see glimpses of the under-stories, but my eyes were too busy searching for the Korlove who had been following me. They had disappeared in the aftermath of my attack. Perhaps they had simply been opportunistic muggers, or perhaps they had gone to warn the Heirs of my attack. It didn’t matter. I would ensure that I was gone before they returned.

My eyes swept across the stockpiles as my spiritual sense searched around for my prize. I looked over cases of machinery far too advanced for me to recognize, piles of what looked like bronze sheet metal inscribed with carved runes of some sort, and shelf after shelf of expensive infused material. Were the Heirs running a factory, somewhere?

Despite searching nearly half of the warehouse, I still could not see nor sense any fragment of what I was looking for.

Suddenly I smelled a hint of perfume and whirled in search of the source. At the table where the guards had been lounging, now sat a short, beautiful woman wearing a casual outfit.

Her skin was paler than my own, yet not so much as that of a sei. Ink-black hair as dark if not darker than that of the Jobu framed her face, yet she was slight of build. Her eyes were white, with pale blue irises circling the pupils. She wore clothing of fine fabric, with a white lace blouse atop a pair of long blue pants that hugged her legs. She could certainly not belong to any race of which I was aware, and yet here she was, observing me. The biggest source of my shock was not her appearance, however. It was the complete lack of presence I could sense from her. It was as if she was not there at all, yet my eyes could not be deceiving me, nor my sense of smell, which still registered the floral scent of her perfume. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a sly smile as she watched me stare in confusion.

“Mister Yu, was it? What say we have a talk, you and I? I have an offer for you.”

Korlove: [Originally part of a humanoid race which originated on the planet Celah, the Korlove were forced to move into underground bunkers after the surface was ravaged by an attack from the Khalak-Ora. They soon realized that their supply of food would not be able to last until projections of the surface becoming habitable once more. Distraught, they turned to genetic engineering. Over the course of generations, they changed themselves from humanoid organisms to the arachnid-like beings they are today. Korlove have a small main body with 2 eyes as well as ten appendages, each bearing a small dexterous set of three fingers. They are capable of using any of these to operate machinery, and sub-brains at the base of each limb makes them one of the most effective mortal species in the galaxy at multitasking. Korlove still have two genders, though most other species are unable to tell them apart. Despite appearing bug-like, their minds function more similarly to that of humanoids than they do insectoid races.]