Heretical Fishing-Chapter 58Book 4: : Identity

As the sun rose over Tropica, so too came rays of light, their soft beams illuminating all. So, when the overly protective rock crab got a little too close to Joel again—and earned a whack from the human’s claw-shaped hand in response—Snips had to fight down the physical signs of her amusement.

The crustacean dashed away, blowing very pissed off bubbles as it gave Joel a respectable amount of space. The leader of the Church of Carcinization might not have been on the correct path for the last couple of months, but he’d made great strides with his mimicry of crabhood, both in posture and demeanor.

Snips cocked her carapace in thought.

Demeanor…

Her core hummed, and though she wouldn’t call it entirely positive, it certainly had a hopeful tint.

Interesting, she mused, both eyestalks gazing out at the world and its intoxicating beauty.

It was a new direction. A fresh aspect of herself to explore. But as she made to settle back into a meditative state, something drew at her awareness—a mass of cores had arrived to scout their position. Snips whirled to face the top of the rock shelf, opened one powerful snipper, and… waved hello.

A pair of peeking eyes flashed with panic, then disappeared from sight when their bearer realized they’d been spotted.

Snips let out gleeful bubbles. Come, she hissed. You are invited.

Jess’s head appeared again, panic replaced by curiosity.

“Come, Jess,” Joel said.

Yes, agreed Snips. Come and join—

Her hiss cut off, and shepeered his way. How did his fleshy mouth speak underwater…?

“I have much to say, Jess,” said fleshy-mouth continued, paying the laws of nature no mind. “But we can talk about it later. For now, know that I have realized the error of my ways, and I am sorry.”

More heads poked overtop the ridge, lured in by the spoken words. The entire Church of Carcinization had arrived, all their brows furrowed as they took in the sight. Snips didn’t want to wait any longer. She gestured for them to come down with one claw, then turned away, getting comfortable.

She had found a new direction to explore. With her similarity to Joel in mind, she let out a stream of bubbles and sank into herself, trusting the message her core had sent earlier. Its vibration wasn’t as strong as others had reported, but there had definitely been something there.

If insight could be gleaned, Sergeant Snips—first of Fischer’s disciples—would find it.

***

A hint of worry peppered Maria’s awareness as her and Slimes’s healing mist tried again to reach Tryphena’s core. It had taken but a moment to surround Penelope’s, and though there was enough despair within to break a dozen hearts, at least Maria could attempt repairing it.

The former princess, however, hadn’t just become more verbally vitriolic. She’d also raised walls.

It will all be okay in the end, Slimes thought, attempting to soothe her.

But she wasn’t so sure. Had it been a mistake trying to heal them yesterday? Had her half-hearted effort been like a drop of poison—an ineffective dose that caused antibodies to develop overnight?

Slimes snapped Maria out of it with a strong pulse of chi. She gave a metaphorical shake of her head. Slimes was correct. Self depreciation served no purpose right now. Gathering her will, she turned part of it into a battering ram. Tryphena wanted to create walls? Fine. Maria would knock them down.

Together, she and Slimes crashed their awareness into the former princess, and the blunt-force impact shattered the barriers like a passiona berry’s husk. The rest of the shell crumbled, letting Tryphena’s will and intent flow out. It was… nasty. Disgusting.

Is this truly the same person who was joking with us only a week ago…?

Slimes buzzed in response. Hmmm. I believe she is the same person, but I’m also confused about the developments.

So much hatred had blossomed since yesterday… It threatened to send Maria back into a spiral of self-deprecation, but just before she slipped over the edge, she caught herself. Was this not exactly what healers were for? What she was for?

Still shaped like a hammer, her will collided with Tryphena’s core, attempting to smack some sense into the spoiled brat. Trent was raised a royal, and sure, for a while he’d been the human equivalent of bait left out to bake in the sun. But that was a result of the concoction Gormona’s alchemists had given him.

As far as Maria was concerned, she had shown the former princess all the compassion and understanding she’d needed to. More than enough, really. Perhaps it was time for some tough love.

With that thought in her mind, she poured her awareness out, the hammer becoming a wispy cloud once more. With the help of Slimes, their haze surrounded their two patients, encouraging them both to find new identities—something that aligned with their souls and filled the void left behind by Fischer’s cleansing, just like the birdlike cultivators had done.

Penelope’s despair seemed to waver, but only a fraction. It was a good sign. Maria and Slimes focused on Trent’s sister, knowing they had to regain ground with her before either of the former royals could be healed. But no matter how much they pushed into her, an equal force shoved back.

It… it wasn’t Tryphena. Both curious and fearful, Maria inspected a second, well-hidden shell that her healing chi had just discovered. Something conscious within it detected Maria’s attention, a tiny pulse of surprise making its way through the concealed layer.

Maria and Slimes didn’t waste the opportunity. They hammered into it, focusing their cloud on a single point. A crack formed, and the shell shattered. Before the source of that resistance could retreat into hiding, Maria identified it.

A whisper of corruption. Not just the memory of it, but an actual strand of that disgusting chi. It would have gone undetected by anyone else, even to Fischer, yet its existence was indisputable. Somehow, a seed of rot had sprouted within Tryphena’s soul.

Showing remarkable and worrying intelligence, it leaped across to Penelope, knowing it’d been discovered. There, it buried itself like a blood-sucking parasite, infecting the void left behind in her core. Maria instinctively knew that if it was allowed to prosper again, there would be no saving them. They would be doomed.

She shot back into her body and she took an inhalation so deep it seemed to reach her toes. She got to her feet, shaking with adrenaline and terror as she stared into Tryphena’s eyes. The hatred there made more sense now, as did the venom she spat. Penelope’s lip twitched, her thoughts already being influenced. Corrupted.

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Without another word, Maria rocketed down the hall, kicking off a wall as she shot around a corner.

“Maria?” Keith called after her, fear lacing his voice. She didn’t respond.

Slimes released a string of expletives that any other time would have made her chortle. Maria didn’t even acknowledge it. Some of the handlers spoke. She ignored them, too. She had to go.

When she got to the doors, they were already open, the prison’s soul aware of her need. She skidded to a stop outside and raised both hands to her mouth. Maria reached for her power, poured it into her chest, and set her fear aside as she let a single word fly free.

The world shook.

***

Beneath the placid waters of Tropica’s bay, a consortium of crabs—and some humans emulating their shape—sat in relative silence. A few bubbles here. A hiss there. Even a handful of warning clacks when another got too close: these were the only sounds to be heard, and the only communication necessary.

In that almost-silence, Sergeant Snips, the first of Fischer’s disciples, was slowly unravelling the mess she’d found herself in. Annoyingly, she hadn’t been tricked into the predicament.

This swamp, this blockage in her cultivation, was entirely her fault.

Realizing that she had arrived back at the same unproductive thought, she blew a hiss of her own, adding to the occasional outbursts coming from those around her.

Yes, she had done this to herself. So what?

The real measure of one’s worthis what they do when‌ all the chips have fallen, and they find themselves at the bottom of the ladder.

Snips’s core responded to that, buzzing in what could only be described as a warning. Frustration threatened to swell up, but she chose instead to focus on the last thing that’d felt right.

Her realization that she and Joel weren’t so dissimilar. The word demeanor had struck a chord, and though it wasn’t the pleasant hum she’d heard talk of, it was certainly more encouraging than the previous buzz.

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Joel’s demeanor… she repeated.

His ultimate goal was to attain a form like hers. Other than the times he was asleep or attending to the needs of his fleshy body, everything he did was toward that end. Actually, she could argue that his sleep and the fact he ate were also in service of his eventual transformation—he only took those breaks because he had to.

And yet… his dream remained unmet.

Snips’s core shifted, encouraging her to delve deeper.

She had thought that maybe humans just couldn’t get a new body—that the Church of Carcinization’s ambition would never come to be—but the pelicans proved that to be a lie. What was it, then?

Joel’s demeanor…

For someone wishing to become a crab, his mentality was perfect. Eerily so. He acted decisively and with impunity, never stopping to consider the ramifications—such as Maria yeeting him out to sea. But… that was the way of the crab. They were hunters when the opportunity arose, but mostly, they were bottom feeders. Their world was one of brutality and necessity.

Her core hummed, its vibration tickling her insides like there were shrimp crawling about within. She was getting closer to the truth.

A crab couldn’t stop to consider if more food would come along—they had to strike where and when they could, forging their own path. Without proactivity, even the largest crab with the strongest snippers might starve before its next meal arrived. But neither could they be too reckless. If one went too far from safety and was discovered by a predator… their carapaces were mightily sturdy, but far from impenetrable.

Their way was to dance with risk, avoiding it as much as possible, but taking it when necessary.

Her core hummed, and the metaphorical shrimp within started doing flips in her stomach

She still didn’t understand—what was her abdomen saying? Joel was doing all those things and more. By human standards, he was an absolute prick—both to outsiders and his congregation. The anomalous man had gone full crab… yet he hadn’t transformed.

Her core buzzed, then hummed, then buzzed again. What on Kallis was it trying to convey?

The beginnings of an idea formed, and it was so ridiculous that she wanted to spew a fountain of mirthful bubbles.

Yeah right, she thought. As if him being too much of a crab would be an issue. That…

Her core was silent, but she tilted her carapace all the same. Joel’s demeanor. That had been the first hint of where she’d gone wrong. He… Joel was a human who had taken on the mannerisms of a crab. And she…

Nary a hint of movement came from her soul as a profound realization struck. Joel, a human, was acting as a crab. And she, a crab…had been acting as a human. The world seemed to freeze.

She thought back to who she had once been—the scar-covered crustacean with no pincers and a missing eyestalk. Fischer had come across a random sea creature on the brink of death, and instead of eating or letting nature take its course, he’d given her fish. That passing kindness had granted her a new body. A new life. Everything she possessed was thanks to that single instance of human kindness.

When she had awakened, she’d almost immediately started emulating her master’s selflessness. That first night, she had found the bait he’d buried, and she only ate most of it. That being a compassionate move was laughable now, but at the time, not eating all of a delicious eel was strikingly selfless—and foolish, if one’s goal was to survive.

When Sebastian, the then-leader of the Cult of the Leviathan, had tried to poison Fischer, her thoughts had been as bloody as they were utilitarian. She’d broken into their headquarters, and the only thing that stopped her from executing the cretin was the fact that it could negatively impact Fisher.

To both send a message and inflict pain upon the weasel of a man, she’d decided to execute his cult’s false-deity instead. But just before the headsman’s claw had descended, Fischer’s kindness flashed in her mind, staying her sipper. That same lobster went on to become a dear friend and fellow animal pal—Pistachio. His awakening reinforced the idea that extending grace was always the correct move.

Since then, she’d taken her responsibilities as the first disciple of her beloved master seriously. Her duty of care had grown beyond just him, encapsulating the rest of his animal pals, the congregation, and eventually all the citizens of Tropica.

When the Church of Fischer had needed someone to spy on Gormona, Claws and her clandestine skills were most suited to the task, yet it had been Snips that went. She had justified it by saying that Claws could not be trusted. Snips’s master would’ve gone by himself if he’d known about the plan, so that was what she did. She’d made the decision based on Fischer’s human sensibilities.

To be clear, though: only a fool would have trusted the chaotic otter to not harness lightning and attack the king directly the second she got a chance. But that was just who Claws was—unapologetically herself, personality defects and all.

And it wasn’t only Claws that had advanced by being true to her nature. Cinnamon’s was to kick shit out of things and protect Fischer. The pelicans wanted to lead a flock. Borks was just happy to be involved, which stemmed from his need to be part of a pack. Rocky… never mind. Thinking about what he wanted would make her blush and ruin her concentration.

The point was that the rest of them had experienced a breakthrough, some catching up to Snips, others eclipsing her entirely. With that acknowledgement, she finally heard from her core again. Its hum was soft like…

She almost compared the sound to something human, but stopped herself. That inclination to do so was a part of the problem. Earlier, she had thought to herself, ‘The real measure of one’s worthis what they do when‌ all the chips have fallen, and they find themselves at the bottom of the ladder.’

… Which had caused her core to yell at her.

What kind of sentence was that? Chips? Ladders? Hades’ burning fires… she had referred to multiple clacks as a handful. A handful! She didn’t even have hands!

They were human thoughts, and Snips wasn’t human. She was a crab—a violently capable crustacean that could, at will, shoot arcs of chi from her powerful clackers.

Her core buzzed with muted power, like a hive of angry bees—which was a decidedly uncrabby analogy, but she enjoyed watching the insects, gods-damnit! They appealed to the smooth part of her brain that liked shiny things, delicious meals, and sweet, sweet vengeance!

Though still contained, her core’s humming rose in pitch. She had found the truth. She was sure of it. But her soul didn’t want to acknowledge her yet. Something was missing, a vital component, and Snips’s many mouthparts undulated in delight. She already knew who it was.

An image of Joel flashed into her mind: him squatting like a crab and lashing out with chi-infused hands at an actual crustacean that got too close. He and the rest of the Church of Carcinization, all of whom identified her as their deity, needed her guidance.

Not just them, either. The entire consortium of rock crabs—who’d apparently been recruiting more members in her absence—needed her. She had sent them away, telling them to guard the waters within Fischer’s Domain. Doing so was prudent, and necessary, for the defense of Tropica… But her lack of contact?

She had thought it the correct path, but hadn’t known why. Now, with her inadequacies revealed by a retreating wave of past mistakes, she understood. Conversing with crabs had been a source of discordance. There was a gaping chasm within her, the clawless and scarred creature she’d once been on one side, and Sergeant Snips—the defender of Tropica—on the other.

It was… cowardly. In her desire to be humanlike and increase the Church of Fischer’s strength, she had forsaken those that looked up to her.

A blanket of sea-foam evaporated from around her core. Water aspected chi churned and swelled. And every bee in an imaginary hive flew free, hundreds, then thousands, then millions of beating wings turning into a roar that shook her shell.

Even through the shaking carapace and all the light that now shone from her, Snips felt tears well in her eyes—which, as anyone with a basic knowledge of crab anatomy could attest, was not natural—but that had no bearing on her breakthrough. It wasn’t about leaving behind the human parts of herself, just as Joel and his bipedal followers didn’t have to abandon their crablike tendencies. They’d been doing it all wrong.

It was a matter of identity. The conscious act of knowing what you were—not only who you wanted to become. With that thought, her will blazed through the others, humans and crustaceans alike suffused by torrents of her unerring chi.

All were presented a choice, an ultimatum, and all accepted. Her water-aspected essence washed over them, causing understanding to bloom like the unfurling tentacles of anemones when the tide returns. Each of their cores became another source of dazzling light, individually weak but collectively blinding. Dozens of… huh?

There were more than dozens. Way more. Hundreds of souls seemed to absorb her power and mirror it back. At the same time, a single word boomed out, quaking the sand beneath and waves above.

Snips let these developments fall by the wayside. They were of little import. The surrounding water poured into her soul, and she gathered all the cores connected to her chi, ensuring their breakthrough remained undisturbed.

***

Corporal Claws, shaper of weather and blessed by thunder, paid the coming day no mind—she was too busy changing the world. The good kind of positivity swelled in the atmosphere above her, making a sky-bound sea of black and grey swirl as clouds formed in response to her machinations.

She could not recall feeling so excited. Her body seemed more alive than ever before, each one of her powerful cells abuzz with electricity and potential. The reason for such joy was as clear as the darkened horizon wasn’t—her task was almost complete.

A chittering laugh came from beside her, and allowed a moment of indulgence, twisting her head to stare at the blue-colored raccoon that was now a part of her very core. His fingers were steepled in a downright dastardly manner, further emphasized by his villainous sneer and soft snicker.

Claws joined in. She chittered at the heavens, and the laugh growing louder as the moment of truth approached. When the air above became charged enough, she half-expected her familiar to attempt its theft again, but was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t have to head-butt him back through the nearest treeline.

It made sense, though; if he stole it now, he couldn’t take part in the greatest heist this world had seen for millennia.

One last time, Claws called the lightning. It was only a fraction of the size of previous strikes, but that was by design. They didn’t need a full charge, and any more electricity than this would only hamper their efforts.

It gathered in her paws, she condensed it with ease, then she slammed both fists into her treasure—the item that would help her rob a kingdom’s worth of wealth.

Even before the energy finished pouring down into the sand, her raccoon swept forward, his bright mitts clutching its rough surface. Instead of taking, he gave to it, his cutpurse will flowing in.

Abruptly, a wave of imploring chi from the south. The ground shook. And a sound, perhaps a word, shot through everything. But Claws neither heard, felt, nor saw anything beyond the first fraction of a second.

After all, her familiar’s essence had reached the center of her prize; it was hard to notice one’s senses when you were inside an explosion the size of a mountain.

***

Despite racing atop the ocean swifter than any vessel back on Earth, the trip was wonderfully relaxing; Trent had been getting even better at limiting his chi, a development that made me smile, especially considering the way his abdomen hummed.

Everyone was always so focused on more. Faster advancement, bigger cores, and enhanced essence. Trent’s cultivation base seemed to be encouraging him, urging that he practice restraint further.

I rubbed my chin. Perhaps that’s something we can—

“Fischerrrr!”

The two-syllable word hit my soul like a pointblank dual-claw explosion from Rocky, and its drawn out tail scoured away any hesitation.

“Hold on!” I yelled, my skin prickling with heat as I reached for the depths of my core.

“What’s wrong?” Trent asked, clearly not having heard.

“Maria.” I tensed my jaw as my power welled up. “She just called for help.”

It was all the explanation needed. The entire crew’s faces sobered.

“No more fire chi,” I commanded, taking a step forward as every tendril of will holding things down flowed back into me.

The moment the returning strands touched the reservoir of essence flowing up from within, my world exploded in a flash of white light.