Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

Sitting on the railing of the ship, Malin and Sostak No.3 stared at the city on the shore. The full moon spilled the sun’s brilliance onto the human world at night, but it could not illuminate the city.

"This place is crawling with the different kind. My infrared vision can’t detect any humans, but with my normal visual optics, I can see those specters... Sometimes I wonder, why can an AI like me see these ghostly things?" Sostak No.3 mused as he leaned against the ship’s railing.

There was a trace of helplessness in his voice; Malin, naturally, understood that feeling. Malin had been in the same boat—back when he first arrived in this world, the sight of rats larger than cats and machete-wielding mutant monsters had left him speechless... Though looking back now, they were merely fleeting guests in the journey of life.

This was the offshore area of Mumbai. Looking eastward, the city before Malin was eerily silent, a chill rising instinctively within him. In every direction, wraiths wandered the ruins. This futuristic metropolis of towering skyscrapers had long since lost its former vibrancy, leaving nothing but crumbling walls and countless wandering spirits.

"Actually, in Thainan, there are plenty of cities like this. The cities on the surface—at least humans can pass through them during the day, but some of the underground nests are truly hazardous," Meng Quyi said, gazing at the city through his binoculars. "Although, some of those wraiths do retain their intelligence, and much of what we know about the Great Destruction Era comes from them."

"Is that so?" Malin glanced at Meng Quyi, piqued by curiosity.

"Certainly. Take the Sigher, for example—he’s from the era of the Great Destruction. He said that during that time, humanity had already left the planet beneath our feet, heading toward new worlds, new planets... which, I suppose, meant new worlds untainted by Chaos," Meng Quyi reflected aloud.

But Malin didn’t share the sentiment. He simply gazed at Mumbai until the fleet moved southward, and the city’s silhouette disappeared from the horizon.

This world held aspects familiar to Malin, and yet many parts remained foreign—a world both intimate and estranging.

Murmuring with a sigh, Malin returned to his small tent at the rear deck. The lower deck was simply too hot. Malin often cursed his paternal lineage—it lacked any of the appealing traits his maternal lineage possessed. His mother’s bloodline thrived comfortably even in temperatures dozens of degrees below freezing and had resistance to heat. Not so with his father’s side.

Sprawling flat on the deck, Malin began drifting off to sleep—thinking about why he’d ended up inheriting his father’s bloodline. It all came down to how his mother’s side had started growing a heavy beard. Her face was covered with coarse, bristly whiskers. After breaking three razors attempting to shave it herself, Malin had abandoned any plans to keep shaving her.

It was better to remain small; small people didn’t need to deal with sharp enough stubble to punch through skin. And besides, being small had the tactical advantage of unpredictability—just like earlier this morning, when a group of pirates from Ah San approached the fleet. They thought their numbers would give them the upper hand in a sea-battle. But as they boarded the ship, not one of them noticed Malin, who, crouched in a corner, sent a stone whizzing from his slingshot to crack one of their skulls. He gleefully played sniper while remaining hidden—until his stone broke against the skull of a particularly tough pirate.