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A vagabond's ascent

🇺🇦Yahazek
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Synopsis
Our protagonist is of the “vagabond” species. A pretty cool creature, but nothing compared to humans and their inventions. Humans can go eat my sawtooth branch. The world is constructed of floating island. Above and below is the “void” as all call it. Nobody has returned from the void yet, so they’re assumed dead. Are they really dead? Yeah, probably. Travel is hard - it requires flight, cause how else would you get between the floating islands? That means our protagonist’s species, the “vagabond” as I’ve established, can also fly.
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Chapter 1 - Levitating landmasses.

Damn, I hate the weather..

Honestly though, which god - if there is one - thought it was a good idea to make giant fucking tubes of wind just pop out of nowhere every so often.

Of course, the wind affects every creature equally, so it's fair, right?

Well, no.

Most creatures like myself greatly suffer from natural disasters because we gotta find actual shelters to keep ourselves safe. After all, nobody would want to be blown off of an island and get thrown into the void below.

Notice how I said MOST? That's because there is an exception. One awful race that has no good reason to exist.

Even thinking about those bastards pisses me off.

~~~

I walked around the perimeter of the island, intensely staring at the thick fog, trying to spot a potential raider. That said, there is no point in guarding the island as I am doing right now. After all, it's not like I have some sort of superpower to see through the fog, so, even if we do get attacked, there's no way to notice that right now.

I walked up towards the edge of our island and stared down. No matter how much I look, I could never see the bottom, if there is one. It's a well-known fact that there's nothing other than the endless floating islands, so jumping down spell certain death.

Most creatures can fly, yet nobody can fly out from below. Is there a strong current of wind that pulls anything in? Or is there no air for your wings to push against? Either way, I'm not feeling suicidal today.

An Aluminium Vagabond walked up to me, giving me a meaningful look. Perhaps he thought I was planning to jump down. I mean, it's not like I can "tell" him what I think. He'll just have to guess what I'm thinking; that's how it's always been.

I nodded, but my thoughts were focused on one thing.

We're all gonna die here soon. There ain't enough food on the island for the 50 of us to share. I could see it in his eyes; the blue glow was very faint, and when that light fully dies down, so does the body.

Some ignorant creatures think being a Vagabond is cool. Your hands are literal blades, and you can even make them change shape. But what they don't realize is how hard it is to live without the conventional fingers.. But only one race has those, so it's fairer to compare my hand-blades to claws.

I guess our body structure is rather good for long-distance running, plus we never get tired. Instead, when one runs out of energy, it's over. Oh, and the intensity of the eye's glow indicates how much energy is left.

The only thing we excel at is raw fighting power, which is enough to dominate most ecosystems, but I bet I couldn't even scratch one of "them'".

By "them", of course, I'm referring to the Humans. They seem to have obtained the blessing of every god imaginable, having high intelligence, durable bodies, good eyesight, decent hearing, the ability to communicate verbally.. And fingers. Their goddamn fingers allow them to build whatever they please.

Weapons, armor, massive flying fleets durable enough to withstand the harshest weather conditions. Those fuckers even make use of other creature's by-products in a process they call "farming".

Having a mouth to pass messages flawlessly is incredibly powerful. It's something I could only dream of. Yet whoever designed the human thought they also needed the ability to BUILD!

~~~

In a fit of anger, I swung at the nearest tree, and with a clean thump, it landed on the ground.

"Tch. I'm starving." I thought.

I can only last a year or so before starvation. And it's not just me. Every other Vagabond here is struggling just as much. As big as an island could be, 50 two-meter tall creatures like us easily consume anything and everything edible within a few years of being on one.