Chapter 2 part 4

When Shrimp Bait Hooks a Titan

When Shrimp Bait Hooks a Titan

"Hey, Mr. Narwhal—look that way..."

Just as I was about to cast the bait again, Aioi stiffened.

"No, not that way. Over on the far rim."

"...Oh."

I followed her line of sight. A prickle of cold crept down my back. There, hunched low on the opposite lip of the crater, was a Wild Xeno Beast—immense, motionless, watching.

It looked almost humanoid at first glance, but the illusion didn’t hold for long.

That matted fur, the oversized frame, and—most notably—the singular, glaring red eye told the real story. Definitely not a natural species. Definitely not friendly.

Its silhouette rose nearly three meters tall, even from our distance. Massive. Predatory. Alien.

We were staring at one of the worst-case scenarios: a roaming Void Titan. They were infamous out here.

"So... got a strategy?"

Aioi let her rod slip to the lunar dust, switching focus with a practiced hand as she reached for her plasma weapon. So much for fishing.

I pulled my energy blade from its sheath—a blade humming with ion energy—and mentally weighed our odds.

Void Titans didn’t mess around.

They were huge, feral beasts from deep space—barely sentient, fully hostile. And they weren’t afraid of anything. The foam building up around its exposed jaw told us it was already considering us lunch.

"If it decides to cross the crater, we’ve got seconds—maybe less."

"You sure?"

"Completely. Side note: it’s faster than we are and can throw a lunar sled like a paper plate."

"Great."

"But it’s not all bad. Thing’s got the brain capacity of a baked rock. That long stare? That’s your clue."

"It’s got one eye the size of a ration crate. That the target?"

Aioi narrowed her focus, bringing her plasma bow into aim.

"Think you can tag it?"

"I’m worried about the distortion out here. Field’s unstable—miss by a little and it’ll scatter the shot."

"Right. And its outer shell will shrug off most impacts. We need that eye hit clean."

If she were carrying a bulkier weapon—like one of the guild’s demolition-grade launchers—maybe she could brute-force it.

But Aioi specialized in precision, not power. Her bow was sleek and pinpoint accurate, but lacked heavy punch. The only real way to drop the beast with what we had was a dead-on hit to its optical nerve cluster.

I, on the other hand, had no range finesse—never finished my remote weapons course. My blaster barely functioned at full distance unless I got lucky with my half-calibrated model.

"Take the shot."

"You say that like I won’t mess it up! What if I miss and it goes berserk?"

"Then I’ll step in. Consider this a training drill. Just breathe."

She gave me a long look—half annoyed, half focused.

As I activated my energy blade, the core inside gave a low, pulsing vibration. She winced slightly.

"Next time, bring your weird custom gun."

"Don’t call my half-spec blaster weird!"

The Void Titan let out a guttural, echoing howl. The sound hit our comms like static thunder.

Its eye, blood-red and watery, pulsed behind what looked like a semi-transparent biological lens—a crusted organic barrier grown over decades, maybe.

Its snarl exposed jagged, asymmetrical fangs. Seeing one this close stirred something primal. These creatures always triggered my instincts to recoil.

"Engaging neural assist."

A faint flicker of blue lit around Aioi’s temples as her interface system synchronized with her movement, steadying her bow. 

Gravity on this moon was low, but her targeting system adjusted accordingly.

"Charging bolt."

Her shot streaked out—a sharp beam of heated plasma lancing through the emptiness like a comet. It hit square on the beast’s eye shield—

—and fizzled, scattering into harmless sparks.

"GHHHRRHH!"

The monster bellowed, louder now, enraged. Its protective field—an aura-like magnetic layer surrounding its body—had absorbed the bolt’s kinetic charge.

"GGWOOOHHH!"

It wasn’t going to forget that anytime soon.

Its energy field pulsed, then contracted—like a spring winding back. In a flash, the Titan surged forward, leaping into the air as if gravity didn’t exist.

"Uh... I’m assuming you’ve got this?"

"I’ve got it. Just activate your boosters now—don’t wait."

"I’ll try to support from range, but seriously—"

"Hold on!"

"What now?"

"Keep the containment pod safe! If that thing crushes it, this whole mission’s sunk."

"You’re joking!"

"Why do you think we’re even out here in this moon?"

"I was thinking more about staying alive!"

Her voice crackled in my helmet, thick with sarcasm and stress. Then she kicked her thrusters, blue flames bursting from her suit’s back vents as she launched herself toward our landing craft. I turned back toward the Titan, fingers tightening on my energy blade grip.

"Well now... I expected shrimp, not a titan."

"GWAAAHH! GWUHHHH!"

It lunged, snarling like a meteor on a collision path.

Its height cast a long shadow—even in the muted light of space. It might have been terrifying to most, but intimidation only went so far.

Skill beats size. That’s how spacers survive.

Even with a regulation-level blade, I had the edge—speed, agility, precision.

"Mr. Narwhal!"

If only I’d brought my half-spec blaster. Then it would’ve been more of a stand-up fight.

But going up against a void-born monstrosity with half your kit missing? Classic rookie mistake. And I’d mocked Old Earth marines for the same thing.

"Gah—!"

Before it could bear down fully, I shifted sideways, arcing the energy blade into its massive limb. The plasma edge sliced neatly through thick hide and bone.

Its arm spasmed, then hung limp. Before it recovered, I twisted and drove the blade into one of its knees—angled low and precise.

"GGWAAARGH!"

It staggered. Not a fatal wound, but enough to compromise balance. Internal pressure leaked from the cuts—gases and blood mixing, and that made it angry.

"GGWWWUHH?!"

Even giants lose composure when their core systems go haywire. Out here, loss of control meant spinning helplessly.

The beast tumbled, struggling to correct itself mid-leap. No atmosphere meant no traction—its bulk twisted, off-balance.

"Come on, keep flailing," I muttered.

"GRUHHH... GUHHH!"

"Yeah, let it out."

I stepped forward, analyzing the points where its movement stuttered. 

Tendons. Breathing valves. Joint relays. I’d cut them all if I had to.

Beasts like this had a nasty habit of playing dead—waiting until you relaxed before the final strike.

"Mr. Narwhal... you really do know how to handle these things."

"Naturally."

"But you’re hopeless at shrimping."

"Okay, rude. Today just didn’t go my way."

"Riiiight."

She was enjoying herself way too much for someone who just dodged a monster.

"Next outing, we’re catching shrimp together. You’ll see I’ve got moves."

"Heh. Can’t wait. So, how do you prep them anyway? Zap-cook? Vapor seal?"

"Neither. You expose them to vacuum inside a stabilized chamber. Let the pressure equalize for a full orbit cycle."

"Sounds complicated."

"You have no idea. Next time I’ll just bring some ready packs."

Assuming I’m not grounded doing guild paperwork after this ridiculous encounter.

A Void Titan interrupting shrimp season? Unheard of.

If more of these things were lurking in nearby craters, it wouldn’t just mess with harvests—it’d spell disaster for any fresh crews flying blind in the zone.

Whatever the Guild decides next... it’ll be worth watching.

Author's Note:

Ah, welcome back, dear reader! I see you've survived another round of cosmic chaos and crustacean capers, only to be thrown into the deep end with a Void Titan. Let's dive right into the latest escapades of our beloved Galaxia Narwhal—aka the man who can turn a simple fishing trip into a full-blown battle for survival.

First off, let me just say, if you thought angling for void shrimp was easy, try facing off against a three-meter-tall, feral beast from deep space. It's a test of skill, agility, and the ability to endure Aioi's increasingly sharp tongue. But hey, all's well that ends with a glimmering catch and a beastly howl, right?

And let's talk about our starry-eyed recruits—fresh from the Guild’s Training Camps, ready to take on the void with nothing but excessive confidence and substandard equipment. They're like space foam, folks. Barely formed, still drifting, and entirely unprepared for the harshness that lies beyond regulated space. But amidst all the chaos and competition, there's a sobering truth. Life out here in the void isn't easy. It's a constant battle against chaos, noise, and the cold, unfeeling expanse of space. Yet, these folks keep going, day after day, with a resilience that would put a black hole to shame.

So here's to the void shrimp, the frozen lakes, the kebabs, the ale, and the kebabs. May your catches be ever plentiful, your victories ever in your favor, and your optimism ever unfiltered.

And remember, if you ever find yourself in need of a good laugh or a heartwarming tale of triumph against the odds, just tune in to the next chapter of "When Shrimp Bait Hooks a Titan." Trust me, it's going to be out of this world.

Until next time, stay snarky and keep reaching for the stars!