Chapter Text
Every inch of Firth’s body pleaded with him to stop but something primal inside of his mind screamed at him to keep going. That if he didn’t he would die down here, beneath a building that had been brought down on him as if to make a mockery of him trying to climb up above everyone else.
Firth felt the sand just barely part around his claws with every scrabble, desperate to feel open water rush over them. Until finally, FINALLY, he no longer felt the bottom of the building bash against the top of his claws.
Firth’s shoveling turned more frantic with the sweet promise of freedom, and potential help within his reach.
He struggled to make enough room between the sole of the building and the sea floor to squeeze his body between. He felt the already existing cracks in his carapace worsening and new ones forming as he tried to contort himself through the small gap he’d managed to make. The rough bottom of the building scraping against his injuries, widening them further.
By the time Firth had managed to drag the widest portion of his body out, any energy reserves he had left were completely spent. He already knew trying to muster up anything else to pull his legs out from the aperture the rest of his body had left in its wake would be a useless endeavor.
The fatigue seemed to have dulled the agony his body was in but even through that, Firth felt a deep, deep regret for grabbing that Stupid. Shucking. Shell. That he just had to run up and decide to try it on because it was all colorful and glowy despite all common sense that should have told him to be careful. It had seemed to call to him. Scream for him even. For ANYONE to pick it up.
The exhaustion clouded his thoughts before he could dwell on it much more. His eyelids were too heavy to keep open. No strength or will to fight it off anymore. Mind deciding it couldn’t hold on any longer as the last threads of his consciousness unraveled.
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When Firth woke up again, the ache in his body hit him full force.
He slowly tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes, lids still feeling far too heavy. Confusion muddling every one of his senses.
Where was he?
He looked to his side and saw...gouge marks in the sand? Where was his bed? Did he fall asleep outside….
Clarity hit him like a pistol shrimp. The Whorl, Trash Island, Kril…
Firth bolted upright-
OUCH!
Only to instantly flop back down as pain raced through every inch of him.
Okay, he had to take it slow. Getting into a fight with Kril and then a building smashing into him had done a number on him. If he was lucky then there should still be someone around to help him.
Or maybe Kril was still around to finish him off….
Firth slowly began to take in whatever surroundings he could from his spot on the sand.
His gaze was met with sunlight filtering through sickly grey waters and heaps upon heaps of trash towering around him. Covering what he recognized as the Lower Crust of New Carcinia.
He’d seen all this before the building fell on top of him, but he hadn’t really processed it at the time. Between still reeling from the power high that the Whorl basically hijacked his brain with, Krill managing to kick his ass despite him becoming a god and then seeing that very same crab walking down the street towards him afterwards…
He shuddered at the memory.
DON’T! Don’t worry about Kril right now, Kril isn’t here.
He really hoped that was true at least.
Firth kept his head to the ground and carefully tried flicking his antenna.
”Ow!”
He yelped, wincing as he felt a jolt of pain lance through the one on his right. Gently ghosting his left antenna over it, he felt that the top half of it was missing.
Only one working antennae wasn’t great but it was livable. It would just be a bit easier to sneak up on him for a while. But that was fine, totally fine, y’know. It wasn’t like he’d pissed off what had to be one of the scariest crabs in the ocean now or anything.
He slowly, delicately began to lift his head, tucking his cracked claws under his chest for support, and began to look around for any other crustaceans that might be able to help him.
But there was...nothing. The only movement was some trash swaying in the currents.
It was dead quiet too. No voices in the distance to be heard. No sounds of life from any of the few intact buildings. Not even the clicking of other crabs scuttling in the distance, no matter how hard he strained to hear.
Just complete and utter silence.
Dread began to curl itself underneath his carapace.
Had there been an evacuation after the island fell? Did it happen before he’d clawed himself out from under the building? Or had they seen him passed out and maimed and just thought he was too close to death’s door to be worth saving? Maybe they had thought he was already dead?
A chill ran through him at that last thought. That someone had looked at him and just seen a mutilated corpse laying there and hadn’t thought it worth it to try and recover him.
Firth looked back down towards what he could see of his mangled body and the bent material of his vest. He was pretty sure this was the exact position he was in before he passed out. Legs still hidden under the building and marks in the sand seemingly undisturbed.
It seemed like no one had come near him since he’d clawed himself out. Neither to help or get a better look at him. The sand around him looked untouched except for some wave worn indents from crabs walking in the road. And oddly enough a set that looked like someone had come directly up to the building he’d been crushed under before turning back down the main road. He’d covered up the prints that would have been closest to the building in his escape.
Whoever they belonged to, he kind of doubted they had realized he was laying under the building and gone for help. And it didn’t look like anyone else would be coming by anytime soon either…
The dread coiled around him tighter. If his help wasn’t coming then what choice did he have but to try and go looking for it himself. It was either that or lay here and starve to death.
He slowly began to fold his legs towards himself. Careful to keep his injured carapace from scraping against the bottom of the building or dragging in the sand anymore than completely necessary.
That did nothing to stop it from hurting though. His whole body felt like a massive bruise, begging him to just lay still. Every little movement pained him but it was either grit his shell and bear it or die as far as he could tell.
Once Firth got his legs out from the divot under the bar he curled them close to his body. The hard, jagged material of what used to be his favorite vest chafed into his cracked shell with his new position. He started to mentally prepare himself for the next step, the arduous process of actually trying to stand.
Slowly he began to push himself up. Thankful he’d already situated his claws in a way that led into the movement with little difficulty.
Or at least it wouldn’t be difficult if his stupid shucking body would stop being such a jerk every time he moved! He wondered which of his wounds were from Kril, what was from the bar smashing on top of him, and if any of this was from that horrible glowing monstrosity that had looked like a shell!
Firth tried to focus on the water flowing through his gills. His anger at everything that had gotten him into this situation demanded his attention but he didn’t have time for that right now. Mentally cussing out Kril, his own lack of common sense when it came to pretty things, and the whole world could all come later.
When he finally managed to get his knees under him he began to wonder if he’d even be able to stand, let alone walk! Even from his spot on all sixes he could tell his left back leg was too injured to really hold any weight. He hoped that just the single rear one would be a decent crutch if he found out he couldn’t walk on just his two front legs.
He began to shift his weight onto the side that still had both his front and back leg in working order. Getting the tips of his right legs onto the ground and pressing himself up.
A wave of vertigo instantly wracked him the second he was standing. Before he knew it, he found himself falling.
He fell back against the bar with a THUD, letting out a shuddering gasp as the wall caught him. His impact on the hard weathered surface was harsh against his injuries but it was still better than falling down on his face or tail and ending up back at square one.
Firth let himself slump against the building while he got his bearings. He tried to ignore how uncomfortable the torn edges of his vest and the worn surface of the building felt rubbing against his wounds.
Once he felt the worst of it had passed he began to gingerly try stepping away from the bar again, keeping a claw on the wall behind him in case it proved to be too much too soon.
The second he no longer had the extra support at his back the dizziness returned full force. This time bringing nausea to roil through him right alongside it.
He brought his other claw to his head, desperate for the feeling to pass. It wasn’t like he even had anything to throw up anyway. He had no idea when the last time he ate was.
It seemed something had decided to throw him a scrap of mercy today. The nausea passed within a few minutes without much more fuss.
He still felt lightheaded and overall awful, but not enough that walking was completely out of the question. With that he slowly began his limping trek down the road. Grateful his legs were still strong enough to hold his weight, even if every step made him desperate to stop.