Limitless Evolution As a Snake

I flex the fins out again, slower this time, testing the muscles at their base without the added bonus of hurling myself off a building. They still ache like hell, but they hold.

Alright, round two and try not to laugh too hard this time.

[System: No promises, wanker. No promises at all.]

Flying looks a lot easier when you’re not the one doing it.

I push off the rooftop wall with my tail and my new fins snap open along my back, glowing faintly blue like something out of an aquarium exhibit, and for about half a second I actually feel like a badass. Like some kind of sky serpent. Like I should have a theme song.

Then gravity remembers I exist and I dip so hard my belly scrapes a dumpster lid.

”Nope, nope, that’s fine, that’s controlled,” I mutter to myself, wobbling back up like a drunk flying concrete pipe trying to prove it can still swim.

[System: Solid form, mate. Real graceful; would be great if you’re auditioning for a piñata.]

Shut up, I’m working on it.

I level out maybe five feet off the ground, gliding down the empty side street behind the market stalls, ether-fins rippling like I’m swimming through invisible water instead of actual air. It feels weird in a good way, like the air has just enough grip for me to push against it, kind of like moving through jelly that isn’t there. My whole body wants to sway the way it does on solid ground, and I have to remind every muscle that no, dummy, we are not slithering right now; we are flying- act like it.

I dip low over a puddle, and my reflection ripples back at me, all fangs and scales and a stupidly pleased set to my jaw that a snake shouldn’t even be able to make.

Cocky, yeah, I feel cocky; I feel like I could take on the whole Undercity right now. So obviously I try a barrel roll, bad idea insanely terribly, immediately a bad idea.

My whole body twists sideways, and for one glorious moment I’m actually spinning through the air like some kind of majestic sky torpedo, and then the spin keeps going past the point I meant it to stop, and I clip a chain-link fence with my tail and go tumbling into a stack of empty crates.

Crates everywhere. Boxes everywhere. Me, somewhere in the middle of it, dazed and proud.

[System: There it is. Bloke really said ’watch this’ to the universe and the universe said ’nah.’]

Worth it. I untangle myself, completely unharmed. A crash like that would’ve smeared my old human body across the pavement, and as a little noodle it would’ve been game over. Now? It’s just practice. I flick a bit of cardboard off my hood with a shake and go again. Second attempt is smoother. I keep the roll tight, one full rotation, wings snapping back into place right as I finish, and I don’t hit a single fence this time.

Third attempt, I even stick the landing without snout-planting into anything, gliding low and lazy just above the wet pavement like I was born doing this. Getting the hang of it now. A little wobbly still, but hey, nobody nails flight lessons on day one except maybe birds, and birds have had millions of years of evolution doing the hard work for them. I’ve had, what, an hour? Cut me some slack.

The penthouse tower comes into view past the rooftops, all glass and neon glow against the roof of the sewer city, and I angle toward it, riding low along the street so nobody up top gets a good look at a six-foot demon koi snake doing loop-the-loops over their neighbourhood.

Thermal vision picks up a couple of stray cats on a fire escape, warm little blobs of orange and yellow, completely oblivious to me gliding past under them like some kind of urban legend in training.

I stop thinking about the ground at all and just let myself climb. The tower rises up ahead of me, glass sides catching the neon glow off the city like something lit from the inside, and I angle my whole body toward it, tail sweeping slow and easy behind me. This is different from the panicked flapping I was doing a minute ago.

This feels like something I actually know how to do, like my body finally remembered it used to move through water for a living and decided air isn’t all that different if you stop fighting it. I stretch my fins out wide and just glide, letting the wind slide along my scales. Every ripple of my body pushes me forward smoothly, like I’m cutting through a river instead of clawing through empty sky. I dip a little, rise a little, my whole shape rolling in these long lazy waves that carry me higher without me even trying that hard. It’s the same motion as swimming, same as slithering through water back when I still had gills instead of whatever these fins are now, just stretched out longer and slower and bigger.

Cold air rushes past my hood and along my back, and it feels good, feels right, like my body was built for exactly this and just needed someone to switch the feature on.

I bank around the side of the tower nice and slow, riding the air current that’s sliding off the glass, and for a second I forget I’m supposed to be sneaking. I just fly, just exist up here in the space between the rooftops and the stars, my jaw going slack with pleasure on a face that technically can’t form a proper expression.

[System: Yeah alright, that one’s actually pretty.]

Told you, I’m basically poetry now.

[System: Don’t push it.]

I keep close to the glass as I rise, using the tower itself as cover from anything looking down from above, fins tucked in tighter the closer I get to the top floors.