Three shapes materialized from the fog, constantly shifting and writhing like smoke trying to hold solid form.
Finn barely had time to register them before the first one lunged.
He dove sideways, the navigation station he'd been gripping suddenly becoming an obstacle as he rolled across the deck. The creature's strike missed him by inches, its limb slamming down at where he'd been with enough force to crack it.
Finn came up with his sword already drawn, though he couldn't remember consciously reaching for it. Instinct. His weeks of training with Althea had embedded the motion into muscle memory.
The second creature attacked from his left, it had changed its form again, rippling and expanding into something with too many limbs. Finn parried the first strike, but barely. The impact jarred his arm, sending vibrations up to his shoulder.
Heavy. He gritted his teeth.
These things had weight. Mass. Despite being made of fog.
