18. Battle (2)
After about 25 seconds, my body had fully regained its ability to move. I wanted to spring into action immediately, but acting recklessly might draw the spider's attention and invite another attack. First, I needed to assess the situation calmly.
The spider was still relentlessly focused on Kana, its attacks fierce and unyielding. Kana had moved even farther away from me, her figure barely discernible at the edge of my vision. She must be at least two kilometers away by now. Perhaps she was deliberately drawing the spider's attention to buy me time to recover, or maybe to give me a chance to stand and escape safely. That thought stirred a mix of gratitude and urgency in me.
Thanks to Kana's efforts in keeping the spider occupied, I was able to rise without being targeted. I glanced down at my severed left arm, lying on the ground. It looked alien, no longer a part of me, just an object discarded there. The sight was strangely captivating, a novel experience I'd never had before. It was as if I were objectively observing a piece of myself, detached and foreign. The scene held such an odd allure that I couldn't help but stare for about 4.5 seconds.
But there was no time to linger. Kana was running around tirelessly, likely burning through her energy reserves. If this continued, she could be in real danger. The urge to reach her side as quickly as possible grew stronger.
I took three tentative steps, only to realize my balance was completely off. With both arms intact, I'd never noticed it, but losing one arm threw my sense of equilibrium into disarray. It felt as if the Moon's gravity had subtly increased, a disorienting illusion. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this sensation was akin to Earth's gravity. A silly thought crossed my mind: if I reached Kana without my arm and described this feeling, she might find it amusing. I quickly dismissed the idea and moved toward my fallen arm.
I picked it up. The act of reattaching it brought a sensation like waking from a long dream. The connection point was undamaged, and the arm reattached seamlessly. It felt like a limb that had gone numb from sleep, slowly regaining sensation as the current flowed back through the circuits. With my arm restored, I broke into a sprint toward Kana.
The spider was so massive that even from two kilometers away, its form was strikingly clear. My first task was to divert its attention from Kana to me. Scanning the scattered lunar rover wreckage around me, I spotted a sturdy tire, roughly a meter in diameter. I gripped it with both hands and hurled it with all my strength toward the spider's cockpit.
The tire soared through the air, striking one of the spider's many legs with surprising precision, snapping it clean off. I was stunned. I'd never tested my physical strength before, and I had no idea I was capable of such power. My model might be outdated in terms of software, but its hardware—my physical build—was evidently robust. The realization sent a surge of excitement through me. This could be a real fight.
However, the spider's legs were far too numerous. While tires were plentiful, breaking each leg one by one was impractical. The spider had raised a leg to shield its cockpit, revealing that the cockpit was its weak point. Knowing where to aim was a valuable gain.
I grabbed another tire and threw it, successfully snapping another leg. The spider's attention shifted entirely to me. A cluster of grotesque, deep purple eyes, dangling like grapes above the cockpit, glared in my direction. The terrifying sight nearly made me falter, but I leaned on my old-model desensitization to shrug off the psychological shock, dodging the mental assault with a mental sidestep.
The spider charged toward me, its many legs propelling it at an alarming speed. It closed the distance in moments, unleashing a barrage of needle-like leg strikes, like a carpet bombing. Dodging alone wasn't enough to keep up with the onslaught. I needed a shield. Scanning the ground, I spotted the solar panel that had recharged me earlier—perfectly sized to serve as a shield. I hoisted it up, using it to block the spider's attacks.
The panel withstood two or three strikes before shattering. I quickly grabbed another, and another, using them to deflect attacks while throwing tires to counter. I settled into a rhythm: throw a tire, raise a panel to block, and inch closer to the spider's cockpit.
"Kana!" I shouted, calling out to her, but there was no response. Anxiety gnawed at me. I thought I'd closed the distance to where she might be, but there was no sign of her. My vision was dominated by the relentless cascade of the spider's silver legs. To find Kana, I first had to deal with this monstrous creature.
I temporarily shut off the part of my memory tied to Kana, focusing entirely on the battle. Throwing tires and breaking legs was effective, but the spider's back was equipped with solar panels, allowing its legs to regenerate quickly. No matter how many I broke, it was a futile effort. I needed a more powerful weapon. As I searched the ground, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
"…Use mine."
Looking down, I saw the head of a lunar rover, distinct from the one that had warned us to flee. It was another conscious rover, barely clinging to functionality. In a faint but clear voice, it said, "Use my head."