#float monsters

Just a couple ideas for ya ^_^ brainstorming this kind of stuff is my jam so I'm always happy to help if you ever need help with worldbuilding/logic stoof like this.

Okay the problem with the whales is 1. I know the reasons why bioluminescence evolves (we think. This is ocean science we don’t know anything for sure) and 2. I can also think of reasons why none of them feel quite right

Predation / to attract prey like anglerfish? Sure but that feels. Idk kind of basic? (No hate for the idea! just. I want it to be More somehow yk?)

Dazzling predators? This is FLOAT so there are things that could eat whales but they’re big enough n intelligent enough that idk that they’d be fooled by twinkling lights.

Communication? Again, maybe, but whales also sing and vocalize and that feels more communicative than light. Could be both, but again that’s. An accepted reason for bioluminescence.

Not that I have to come up with an entirely new reason why they glow but I want something at least a little unique.

I think the one that hits the hardest for me is the screamers / the crinoid zombies.

The FLOAT world is difficult to survive in. Even in a stable, looped current, there are storms, starvation, dehydration, sickness--people die. And rather than let their bodies float around in the current with them, the Oasis chooses to sink their bodies.

This wasn't a problem until a spawn of passive parasites got caught in the current. Passive in the sense that they reproduce the way jellyfish do: blasting out a bunch of gametes into a current and hoping they match up. And parasitical in the sense that they hijack the brain of whatever they land on!

Their whole life cycle is based on getting eaten, like other parasites. Here's Aspen's explanation of them:

“They latch onto whatever creature they bump into and sink their tendrils into the brain. Most of the time, it’s supposed to happen while the victim is alive, but they can also work on dead things before the muscles have hardened.” “Okay, gross. Also, why?” “They make distress sounds that get the attention of predators." That's when I figure out what their references to "screamers" earlier means. I don’t know what kind of distress sounds fish make, but I know what humans sound like. “There are screaming zombies down there?" "Get eaten, then lay their eggs in the predator’s internal organs, and then the little baby screamers burst out of its corpse once they’ve grown up.”

For reference, this is a crinoid:

I thought I hadn't, but then realized you were talking about THESE funky lads

Which, yes, of course I have seen them! The above murky and ominous green lighting does them no favors, though; they can also look quite majestic!

Context: River is underwater as a kraken, checking out an area up north to see if it’s safe for the rest of them.

—

Maybe that weird cracking is just the sound of the ice shifting.

It wouldn’t be much of a comfort if that was the solution. I’ve seen videos of icebergs falling apart and glaciers flipping over. Environmental threats are just as likely to cause us problems as giant fish, monster threats—and much harder for me to fight off. Regardless, it’s worth checking out. Especially because the sound has continued to grow louder, which means I’m getting closer and closer to it.

I look up, and see far too many legs gripping onto the underside of the ice.

As I move tentacle over tentacle to hang onto the exposed portions of the masts, I try to make sense of what I’m seeing. I try to shift my color to the brown of the dirt might actually hide myself. It’s hard to tell what part of the creature is a leg, what might be an arm, and what is just a spike, but I’m pretty sure I’m looking at some sort of crab-lobster-demon.

Whatever it is, it’s moving slowly along the underside of the ice above me. Every time it sticks, one of its spiked legs into the ice, it makes that sharp clicking sound I’ve been hearing. The thing has enough legs—six? eight?—that the sound is pretty regular.

Looking up at it reminds me of nights spent paralyzed in childhood fear, watching a spider crawl across my ceiling. I was convinced that calling for my parents would require screaming so loudly that the force of my cry would knock it down and send it tumbling into my bed. I suffered, sleepless hours watching it move only to realize that it was now between me and the door.

I hadn’t moved a muscle that night, but that isn’t an option right now. I have to keep going. The floaters—and Aspen—are relying on me.

I swim over a few more of the rolling underwater hills in peace. I flinch with every click of the crab’s movement, and I try not to crane my elongated head up too obviously to look at it. Just when we climb a hill, I hear a series of those clicks in rapid succession.

When I look up again, it’s just in time to see the last of its legs detaching from the ice. The crab flips over and spreads out its legs. They wave wildly as it sinks down through the water, but its foremost pincers are covered in spikes and pointed straight down at me in a deadly threat.