"You're gonna make us walk the long way, aren't you?" Gluttony says dropping the remains of the eel to the ground.

"It's hardly 'make'," Wrath retorts, already heading for the higher ground and the trees. "You're as eager for this as I am."

The others share mildly irritated looks, but she's right, and they follow her, up into the treeline, and along to come at the village from away from the sea. (Both Avarice and Wrath are watching the sea suspiciously, as though it might still be able to leap up and wash them back to the ship from here.)

As they come into view of the village, they can see dozens of people all piling onto boats and rowing out to sea.

The old woman is there, wrapped in a wet cloak and directing the evacuation.

Wrath snarls, because she will not be denied. Not by some freak of nature. (In the back of her head, she's worried, because something isn't right here, and there's only one thing she can think of that might cause people to be able to become water, and she doesn't like that idea.)

Still. She darts forward, ignoring Pride's suggestion of caution. (The buildings give good cover, and as much as she dislikes it, she can sneak.) She fingers one of the grenades on the bandoleer over her chest as she gets closer, directing nanites to cover it (they'll be off and infecting people before it explodes), and directing some at the old woman, and anyone remaining on the beach.

The boy from earlier spots her, and shouts and points, then helps an older man into a rowboat before scrambling in himself. The old woman, now the last person on the beach, shoves the boat into the water and turns to face Wrath. Behind her, the ocean swells, gathering another unnatural wave and pulling the boats away from the shore on an unnatural current.

She tugs the grenade free, and pitches it out towards the boats, not actually aiming at the boats, but the water between, and her pitch gets it further than most would say was possible. The grenade is a way to get more nanites onto people, not much else.

If the people are anything close to regular human physiology, the ones her nanites get into should get spurred into murderous rages. (And the boy is useful as a way to spread them.)

She's already twisting away, flicking a second grenade at the old woman. (It might not kill her, but hopefully it'll distract her for a little while.)

Arcing tendrils of water lash out of the wave to bat her grenades back toward her.

Wrath doesn't think she's had this much fun in years. No-one has ever been this much of a challenge.

She deflects one of the grenades, but doesn't bother doing anything more than continuing her twisting motion to evade the other. (She is still much to close when it explodes, but her only response is to tuck and roll.)

"Fuck," Pride gasps, jerking like she just got kicked in the chest.

A gunshot rings out, echoing hollowly against the water, aimed at the old woman's head.

By now the wall of water rising behind her is close to twenty meters high.

The bullet has much the same effect that the whip did before; she falls apart and flows away, merging with her swelling wave. A ripple runs through it, but it's not clear whether that's an interruption in her control or a deliberate expression of annoyance.

Well. Wrath tries another grenade, aimed at approximately the base of the wave, because why the hell not not?

(Her body is slowly knitting itself back together from the damage the last one did.)

She is not, however, entirely without a self-preservation instinct, and is making her way back towards the trees. "Sloth, shoot her again."

"Wrath, maybe you haven't noticed she's a wave?" Sloth says through a yawn. "What do I aim at?"

"The damn wave!"

The third grenade is as easily fended off as the first two.

The wave continues to ripple, and then its front surface bulges outward in the middle, and a humanoid figure emerges, recognizable as a scaled-up version of the old woman. Twenty meters tall and made entirely of seawater, she picks her way delicately through the village, headed for Wrath.

Wrath considers the woman, and then stops, turning to face the woman. There's no fear in her stance, only mild irritation that she cannot end this woman, and a half-delighted anticipation of what's going to happen next. She hasn't been challenged like this in too long. People can't face her, don't face her, won't face her. (And she has to deliberately handicap herself to make it even close to a fair fight half the time.)

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Wrath," Pride grumbles, but she knows she can't talk the other woman out of this.

Sloth aims another shot at the water-woman. He is really not expecting even a headshot to actually work here, but he at least has the energy to try right now.

His bullet takes out one of the fish swimming in her head. The water-woman herself is unaffected.

She reaches down to close a hand around Wrath.

Wrath doesn't even try to evade it, standing almost placidly, arms loose at her side. Her nanites aren't going to affect sea water, and she's curious to see if the water can lift her.

Yes. Yes it can.

The water-woman picks her up off the ground and hefts her thoughtfully.

Wrath face twists into something that would be a pleasant smile if her face could support that expression, seemingly entirely unbothered by the hefting. She's a bit too busy surreptitiously pulling the key from another grenade.

And then the water-woman winds up and throws her inland in a high arc.

She's still in the air when her grenade goes off.

She's still in the air for a good half-minute afterward, in fact.

Meanwhile, the water-woman is looking for the rest of them.

Pride is doubled-over, swearing, eyes pressed closed, trying to get back to an even keel.

"...Are we as resilient as Wrath?" Avarice asks looking up at the water woman. "Because I don't really want to find out the hard way the answer is no."