Chapter 318: Gradually Distorted

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Tyrian found himself engulfed in brief chaos and fatigue following the massive impact. Struggling to refocus his vision, he was overwhelmed by a cacophony of sounds twisted by the storm’s fury. Despite the turmoil, his mind remained clear, thanks to the ghostly flames emanating from the darkness, shielding him from the corrupting power of the Nether Lord.

Steadying his breathing, Tyrian realized he had not suffered severe mental pollution, and the illusions in his mind quickly faded. He then heard a calm voice from the other side, “It seems you’ve recovered.”

Tyrian looked up at the towering figure across the navigation table, “It was you who ‘pulled’ me out just now…”

“You stared at it for too long. Vanna said you were succumbing to a nightmare,” Duncan replied calmly. “Fortunately, I’ve recently studied ‘interfering with dreams.’”

“A nightmare,” Tyrian instinctively rubbed his brow. “Did I appear to be falling into a nightmare just now…?”

“It seems you had a remarkable experience,” Duncan said, his tone inquisitive. Although he had intervened in Tyrian’s spiritual state, he saw nothing usual. Tyrian’s “nightmare” was pure darkness, suggesting the source had left before Duncan’s intervention, deepening his curiosity about the events.

“I… encountered an indescribable entity,” Tyrian began, recalling his visions. “I can’t describe its exact form and don’t dare to remember every detail, but I think it was the Nether Lord…”

Tyrian detailed his experiences in the darkness, sharing his spiritual encounters and his inability to recall the full silhouette of the mountain-like shadow.

Duncan’s brow furrowed, “So you’re saying the only message this ‘Nether Lord’ conveyed to you was to ‘run?’”

“Strictly speaking, it was the only thing I could understand,” Tyrian spread his hands. “It seemed to say much, but everything was drowned out by overwhelming noise. Eventually, it appeared to give up and spoke the shortest word I could barely discern…”

Duncan pondered, “So when a person is in a state of heightened inspiration, they can’t hear the whispers of the ancient gods?”

Tyrian looked puzzled, “Father, what are you talking about?”

“Ah, it’s nothing, never mind,” Duncan waved the thought away, focusing on the matter at hand. He then turned to Vanna, “Do you believe Tyrian encountered the Nether Lord? Could it have been trying to protect him by telling him to ‘run?’”

“Based on Captain Tyrian’s account and his emotions, even if it wasn’t the Nether Lord, it was at least an entity similar to a heretical deity,” Vanna replied promptly. “As for the ‘run’ aspect… I apologize, Mr. Duncan, I can’t make a hasty judgment.”

She hesitated briefly, feeling her answer lacked accountability, and added, “Information about the Nether Lord is scarce, with even the four major churches possessing limited knowledge. The prevailing belief is that the Nether Lord is a massive, singular entity at the core of an abyss in the deep sea. It cannot move or exert its power in the real world. It can’t communicate and seems not to think, like…”

Vanna tapped her temple, searching for the right words, and Duncan remarked casually, “Like a mass of slime submerged in the deep sea? Alive, vast, but neither thinking nor moving?”

“…You might be the only person in the world to refer to the Nether Lord as slime,” Vanna said with an unusual expression but nodded gently. “Indeed, as you mentioned, if the information obtained from tormented souls of demons and heretics is accurate, the Nether Lord is such a ‘silent heretical god.’ Its sole activity is to continuously create more shadow demons from its body or absorb those who have perished in battle.”

Duncan rubbed his forehead, “…It sounds like some sort of fungal mass…”

The captain’s use of an incomprehensible “subspace dialect” was once again evident.

However, Vanna was no longer surprised and smoothly continued, “In general, the Nether Lord can actually be considered a relatively benign heretical deity because it has never shown any intent to encroach on the real world. Nevertheless, it is still classified as a ‘wicked god’ by the four divine churches.”

“So, regardless of its subjective awareness, its mere existence poses a threat?”

“Yes—whether it’s the shadow demons emerging from it or the fervent Annihilators who have formed contracts with the shadow demons, they all pose significant danger to the civilized world.”

Duncan remained silent, lost in thought.

For some reason, he thought of the “Black Sun” sustaining the false corona, dying in the flames.

However, he only considered it briefly and refrained from forming opinions about the Nether Lord’s nature—for a simple reason: insufficient evidence. He would not draw conclusions about matters he had not personally experienced.

Tyrian massaged his temples; the noise in his head had completely dissipated, leaving only slight dizziness and fatigue, as though he had been awake for several nights. As Vanna shared information about the Nether Lord, he pondered his thoughts.

“Whether the ‘run’ indicated goodwill or not, one thing is certain: the Obsidian’s current situation is clearly a result of the Nether Lord’s power, and now there are Annihilators active in Frost, likely involved in this matter,” Tyrian said slowly. “If the influence I just experienced is genuinely connected to those who participated in the project back then, then even the Abyss Project is now tied to this issue. Moreover, I believe our primary concern at the moment should be ‘Dagger Island,’ the lingering aftermath of the Abyss Project from half a century ago.”

“The eighth ‘Number Three Submersible,’” Duncan said gravely, “How much do you know about the situation on Dagger Island?”

“There is currently a military-restricted area there, and even with the Mist Fleet’s capabilities, approaching it is difficult. The Vanished might be able to force a landing on the island due to its unique nature, but locating the submarine in a short time could prove challenging. After all, the island is vast, and the research facility has a complex structure. The military personnel on the island may directly order its destruction in an emergency situation…”

Duncan sensed something was off and quickly interrupted, “Hold on, hold on, when did I say we were going to break in directly?”

Tyrian paused and realized, “I’m sorry, Father, I thought…”

Duncan waved his hand, indicating no need for an explanation, “Let’s not discuss this. Just give me a brief overview of what you know about Dagger Island. It might be useful.”

“Alright, about that small island…”

Belazov gazed solemnly at the diving bell suspended in the hall’s center.

He had been in this research facility for two days, spending half his time in the hall, working with the diving bell.

Not a professional researcher, Belazov didn’t understand the mechanical aspects or the significance of various tests conducted on the samples. He stayed due to an irresistible curiosity about the mysterious, eerie device.

As a Frostian under forty years old, he hadn’t experienced the significant event from half a century ago. However, as a high-ranking city-state official, he had learned about the Abyss Plan from confidential files.

The third submarine held the most critical position in all files and was the most terrifying aspect of the Abyss Plan.

Rusty and dirty inside and out, it hung quietly on an iron hook, resembling an unremarkable piece of scrap iron.

Professor Maelson stood beside the general, explaining the laboratory’s safety measures.

“… The rope below leads directly to the furnace. In case of an emergency, the hook will release instantly, and the submarine will crash through the grate and fall into the furnace. If the release device is activated but the submarine doesn’t fall into the channel, a connected mechanism will initiate, detaching the entire room from the ‘vault’ frame and sliding it into a cave behind the bay, filled with nitroglycerin explosives.”

“What about the personnel in the laboratory?”

“We have thirty seconds to evacuate—after that, the evacuation passages will be locked,” said Professor Maelson. “However, in the worst-case scenario, the person in charge, which is me, can choose not to open the evacuation passage.”

Belazov nodded slightly and slowly approached the diving bell.

He looked at the dirty circular glass window, curiously peering inside.

Dark red muddy sludge swirled slightly inside the submarine, and something resembling an eyeball pressed against the glass window, looking at Belazov through the gaps in the dirt.

After a while, the general withdrew his gaze, “It’s pitch black inside; I can’t see anything.”

“Yes, we haven’t opened its hatch yet,” Professor Maelson nodded. “So naturally, we cannot clean the inside.”

General Belazov smiled, “As it should be.”

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