Chapter 4 “Ship of the Spirit World”
This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com
The haunting emerald flames had danced and licked fiercely across Duncan’s form, charring his flesh and bone until they gradually transformed into translucent, spectral entities. His body seemed completely engulfed by a spectral inferno, an event which, under normal circumstances, would signify a terrifying death. Yet, he stood stoically at the helm of the Vanished, his demeanor marked by an unnerving calmness as the flames continued their dance.
During this fiery transformation, Duncan experienced a strange phenomenon—his senses seemed to extend outward, tethered to the flames, spreading in a net of perceptive tendrils that enveloped the entire ghostly ship. This sensation was otherworldly and inexplicably unnatural, yet he found himself adapting to it, embracing it as part of his new spectral existence.
What was once deemed an impossibility had become reality. Despite its grand scale and complexity, the Vanished did not require a full crew of deckhands and navigators, but only Duncan as its captain. With its ethereal construction, the ship was ready to sail the boundless seas at a moment’s notice with only Duncan at its controls.
When the initial emerald blaze erupted around him, Duncan was briefly consumed by panic. However, days of relentless exploration and exposure to the ship’s supernatural eccentricities had inoculated him against such frightful responses. Despite the firestorm surrounding him, he had become accustomed to these fantastical elements, allowing him to maintain a stoic grip on the ship’s helm.
As the flames danced, Duncan began to understand their true nature. They were not destructive or harmful; instead, they served as a unique power source that only he could harness. He had no certainty whether his human form would eventually return, but for the time being, he took comfort in knowing that the flames were benign, even beneficial to him.
With the flames came clarity. The roaring cheers and the cacophony of the past faded in his mind, replaced by an uncharacteristic focus. The Vanished responded to his thoughts and commands, an otherworldly extension of his own spectral form. His knowledge and experience as a seafarer might have been inadequate, yet he now possessed the supernatural ability to control this phantom vessel single-handedly.
The ship’s spectral and gossamer-like sails billowed and pulsed under the unseen force of the winds. Smaller sails and jibs aligned themselves in a mesmerizing display of autonomy, drawing power from the chaotic currents of the ghostly sea. With each passing moment, the aimless drifting of the Vanished ceased, replaced by a definite course propelled by the spectral winds.
When Duncan willed the ship to change course, he experienced an overwhelming surge of feedback, a tangible force that echoed in his mind. He felt the giant hull beneath his feet begin to adjust its course, attempting to veer away from the endless fog ahead. However, the ship’s turning speed was slower than Duncan had anticipated.
As the looming mist drew nearer, a metallic voice emanated from a copper pipe near the helm. The voice, reminiscent of a goat’s sob, issued a chilling warning, “Attention, approaching the limits of reality… We are about to enter the spirit realm! Captain, we need…”
“I’m doing it!” Duncan interrupted, his voice overwhelming the metallic warning. “Instead of moaning meaningless drivel, think about how you can assist me!” His proclamation echoed throughout the spectral ship, a defiant declaration amidst the eerie silence.
Duncan had briefly hoped that the strange being had finally stopped its peculiar chatter. Yet, just as he began to feel a sense of relief, a raspy, jarring, and disconcertingly chilling cry burst from the copper pipe, reverberating through the air, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
Duncan: “….?”
At that moment, an inexplicable sense of unreality enveloped him. He had grudgingly accepted the bizarre incidents he’d witnessed, the otherworldly forces on the ship, and even his peculiar predicament of being roasted alive by an ethereal green flame. However, he was utterly confounded by the baffling antics of the goat head, which had consistently projected an ominous aura of danger. The strange being was an enigma from the start, but its recent behavior seemed to amplify its weirdness to an unbearable degree.
But the rapidly approaching fog left Duncan no time for introspection or complaints. The Vanished began to pivot with surprising agility despite its monumental size—a maneuver akin to a colossal ship adrift. The sentient fog in the distance pursued its quarry relentlessly, sending out large swathes of slender tendrils of mist at its periphery, propagating at an alarming pace and quickly enveloping the entire vicinity of the Vanished.
As the fine mist rose from the sea’s surface, Duncan could not escape the distinct feeling of an uncanny transformation occurring in their surroundings. The previously bright daylight darkened, and an untold number of inky tendrils, akin to a disheveled mass of hair, materialized on the formerly cerulean surface of the ocean. Rising from the depths, these sinister strands danced before his eyes and rapidly darkened the entirety of the seascape to an ominous black.
Hidden within the mist, a multitude of shadowy figures began to take shape.
“We have crossed over into the spirit realm!” The earlier cacophonous and chilling exhortations of the goat head finally ceased, and its exclamations now echoed as if from a great distance. Intermingled with its distant cries were a slew of low, ominous whispers, as if Duncan found himself besieged by a crowd of malevolent specters, “But the Vanished has not fully submerged yet—Captain, hold fast to the helm. Despite teetering on the edge of the abyss, the Vanished retains the capacity to keep its course. We can still escape!”
“The prerequisite is that I need to know where to steer!” Duncan retorted, his voice a guttural growl amidst the sizzling hiss of the green flames that seemed to originate from the bowels of hell. “I’ve lost all bearings!”
“Intuition, Captain, intuition!” came the goat head’s response, its voice reverberating through the copper pipe, “Trust your gut, it’s a better guide than any markings on a maritime chart!”
Duncan: “….”
A tidal wave of helplessness washed over Duncan, but he no longer possessed the vitality to engage in a pointless dispute with the peculiar goat head. When the entity proposed relying on intuition, he decided to throw caution to the wind and trust his gut.
Drawing on the residual sense of direction that lingered just before the mist ascended, he tightly gripped the helm wheel, using every ounce of his strength to execute a sharp turn in the direction his instinct suggested.
The Vanished reverberated with a series of spine-chilling groans, resonating from bow to stern. Its colossal hull carved an astonishing arc across the inky expanse of the sea, accompanied by ferocious winds wailing and mist spiraling. In the wan daylight and shrouding mist, a flicker at the corner of Duncan’s eye revealed something steadily materializing from the foggy void.
In the next instant, he discerned another ship—a white vessel, notably smaller than the Vanished, with a prominent black chimney at its midsection.
At the culmination of the beautiful arc etched by the Vanished, this emergent ship from the fog was on a direct collision course with them—or rather, the Vanished was on a headlong path towards it.
All Duncan could do was yell out, “For God’s sake, we’re about to have a drag race collision in the spirit realm!”
After wandering through this surreal world for an extended period without encountering a single living entity, why did another ship surface at this precise stage? What were the odds of such a meeting amidst this peculiar, high-stakes ride?
……
The deafening roar of the wind and the monstrous waves underscored the immense power of the Boundless Sea. In the face of such elemental fury that could tear even the most unearthly beings apart, the White Oak pushed its steam engine to its limits, desperately defying its impending doom.
Captain Lawrence Creed, his hair bleached white, stood firm in the wheelhouse. The sturdy walls and glass windows provided little comfort. He clung to the helm wheel, feeling the death throes and convulsions of the White Oak transmit directly into his mind through the intricate network of gears and linkages behind the wheel.
Through the expansive windows, he watched the monstrous waves rise alongside the ship. Yet, more terrifying than the towering waves were the ominous fog and the sporadic flashes of dark lightning within the mists billowing over the distant sea.
The White Oak was the pinnacle of steamship technology in this world. However, no matter how advanced its machinery, it was only designed for “normal” waters. Now, the ship and its captain faced an unraveling boundary of reality, while a dreadful force grew in the toxic depths of the world, lurking within the shadowy chambers of malevolent deities.
“Captain! The priest can’t hold out much longer!”
The desperate plea from his first mate resonated beside him. Lawrence could hear the raw desperation in his voice. His gaze shifted to the prayer stand, where an incense burner emitted a sinister purple-black flame. A respected clergyman, dressed in a deep blue robe, trembled before the censer, blood dripping from his lips, his eyes flickering between madness and brief moments of clarity.
A pit opened in Lawrence’s stomach.
He knew the venerable clergyman was fighting a losing battle for humanity, using every ounce of his faith and his pure, sanctified spirit to resist the malevolent whispers from the abyss. Yet, his resolve was faltering, and the purple-black smoke rising from the censer signaled that the sanctity of the prayer had been breached.
Once the clergyman succumbed, every sentient mind aboard the ship risked becoming a portal into the bottomless depths of the sea, or possibly even into realms like subspace.
“Captain!”
The first mate’s voice cut in again, but Lawrence interrupted him. A determined look formed on the aged captain’s face, “Temporarily disable the Sacred Emblem Beacon. We will descend into the spirit realm!”
The first mate stood frozen, his disbelief palpable. This man, who had dedicated half his life to the sea, seemed unable to comprehend his captain’s command, “Captain?!”
“Descend into the spirit realm. It will provide us with a temporary reprieve from the most brutal onslaught of the collapsing border, and it may also afford the priest a chance to recover,” Lawrence reiterated his command with a tone that allowed no argument, this time elaborating on his decision, “Execute my order.”
The first mate opened his mouth as though to protest, but he ultimately gritted his teeth and responded, “You’re the captain!”
The crew members promptly began to carry out the captain’s orders. Meanwhile, Lawrence, with a firm grip on the helm, took a deep breath. The Sacred Emblem Beacon, nestled deep within the ship, gradually dimmed. He could feel the invisible protective force field that had encased the White Oak rapidly deteriorate. Stripped of the sacred artifact’s protection, the ship was slowly sinking into the “spirit realm”—an intermediary layer between the real world and the terrifying abyss of the deep sea.
As the surrounding sea transformed, a gossamer fog blanketed the surface, and the water slowly turned a sinister black hue.
It was a perilous endeavor, but there were historical precedents of ships reemerging from the spirit realm. As a member of the Explorer’s Association, he had studied countless accounts and so-called “survival guides” written by those who had survived such harrowing voyages.
Could things possibly get worse? His mission was straightforward enough—navigate the White Oak to skirt a storm on the fringes of the spirit realm, tap into the mighty output of its state-of-the-art steam engine to execute a heart-pounding “spirit realm drift.” If fortune favored them, he could guide his crew back to the realm of humanity.
Once safe, his priority would be to deliver the cursed “Anomaly 099” from the ship’s hold to the governor of the city-state of Pland. Thereafter, he planned to disentangle himself from the shadowy intrigues of the authorities.
“There is a limit to how bad things could get.” Captain Lawrence attempted to convince himself.
Just as he was steadying himself, an enormous three-masted sailing ship materialized out of nowhere on the inky sea ahead. It dwarfed the White Oak by a significant margin. With relentless momentum, it traced a terrifying arc and began its inexorable charge towards them…
Captain Lawrence stared, stupefied, at the scene unfolding before him.
“Damn…”
Thanks for the chapter!
Hmm….would the mc obtain the 099 now?
like it couldn’t get any worse.
The worse thing happened.
Say did I read wrongly? surroundings. The previously bright daylight took on a darker hue, and an untold number of inky tendrils, akin to a disheveled mass of hair, materialized on the formerly cerulean surface of the ocean. Rising from the depths, these sinister strands danced before his eyes and rapidly darkened the entirety of the seascape to an ominous black.
There was no daylight there was no sun no stars just fog no?
The cabin was surrounded by fog, but after steeping through the door, traversing the fog and changing bodies, he was on an open sea.