Chapter 5: “Intertwined”
The looming shadow of an enormous warship drew closer by the second, a sight no sailor aboard the White Oak would ever forget.
A three-masted warship emerged from a dense fog, grand and ancient, an awe-inspiring vision reminiscent of a meticulously detailed oil painting from a bygone century. In an era dominated by steamships, this sailing colossus appeared as an apparition from a distant past. Eerie green flames enveloped its colossal masts, sharply angular hull, and dark wooden expanse while its gigantic sails fluttered, adorned with phantom-like images in flaming layers. Amidst the unpredictable whims of the open sea, such a spectacle was typically reserved for the most terrifying and blood-chilling maritime folklore.
“WE’RE GOING TO CRASH!!!”
The alarm-filled shout of a crew member cut through the sea air, a piercing call to action. Even these hardened seamen, seasoned by relentless adversities at sea, lost their composure before this daunting threat. In a state of panic, they yelled and sprinted across the deck, clutching anything solid to anchor their trembling bodies. Some, overwhelmed by dread, collapsed to their knees amidst the violent rocking of the storm, fervently invoking the Storm Goddess Gomona or the Lord of Death Bartok, with a passion they had never known before.
In this vast sea, the sanctity of divine blessings had diminished, yet the formidable power of these two deities still commanded reverence.
Yet, amidst the pandemonium, not everyone aboard the White Oak succumbed to panic. The first mate quickly sought out his most trusted superior—the captain. Aware of the unpredictable dangers of the open sea, he knew that the vast experience of their seasoned captain was key to their fate. Captain Lawrence, a veteran with over three decades of maritime experience, might have lost his youthful strength, but his extensive knowledge of sea survival offered a ray of hope to the terrified crew.
The mysterious ship, seemingly born from the dense fog, differed from any conventional vessel. It resembled an entity from a spectral dimension or the ominous “deeper depths.” If this was some form of supernatural phenomenon, perhaps a supernatural response was required.
Veteran sailors who navigated the treacherous waters of the Boundless Sea held a reservoir of experiences to draw upon in such enigmatic situations.
Yet, all the first mate saw reflected in the captain’s face was raw fear and incredulous shock.
The aging Captain Lawrence stood frozen in shock, gripping the steering wheel as if unaware of the engulfing darkness that shrouded the entire ship. His gaze was fixed on the looming silhouette ahead, his facial muscles so rigid they seemed chiseled from granite. Through clenched teeth, he whispered a few chilling words, colder than the biting sea breeze, “It’s the Vanished…”
“Captain… Captain?!” The voice of the first mate, filled with incredulity and a hint of fear, broke the tense silence after hearing the name that reverberated in his ears. Like every sailor who ventured into the unpredictable expanses of the Boundless Sea, he was familiar with this name—spoken only in hushed tones by older, more seasoned mariners who had their share of inexplicable encounters and harbored deep superstitious reverence. “What did you say? You mean it’s the…”
“The Vanished!!!”
Captain Lawrence appeared detached from the world around him, his hands clung to the steering wheel with a vice-like grip, ready to shout in defiance at some unseen adversary as he declared the ship’s ominous name. The awe-inspiring Vanished made its ghostly approach toward the prow of the White Oak.
The air was suddenly filled with the shrill screams of terrified sailors.
However, the anticipated catastrophic collision did not occur. The enormous ship, enveloped in eerie green flames, took on the aura of a spectral phantom. Ghostly illusions rippled across the deck of the White Oak, its robust hull, mysterious compartments, dimly lit passageways, and the blazing keel and pillars. The sailors watched in wide-eyed terror as the phantom of the ghost ship seemed to consume their physical forms. The green flames cascaded across the deck like a flaming, spectral web, flowing beside them without causing harm.
Captain Lawrence found himself in a state of disbelieving awe as the ethereal flames surged toward him. Before they reached him, he watched as the flames engulfed the first mate standing before him. Under the influence of the spectral flames, the first mate’s body transformed into an ethereal phantom, his skeletal form illuminated within the illusory fire. Lawrence’s gaze then shifted to the priest near the prayer altar, around whom the ghostly flames flickered as if the divine entities he prayed to were offering a meager blessing to shield him from the consuming power of the Vanished.
As the flames finally engulfed Lawrence, he saw his own body undergo the same spectral transformation. An intense feeling of fatigue, surrender, and terror invaded his soul. The ocean amulet around his neck began to resonate, oscillating between scorching heat and icy coolness, somehow preserving his rapidly eroding sanity. Within this shrinking island of sanity, he found himself “traversing” through the ship’s cabins and corridors of the Vanished.
The shadowy and oppressive cabins seemed to rush towards him before quickly receding into the background. Decaying ropes and barnacles entwined around ancient wooden pillars, all aflame with the spectral green fire. He glanced at an expansive cargo hold, where various uncanny objects that seemed to belong to the unfathomable depths of the sea lay ominously still. Among the fleeting images, he caught a glimpse of a lavishly furnished cabin with a wooden goat head ominously placed upon a table at its center.
Simultaneously, the wooden goat head began to rotate of its own accord, its painted eyes, cold and inexpressive, fixing on Lawrence.
Summoning all his strength, Lawrence managed to lift his head to meet the gaze of the formidable figure at the helm—it wore a somber black naval uniform that radiated an aura of overwhelming authority and terror, reminiscent of a sovereign from a nightmare. This figure appeared to be the orchestrator of all the spectral flames, and even the unyielding depths of the sea within this spirit realm seemed to acknowledge his supremacy, tearing open a rift in the fabric of reality behind him.
With a sense of resignation, Lawrence closed his eyes. He now understood—he was part of the Vanished. The fearsome captain, a ruler of his nightmarish realm, required a continual stream of sacrifices to alleviate his eternal hollowness and solitude.
However, the next moment, Lawrence opened his eyes with renewed resolve. It felt as if all the courage and audacity he had gathered throughout his life had been distilled into these precious seconds. Drawing from the lore he had absorbed from countless books and legends, he met the daunting gaze of the Vanished’s captain with as sincere and composed a demeanor as he could muster.
“Take me, and spare my crew. They need not bear this burden.”
Yet the towering figure offered no response. He merely cast a cold, dismissive gaze in Lawrence’s direction with a flicker of curiosity—it seemed almost surprising that a mere mortal captain would dare to negotiate terms with him.
Unable to contain his fury any longer, Lawrence shouted, “They all have wives, children! Their lives are not yours to claim!”
At this, the figure on the Vanished showed signs of a reaction. He turned his gaze towards Lawrence and seemed to say something. However, his words were drowned out by a deafening roar that erupted from the side. Amid the cacophony, Lawrence tried to discern some form of commotion, but not a single word reached his ears.
The attempted response from the Vanished was lost in the relentless howling of the wind: “What did you say?! The wind… it drowns your words!”
Then, as if an auditory floodgate had been opened, a barrage of noise bombarded Lawrence’s ears. The sounds of wind, crashing waves, and the alarmed shouts of sailors from beyond the cabin door created an overwhelming symphony. From his peripheral vision, he noticed the green flames receding rapidly, and the final remnants of the Vanished’s illusion evaporating into the air like wisps of mist.
Taking a deep breath, Lawrence realized that his hands, once seared by the ghostly green flames, were now miraculously unscathed. His crewmates in the cabin had also regained their corporeal forms. The devout priest by the prayer altar was panting heavily, continuously chanting the sacred name of the Storm Goddess Gomona. The menacing purple-black smoke that once filled the cabin gradually dispersed, replaced by pure white tendrils of smoke spiraling upwards from the bronze censer’s cover.
A heavy sense of breathlessness lingered with Lawrence for a considerable time. He looked around in utter disbelief, still grappling with the reality that the harrowing ordeal had ended so abruptly. It was only when the first mate’s voice, ringing with elation and relief, reached him from the side, that he was jolted back to the present. “Captain! The ship, the Vanished, it’s gone!”
Lawrence, his mind still in a daze, took a few seconds to comprehend the news. He murmured to himself in an incredulous whisper, “He… he actually set us free?”
The first mate didn’t catch Lawrence’s low murmur amidst the surrounding noise. “Captain? Could you repeat that?”
“Captain Duncan…” Lawrence mumbled almost absent-mindedly. However, realizing he had voiced a forbidden name, he abruptly stopped, his palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap. Then, lifting his head with newfound vigor, he locked eyes with the first mate. “Call for a roll call, now! We need to ensure everyone is accounted for!”
Recognizing the urgency, the first mate gave a swift nod and turned to leave, but Lawrence stopped him abruptly. “And ensure there are no… extra crew members on board!”
The first mate paused at this peculiar instruction but soon understood the unspoken implication behind the words. A wave of astonishment, quickly followed by a shudder of fear, crossed his face. He drew a deep, steadying breath, whispering a silent prayer to the Storm Goddess under his breath, before sprinting towards the deck to carry out his orders.
As the White Oak continued its journey through the spectral waters of the spirit realm, the tolling of the assembly bell rang out across the ship, sounding very much like the call of destiny itself.
Thanks for the chapter! Its good.
Thanks for the chapter!
The Anomaly’s reminded me of Lord of Mysteries
Now that you mention it, yeah, it makes me thing of LoM fogs
Pretty sure that Duncan was more afraid than lawrence.
Storm Goddess… sounds hot. I hope the goat head turns into a goat girl.
Bruh