Deep Sea Ember

Chapter Four: A Spiritual Sail

A ghostly green flame burned fiercely on his body, his flesh and bones transforming into translucent spirit forms within the inferno. Duncan steered the Lost Home amidst this fiery chaos, his senses seemingly spreading outwards along the flames, ultimately encompassing the entire ship.

It turned out, it didn't need a crew.

The Lost Home could set sail on its own; with only the captain at the helm, it could depart at any moment.

The instant the ghostly green flames soared into the air, Duncan experienced a brief moment of panic. However, during his explorations over the past few days, he had witnessed more than one supernatural phenomenon on this ship. These experiences allowed him to force himself to remain calm, and in those crucial few seconds, he didn't let go of the helm.

Now, he was finally certain that the flames were some kind of harmless "power"—regardless of whether his body would recover later, at least for now, the power of the flames seemed to be helping him control the ghost ship beneath his feet.

The cheers and tsunami-like sounds in his mind gradually faded, and Duncan felt his mind was clearer than ever before. The Lost Home, like an extension of his body, transmitted various indescribable sensations. Although he still lacked the knowledge and experience of a qualified captain, at least now he was capable of controlling the ship single-handedly.

The ethereal sails, like gauze or mist, billowed on the mast, while numerous auxiliary sails and side sails began to adjust their angles on their own. The air currents on the sea were chaotic, yet the ethereal sails seemed to draw unified power from the invisible turbulence. The massive Lost Home ended its aimless drift and began to stabilize under the propulsion of the sails.

Duncan tried turning the helm in his hand, and tangible feedback entered his mind. He could feel the massive hull beneath his feet finally beginning to turn, attempting to move away from the boundless mist ahead.

But the turning speed still seemed insufficient; the endless, thick fog continued to draw closer, and a shrill cry from the goat-headed figure came through the brass pipe beside the helm: "Attention, approaching the limits of reality... We're about to fall into the spirit world! Captain, we need..."

"I'm doing it!" Duncan roared, interrupting the goat-headed figure. "Instead of making a racket down there, think about what you can do to help!"

the goat-headed creature fell silent for a moment. However, just when Duncan thought it had finally quieted down, its hoarse, shrill, and even somewhat eerie shout suddenly came from the brass pipe again: "Go! Go! Go!"

Duncan: "...?"

At this moment, he suddenly felt that everything around him had lost its reality. He accepted the strange phenomenon he was experiencing, accepted the supernatural power on this ship, and even accepted that he was being slowly cooked by a ball of green flame. But he never expected that the goat-headed creature, which had given him a great sense of eeriness and danger from the beginning, would do something so surprising at this moment... This weird thing was weird from the beginning, but at this moment it was really too weird!

But the ever-approaching fog gave Duncan no time to think or complain. Although the Lost Home had begun to turn rapidly—at a speed that could almost be described as drifting for its massive size—the fog in the distance seemed to be consciously chasing its prey. Large swaths of thin mist spread from its edges, spreading extremely quickly, almost instantly enveloping the entire space around the Lost Home.

The instant the fog rose from the sea, Duncan clearly sensed a strange change in his surroundings. The light suddenly became exceptionally dim, and countless thin black lines had appeared on the once blue sea. These black lines, like densely intertwined hairs, floated up from beneath the surface, visibly darkening the entire ocean.

Within the fog, countless shadowy figures seemed to emerge.

"We've fallen into the spirit world!" The goat-headed man's noisy and eerie shouts of "Go! Go!" finally ceased. For some reason, his cries sounded as if they came from an extremely distant place, interspersed with countless low, fine murmurs, as if a multitude of malevolent voices surrounded Duncan. "But the Lost Home hasn't completely sunk—Captain, hold the helm! Before it sinks into the abyss, the Lost Home still has power to maintain its course. We can still get out!"

"Provided I know which way to go!" Duncan growled in a low voice, his voice crackling with the crackling of burning green flames, as if it came from hell. "I've lost my sense of direction!"

"Intuition, Captain, intuition!" the goat-headed voice shouted through the brass pipes. "Your intuition is more accurate than the markings on the chart!"

Duncan: "..."

A sense of powerlessness washed over him, but Duncan no longer had the energy to argue with a sinister goat-headed man. Since the other party said to rely on intuition, he might as well be reckless—

following the last trace of feeling before the mist rose, he gripped the helm tightly and turned it with all his might in the direction he believed in.

The Lost Home emitted a series of chilling howls from top to bottom. The massive hull drew an astonishing arc on the now completely black sea. The wind howled, the mist swirled, and in the dim light and fog, Duncan's peripheral vision suddenly caught something slowly emerging from the mist.

The next second, he saw that it was a ship, a white vessel that looked a size smaller than the Lost Home, with a black smokestack standing in the middle of its hull.

At the end of the beautiful arc drawn by the Lost Home, the ship that suddenly emerged from the fog was hurtling straight toward it—or rather, the Lost Home was hurtling straight toward it.

Duncan could only scream, "Damn it, the Spirit World ship has gone wrong!"

He had explored this bizarre world for so long without seeing any other living beings, so why did a ship suddenly appear at this crucial moment? What were the odds of this two-way collision?

...

The wind howled, the waves surged, and the boundless sea unleashed its terrifying power. Faced with this natural force capable of tearing apart even extraordinary beings, the White Oak was squeezing out the last bit of power from its steam turbines to fight against its doom.

The gray-haired Captain Lawrence Creed stood in the wheelhouse, but the solid walls and glass windows offered him no sense of security. He gripped the helm tightly, and the dying roars and spasms of the White Oak seemed to flood his mind through the gears and linkages behind the helm.

Through the wide windows, he could clearly see the astonishing waves churning outside the ship's side, but even more terrifying than those waves was the eerie, thick fog rising and spreading from the distant sea, and the black lightning that flickered within it.

The White Oak was the most advanced steamship in the world, but even the most advanced machinery could only ensure the ship's powerful propulsion in "normal" waters. Now, it and its captain were facing a collapsing frontier of reality, a bone-chilling cold spreading from the foul palaces of those evil gods at the bottom of the world.

"Captain! The priest is about to collapse!"

The first mate's shrill cry came from the side. Lawrence heard a hoarse, murky echo in the voice. He then looked towards the bridge and saw ominous, purplish-black flames rising from the incense burner on the prayer altar. The venerable and loyal clergyman in his dark blue robes sat trembling before the burner, blood streaming from his mouth and nose, his eyes flashing between madness and lucidity.

Lawrence's heart sank.

He knew that the venerable priest was still on the side of humanity, using his last vestiges of piety and his purest, most holy soul to fight against the call from the "depths of the world." But this perseverance was nearing its end; the purplish-black smoke rising from the incense burner was proof that the corruption had breached the prayer.

Once the priest fell, every conscious mind on this ship could become a gateway to the deep sea, or even to the Warp.

"Captain!"

The first mate's voice came from the side again. Lawrence interrupted him. The middle-aged captain's face was now full of determination: "Temporarily shut down the Holy Beacon. We're sinking into the Spirit Realm!" The first mate

was instantly dumbfounded. This man, who had spent half his life at sea, seemed unable to believe his ears: "Captain?!"

"Sink into the spirit world—that way, at least for ten minutes, we can avoid the most violent impact of the border collapse, and the priest will have a chance to recover," Lawrence ordered again in an unquestionable tone, this time with a few words of explanation. "Execute my orders."

The first mate opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something more, but then he gritted his teeth: "You are the captain!"

The crew began to execute the captain's orders swiftly. Lawrence, who was personally at the helm, took a deep breath. The holy symbol beacon deep within the cabin was gradually going out. He could feel the invisible protective field surrounding the White Oak rapidly weakening. Without the protection of the sacred relic, the ship was slowly sinking into the "spirit world" layer between reality and the deep sea.

A thin mist appeared on the surrounding sea surface, and the seawater was gradually turning black.

This was dangerous, but historically, it wasn't unheard of for ships to return to the human world from the spirit world—as a member of the Explorers' Guild, he had read countless books on the subject, as well as various "survival guides" written by survivors.

How much worse could it get? He only needed to let the White Oak dodge a storm at the edge of the spirit world, then use the powerful thrust of its advanced steam turbines for a thrilling "spirit world drift." If luck still smiled upon him, he could lead his crew back to the human world.

Then he'd quickly hand over that damned "Anomaly 099" in the cargo hold to the governor of the Prand City-State, and from then on, he'd never get involved in the authorities' mess again.

It couldn't get any worse,

Lawrence reassured himself.

Then he saw a three-masted sailing ship, a full size larger than the White Oak, suddenly emerge from the pitch-black sea in the distance. With an indomitable momentum, it traced a breathtaking arc and crashed head-on towards them…

Captain Lawrence stared blankly ahead.

“…Damn it.”