Eldritch Ascension

Chapter 2: The Deep Blue Eye’s Hotpot Party

Ethan Moore sat in the back seat of the off-road vehicle, watching the man in the suit ignite a cigarette with a flame of ghostly blue.

In the front passenger seat, a burly man with a buzz cut was loading shells into a shotgun, each casing engraved with twisted runes.

“How do you know my name?” Ethan Moore kept his left hand hidden inside his sleeve, the tentacle still savoring the pleasure of devouring the monster.

“Since the moment you picked up the compass, we’ve been watching you—for seven days,” the suited man exhaled a smoke ring. It solidified in midair into the shape of an eye. “By the way, I’m Rowan Shaw. The one driving is Tiger—don’t ask his real name. This i***t can even lose his own ID card.”

Tiger shot a glare through the rearview mirror. “That’s still better than you showing off with your real name, Dr. Lu.”

The vehicle jolted violently. Ethan Moore turned toward the window, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Out of the dense fog emerged half of a city bus. Its body was encrusted with rotting oysters and barnacles, while behind the windshield swelled clusters of bloated flesh tumors. A gigantic starfish squatted in the driver’s seat, five arms probing through the cracks in the metal, stuffing black sacs into the belly of a passing stray dog.

“Don’t stare,” Rowan Shaw snapped his fingers. A layer of blue flame coated the window like a membrane. “Those things are sensitive to being watched.”

Ethan Moore looked away and noticed the unconscious girl lying in the corner. Her right leg was bound with a makeshift splint, and pale green viscous fluid seeped from the wound at the back of her neck.

“Will she be infected?”

“She already is,” Rowan Shaw replied casually. “But since you ate the main brain, at most she’s just a walking blood bag now.”

The off-road vehicle plunged into the undersea tunnel. Ethan Moore suddenly clutched his left eye—the phantom image of a bronze compass surfaced on his retina, its needle spinning wildly. The tunnel walls began to ooze a tar-like black substance, and countless pale arms stretched out from within, like drowning victims clawing desperately at the roof of the car.

“Hold tight,” Tiger growled, wrenching the steering wheel.

They smashed through the barrier at the tunnel exit and burst into an eerie stillness. Moonlight pierced the thinning fog, illuminating a rusted pier ahead. Shipping containers were stacked into a grotesque labyrinth, and the sea breeze carried the stench of rotting kelp.

Ethan Moore’s left hand began to twitch uncontrollably.

Half an hour later, at the container-based temporary outpost.

Five figures in protective suits were gathered around an induction cooker, hotpot bubbling furiously with a crimson broth.

“A newbie?” A girl with twin ponytails lifted a strip of tripe, dipping it seven times up and down. “Brother Lu, did you pick up child labor again?”

“Child labor my ass,” muttered the man in a plague doctor mask. “This kid reeks of the Old Ones’ kin. I can smell it even through the mask.”

Ethan Moore stared at the churning ingredients and suddenly realized it wasn’t tripe at all—the translucent flesh shimmered with fluorescent blue veins. It was clearly the tentacle of some deep-sea creature.

Rowan Shaw shoved Ethan Moore onto a folding chair and ladled a spoonful of “tripe” into his bowl. “Formal introductions: the Coastal Field Operations Unit of the Deep Blue Eye.”

“Ruan Ruan—hacker and logistics,” the ponytailed girl brushed aside her bangs, revealing a mechanical prosthetic eye on the left. “By the way, what you just ate was the arm of a Deep Diver. Crunchier than beef tripe.”

“Owl Doctor—coroner and poison specialist,” the masked man poured a vial of green liquid into the pot. “Disinfection.”

From the corner came the sound of rapid typing. A young man in a Taoist robe didn’t even look up. “Silas Quinn. I handle the supernatural side. And don’t ask why a Taoist uses a laptop—adapt or die.”

The hotpot suddenly boiled over, the broth turning an unnatural fluorescent green.

“Time’s up,” Rowan Shaw said, checking his watch.

The entire pier shook violently. From the sea rose a gray wall a hundred meters high. Ethan Moore first thought it was a tsunami—until he realized it was a colossal wave made of countless intertwined tentacles. At its crest floated half a sunken ship, its hull encrusted with barnacles and human bones.

“Welcome to the Deep Blue Eye’s initiation ceremony,” Rowan Shaw said, lifting a silver briefcase at his feet. “The mission is simple: get aboard that ship and bring back the ‘egg.’”

The case snapped open. Ethan Moore’s pupils shrank.

Three hearts throbbed inside transparent containers, their surfaces scaled, veins linked to miniature mechanical devices.

“Implanted under the skin, they’ll temporarily suppress your mutation,” Rowan Shaw tapped the container. “Of course, if the mission fails…”

He gestured toward the boiling hotpot. “Tomorrow’s extra dish will be your organs.”

Twenty minutes later, aboard the assault boat.

Ethan Moore touched the implanted “heart” beneath his collarbone. It writhed beneath his skin like a living thing. The tentacled wave had already dissipated; the sunken ship drifted alone on the sea, emitting an eerie sound like an infant’s crying.

“Don’t be scared, big sis has got your back~” Ruan Ruan’s mechanical eye flickered red. “Just don’t touch the black pearls on the ship. Those things crawl into your brain and start singing…”

Silas Quinn suddenly gripped Ethan Moore’s shoulder. “You smell of the Yellow Robe.”

Golden light flooded the Taoist’s pupils. Ethan Moore felt a scorching gaze pierce his organs. “Someone planted an anchor in your soul. When the ship draws near R’lyeh—”

The assault boat slammed into the hull. Ethan Moore’s compass flared with heat. Under the moonlight, viscous black liquid seeped from the cracks in the deck, congealing into twisted humanoid forms. They had no faces—only swirling vortices where their features should be—and each carried a rusted anchor.

“Drowned ones!” Ruan Ruan shouted, drawing two compact submachine guns. “Aim for the head vortex!”

Ethan Moore had just raised his issued tactical dagger when his left hand suddenly elongated into a three-meter bone whip, sweeping through the air and cleaving two monsters in half at the waist. Black blood splattered across the deck, corroding it into a pattern resembling Cthulhu’s sigil.

【Devoured “Remnants of the Drowned,” Contamination +5, Skill Unlocked: Underwater Breathing (Basic)】

“Holy hell, rookie!” Ruan Ruan laughed as she blew apart another charging monster. “Your tentacles are more flexible than a vibrator!”

Before Ethan Moore could retort, the entire ship lurched violently. From deep within the hold came the thunderous crack of snapping chains as something enormous rose from the depths. Silas Quinn’s compass spun madly; his face drained of color. “This is wrong—the deep-sea tidal cycle has accelerated…”

The hull split apart. Black, octopus-like columns of flesh burst through the deck, each embedded with the upper half of a human body. In unison, they chanted ancient incantations as the black blood on the deck pooled into a pentagram.

Rowan Shaw’s voice crackled through the comms. “Bad news, rookies—we’ve been played. The ‘egg’ hatched long ago. It’s at the bow now…”

The flesh columns spewed purple toxic mist. Ethan Moore’s heart convulsed violently. In the final second before consciousness faded, he saw a colossal golden eye open at the bottom of the hold, reflecting the silhouette of a sunken city.

The whisper of the King in Yellow echoed inside his skull:

“Sacrifice them… and you shall obtain… true freedom…”