.
As Tyrian spent more ti on board the ship, he discovered nurous discrepancies between his mories and the present reality.
For instance, there were animate objects scurrying about the vessel.
Additionally, there were ethereal spirit sails that had lost their tangible form, now resembling gossar fabric floating on the mast.
Moreover, there was an odd sculpture in the captain’s cabin, which his father called “Goathead.”
Tyrian sat across the navigation table, observing the eerie objects in the room. Many of them were familiar, albeit aged. His father faced him, recounting the events that transpired between the Storm Church and the Vanished, while the young inquisitor from Pland occasionally chid in.
The situation had evolved beyond his expectations.
“A secret envoy?” the legendary pirate echoed the phrase Vanna had just used, his expression a mix of intrigue and concern. “The Storm Church is more audacious than I thought.”
“To be honest, I was taken aback at first,” Duncan admitted with a smile. “The Storm Pope is a mysterious figure. It’s hard to discern how much of her speech is sincere and how much is influenced by the Church’s interests or the directives of the storm goddess Gomona. Nevertheless, this turn of events aligns with my intentions since I do require a liaison to engage with the four divine churches and an assistant proficient in handling cultists.”
“Handling cultists, you say…” Tyrian mused thoughtfully. “I recall you ntioning the Annihilation cultists and the evidence discovered on the Obsidian…”
Duncan nodded gently, “That’s why I brought you here.” He retrieved a tobacco box from his pocket and, upon opening the lid, revealed its contents to Tyrian. “This is the clue I found deep within the Obsidian—the Nether Lord’s flesh.”
Tyrian involuntarily held his breath. Despite knowing he should be safe with his father nearby, he couldn’t suppress a shiver of apprehension when the box was opened. Inside, he saw a piece of “flesh” the size of a thumb.
An overwhelming sense of dread and revulsion washed over him, akin to the primal reaction one might experience when confronting a ferocious beast unard. Even though the flesh was lifeless in the tal container, Tyrian felt as if he were being scrutinized by a living, formidable, and intimidating entity!
Swiftly averting his eyes, Tyrian realized that he was drenched in cold sweat.
“Are you alright?” Duncan observed Tyrian’s state and furrowed his brows. “Why is your reaction more intense than Morris and Vanna’s?”
Still reeling, Tyrian replied almost reflexively, “They didn’t react as much?”
“We experienced resistance and a sense of danger, but nothing as extre as your reaction,” Vanna clarified from the side. “What did you feel just now?”
Tyrian conveyed his earlier sensations and then examined the piece of flesh with a furrowed brow as nurous thoughts raced through his mind.
“I’m unsure if it’s just an illusion, but it felt like this thing… was watching intently,” he explained, “as though it’s still alive… or sothing ‘beyond’ it is casting its gaze.”
Duncan and Vanna shared a knowing glance.
Bringing Tyrian here had indeed been a wise decision – without direct interaction, certain subtle cues might have remained hidden.
This piece of flesh, believed to be a remnant of the Nether Lord, exhibited a unique reaction to Tyrian’s proximity and attention! “Could your involvent in the Abyss Plan years ago be the reason?” Duncan speculated, considering the plan to be Tyrian’s most distinctive connection to this incident.
Tyrian remained silent for a mont, reflecting for a few seconds before raising his head: “Can you confirm whether the Obsidian truly journeyed to Frost’s deep sea?”
“I cannot, as there’s no concrete evidence, but my intuition tells it returned from there,” Duncan answered honestly, “the ship’s behavior closely resembles the ‘replicas’ you described.”
Tyrian said nothing for a while, his eyes fixed on the small, dark iron box on the table, seemingly contemplating and weighing his choices. After an indeterminate period, he suddenly inquired, “May I take another look?”
“Are you certain?” Duncan peered into Tyrian’s eyes, “This could be dangerous. If the Abyss Plan indeed forged a link between you and this thing, each contact you make with it strengthens that connection.”
Tyrian was quiet for two seconds before a faint smile erged on his face, “…On your ship, things shouldn’t spiral out of control, right?”
“…If sothing does arise, I’ll handle it,” Duncan nodded slightly, sliding the small iron box he had just retrieved back toward Tyrian, “Exercise caution, and inform us right away if anything occurs.”
Tyrian nodded, took a deep breath, and once more focused on the Nether Lord’s mysterious piece of flesh.
Almost instantly, the feelings of opposition and tension resurfaced, accompanied by the sensation of being observed by an imposing presence. The overwhelming power established a connection, engulfing his mind like a tidal wave, and Tyrian’s survival instincts nearly compelled him to shut his eyes.
But this ti, he forcefully resisted his instincts, neither looking away nor actively disrupting or challenging the will that materialized in his mind.
Through this prolonged persistence, Tyrian finally confird his earlier suspicion –
The will and power radiating from this “Nether Lord’s flesh” were astonishingly non-threatening.
The fear, danger, and resistance he experienced stemd solely from the natural awe induced by the imnse power; the gaze concealed beyond the flesh… was actually quite benign.
Tyrian’s heart stirred, and he raised his head, ready to share his discovery with his father.
However, in the next instant, Tyrian found himself enveloped in darkness and chaos – the familiar cabin and its occupants had vanished from his sight.
Astonished, he stood up, instinctively reaching for a weapon, only to realize he was unard. He cautiously surveyed his surroundings, attempting to see clearly amid the darkness and turmoil, but it was as if his vision had been obscured by a veil of shadows. Even when he held his hands before his eyes, he could only discern blurry outlines.
This was potent ntal interference; his consciousness was being guided and disrupted by sothing.
Yet, he sensed no hostility.
Feeling disoriented in the darkness, Tyrian suddenly thought he detected a sound.
A rustling movent emanated from behind him, indicating that sothing enormous was shifting, and a faintly cold breath neared the nape of his neck.
Tyrian’s heart clenched, and he swiftly turned his head.
A massive, peculiar limb adorned with faint blue patterns intermingled with dark brown extended before him in the darkness.
The limb, resembling a tentacle but spanning hundreds of ters, rose like a supple pillar in the darkness. The amorphous bulge at the tentacle’s tip hovered less than a ter from Tyrian’s face. Further along the limb, an even more colossal, indescribable structure gradually erged from the shadows!
It appeared to be a mountain, a city, or a chaotic entity capable of instantly driving mortals insane. It could not have originated from the real world, nor could it have been the creation of any rational deity. The structure resembled so deep-sea mollusk, a fusion of starfish and squid. But the following instant, its misty surface began to roil, sprouting innurable tentacles, limbs, eyes, and throats that continuously morphed.
In this fleeting mont, Tyrian’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets, and tumultuous thoughts surged through his mind. He was unsure whether he felt fear or had montarily lost the capacity to scrutinize his emotions. He simply gazed at the undulating tentacle before him as though it was attempting to communicate or convey information. Nevertheless, he could not comprehend the cacophony intertwined with the tsunami of data.
Nurous eyes opened on the tentacle’s surface. As Tyrian stared into them, it seed as though he finally “heard” so intelligible information from those eyes and the distant, mountainous “main body”:
“…Run.”
“Boom!”
A horrifying roar detonated within his mind as if an imnse repulsive force was tearing his spirit asunder and forcibly hurling it back into the real world. Tyrian nearly lost consciousness imdiately, but just when he believed his soul would shatter amid the boundless darkness and chaos, a flicker of green fla materialized in his line of sight.
The flas roared, engulfing him and dissolving the terrifying imagery.
Before he had a chance to react, the dreadful “illusions” and sounds had dissipated like a dream – he was once more in the captain’s cabin aboard the Vanished.
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