Chapter 1. Captains Diary

Chapter 1. Captain's Diary

June 14, 8th Year of Cross Over, Clear Weather

Lately, the vague murmurs in my ear have returned. Those voices that didn't sound like voices. They were chaotic and chilling. This wretched place is really not meant for humans.

First Mate Old John told me that I should try his method of resolving those sounds by finding the fresh girls at Red Lips Tavern. I admit that the thought did cross my mind, but ultimately, I resisted. I can't afford to waste my hard-earned Echo Coins in that place. For my dream of returning home… I cannot relent.

Humans are a species meant to be living above the ground. The humans in this underground sea are living proof that there is a way back up. I must definitely find it!

I dreamed of my family again yesterday. I miss them… but I'm starting to not remember what they look like…

The sudden rocking of S.S. Mouse interrupted Charles Reed from penning his next words.

The old oil lamp next to the diary illuminated the face of its owner. Charles had the typical Asian appearance with black eyes and black hair. However, his face was so pale that it almost looked transparent, like a vampire in a movie.

According to modern beauty standards, Charles could be considered somewhat handsome. Yet, at this moment, his extreme fatigue was apparent from his heavy and weary expression.

He stood for a brief moment by the window and listened to the sea waves crashing against the steamship's hull. Unable to pinpoint anything unusual, he picked up his pen and continued writing.

I don't need those special services workers. Journaling can also help to alleviate those auditory hallucinations. I've been able to get a good solid 5 hours of sleep lately. It's been a long while since I've had such a peaceful sleep.

Of course, learning from the lessons of my predecessors, I purposely wrote in a language that only I can understand, Chinese.

Screech.

Charles was interrupted once more by the grating sound of metal from outside of the window. It sounded as though something was constantly scratching the boat's hull with very sharp nails.

Snap!

With furrowed brows, Charles slammed his diary shut and headed for the circular porthole.

He stretched his neck out the window and found that the scene outside was a duplicate of what he had seen eight years ago. An unlit sky intertwined with the inky-green expanse of the sea painted a tapestry of darkness in the distance.

Darkness ruled everything outside, and within its depths, something monstrous seemed to be lurking. All that lay beyond invoked a sense of foreboding and bone-chilling dread.

In this shrouded seascape, there were no stars or moon illuminating the sky. The endless darkness prevailed in this place. Yet, the same darkness defined normalcy.

As he stared at the seemingly normal view outside of the window, Charles' brows were further pressed together. His years of voyaging experience sounded the alarm: something was definitely amiss. He decided to investigate further.

Charles opened the bedside cabinet, revealing hundreds of gleaming golden bullets. They rolled back and forth in eerie harmony with the undulating waves.

Drawing the revolver holstered at his waist, Charles expertly loaded it with the ammunition and made his way to the pilot house.

"Captain, why are you so early today? It's not time for your shift yet."

In the pilot house, a scruffy, stubble-faced, fat old man had his hands on the steering wheel. Slumbering beside him on the left seat was a young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. His sailor uniform was a testament of his role on the ship. Despite their countenances bearing traits of those of Eastern European descent, they shared a ghastly resemblance to Charles, devoid of blood.

"First Mate, S.S. Mouse seems to be a little rocky. Are we still on track?" Charles inquired, his gaze fixed on John. He then strode over and planted a firm foot on the chair's leg, jolting the young lad from his slumber.

When the young lad saw that it was the captain himself, he hurriedly wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth and scrambled to get up from the seat.

"Heheh. I reck it's 'cause them critters below the waters caught a whiff ‘a food. Ye know, deep in the waters, there's more disgustin' stuff than fish, I tell ye. But worry not! S.S. Mouse is a sturdy ol' iron vessel. Ain't nothin' gonna break ’er!" The big-bellied old man took a step back and relinquished the helm to his captain.

Despite hearing his first mate's response, the sirens were still ringing in Charles' head.

In this dreaded place, humans no longer reigned at the top of the food chain. Caution was the only key to survival.

Charles pressed a button on the old dashboard and a spotlight lit up the scene ahead of them. His eyes scanned back and forth across the surface of the sea, peering through the transparent glass.

Between the sea and the helm, the deck was piled high with cargo. The ship looked to be smaller in size, stretching a mere thirty meters or so in length.

"The route to Coral Archipelago has been traversed by cargo ships many times. Those things couldn't possibly have come to court their own deaths. Something's amiss," Charles mused, his hand gripping the polished helm, its reflective surface mirroring his furrowed brows.

Old John was taken aback. "No way, did we deviate from the course? Nah. Look, ye can still see the beacon right there." He pointed at the faint dim light in the distance.

In the subterranean depths of the ocean, devoid of any stars to lead the way, the compass and luminous beacons marking navigational routes were the only guides. As long as these beacons remained in sight, their light signified a path established by exploratory vessels—a route deemed safe, in other words.

It was precisely at this moment that Charles, with his gaze fixed upon the sea's surface, felt his pupils shrinking to the size of a needle point. Gulping down his saliva with much difficulty, he asked, "That… That beacon… How long have you been looking at it?"

"A few minutes, I reck. Me eyes were on it, not a single move…ment…" Old John's volume gradually lowered toward the end of his sentence and a tinge of terror flashed across his chubby face.

They had sailed for such a long time and had yet to pass this particular beacon. Evidently, that beacon itself was moving at the same speed as the steamship. That was not what it was supposed to do!

With sudden urgency, Charles snapped into action like a tightly wound spring. His hands spun the helm furiously, veering hard to the left.

Accompanied by the creaking sound of metal, the steamship began to change direction. Thankfully, a smaller boat could turn swiftly, and S.S. Mouse started to distance itself from the enigmatic beacon.

But before Charles could even catch his breath, the young lad beside him pointed a trembling finger at the glass window behind them, his eyes wide as though he had seen a ghost.

"Cap… Captain! That thing is closing in on us! It's so fast!! It's catching up!"

"Damn it!" Charles bellowed, his voice tearing through the space, directed at a nearby pipe. "Engine room! Push the boilers to maximum load! Something's chasing us!"

"Aye, Captain!" a sturdy voice resonated from within the iron pipe.

Thick, pitch-black smoke billowed from the ship's smokestack as the steamship's speed began to escalate.

"It's still closing in!! It's too fast! It's almost upon us! My god! What monstrosity is that!"

The young lad's voice soared several octaves higher, his body trembling like a sieve as if he was on the brink of shock.

"Dipp! Close your eyes!!" Charles' nerves were already stretched taut, and he dealt a kick to Dipp's lower limb, sending the latter toppling to the ground.

Nearby, Old John forcefully pressed his hand on Dipp's head, holding it against the ground. His face was flushed as he frantically shouted, "See nothin', hear nothin', think nothin'!! Captain will lead all 'a us back."

Before the echo of his words could fade, a thunderous boom reverberated through the cabin, causing the two on the ground to roll into a tangled heap. Charles only managed not to be thrown overboard by clinging tightly to the helm.

"Captain, it has struck us!"

Charles' face turned an ashen shade, his cheeks slightly bulging from the clenching of his teeth. He brought his mouth close to the pipe and bellowed in a hoarse voice, "Engine room!! Overload the boiler for thirty seconds!!"

"Captain! That won't do! This vessel's too old!! She might explode!"