June 14th, Year 8 of the Crossing, Clear Skies
"Lately, the vague whispers have returned to my ears—a sound that isn't a sound, muddled and dark. This damn place is no place for humans.
My first mate, Old John, told me I could try his method: go visit the perfumed girls at the Red Lips Inn.
I admit the thought was tempting, but I resisted. I can't waste my hard-earned Echo Coins in a place like that. If I want to get home, I can't let my guard down for a moment.
Humans are creatures of the surface. The fact that we can exist here in the underground sea proves there must be a way back up. I have to find it!
I dreamed of my family again last night. I miss them, but I'm starting to forget what they look like…"
The sudden lurch of the Rat interrupted Charles Reed's writing.
An old oil lamp beside the diary illuminated its owner's face. He had black eyes and black hair—a typical Asian face, but his skin was so pale it was almost translucent, like a vampire from a movie.
By modern standards, Charles was somewhat handsome, but right now his expression was heavy and exhausted, making him look exceptionally haggard.
He listened intently to the waves outside the window for a moment. Hearing nothing unusual, Charles picked up his pen and began to write again.
"I don't need to pay for company. Writing in this diary helps my auditory hallucinations just as much. Lately, I've been able to get a full five hours of sleep every night. I haven't slept this soundly in a long time.
Of course, learning from the cautionary tales of past diary-keepers, I'm purposely writing in a script only I can read: Chinese."
SCREEE… A jarring metallic scraping sound came from outside the window, as if something were clawing at the ship's hull with sharp nails.
SNAP. He shut the diary. Brow furrowed, Charles walked toward the round porthole.
He stuck his head out and saw the same sight that had greeted him for the past eight years: a lightless sky and an ink-green sea melded together in the distance, forming a curtain of darkness.
Darkness ruled everything in the Abyss-Sea, and something monstrous seemed to be brewing in its depths, suffusing everything with a twisted, eerie feeling.
But here, there was no starry sky, no moon. If one were to look straight up with night-vision binoculars, all they would see is jagged bedrock.
This was the Abyss-Sea, an ocean beneath the earth. Endless darkness was its main theme, and that very blackness was proof that everything was normal.
Staring out at the normal view, Charles's frown deepened. Something's not right. His years of sailing experience told him so. He decided to investigate.
Charles opened the nightstand. Inside, hundreds of gleaming yellow bullets rolled back and forth with the sway of the sea.
Drawing the revolver from his waist, he loaded it with practiced skill and strode toward the cockpit.
"Captain, what brings you up so early? It's not your watch yet."
At the helm in the cockpit was a chubby, stubbled old man. Asleep in the chair to his left was a youth of about seventeen or eighteen, his sailor uniform indicating his rank. Both had Eastern European features, but like Charles, their faces were drained of all color.
"First mate, why is the Rat so unsteady? Is our course normal?" Charles asked John at the helm. As he spoke, he kicked the leg of the chair, startling the youth awake.
When the boy saw it was the captain, he hastily wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and scrambled up from his seat.
"Haha, probably just some underwater creature that caught our scent," the chubby old man said. "You know how it is, Captain. In the Abyss-Sea, these disgusting things are more common than fish. Don't worry, the Rat is an ironclad ship. They can't break through." With that, he stepped back, yielding the helm to his captain.
Charles's unease didn't fade despite his first mate's report. In a twisted place like this, humans were no longer at the top of the food chain. Caution was the only key to survival.
Charles pressed a button on the aging control panel, and a forward spotlight flared to life. His eyes swept back and forth across the pitch-black sea through the glass.
Between the cockpit and the sea lay a deck piled high with cargo. The ship wasn't large, maybe thirty-odd meters from bow to stern.
"The shipping route to the Coral Islands has been cleared by countless cargo ships. Those things wouldn't come looking for trouble here." Charles gripped the helm, its surface worn smooth with use, his brow deeply furrowed. Something's not right.
Old John froze. "Could we be off course? Impossible. Look, the navigation marker is still in the distance," he said, pointing to a faint, blurry speck of light in the distance.
In the starless underground sea, the only navigation aids besides the compass are the illuminated markers placed along the shipping lanes. The very presence of a marker signifies that the route has been scouted by Exploration Ships and is safe.
Just then, as Charles stared at the water, his pupils contracted to pinpoints. He swallowed hard. "That… that marker. How long have you been watching it?"
"A few minutes, maybe? I've been staring right at it. It hasn't moved." As he finished, Old John's voice trailed off, a hint of terror appearing on his pudgy face.
We've been sailing for so long, yet we haven't passed that marker. That means the marker is moving at the same speed as our Steamboat. There's something wrong with that thing!
Suddenly, Charles snapped into action. He spun the wheel violently, wrenching it hard to port.
With a shriek of metal, the steamboat beneath them began to turn. Luckily, the small ship was nimble, and the Rat started to pull away from the strange marker.
Before Charles could even sigh in relief, the youth pointed a trembling finger at the aft window, his eyes wide with a ghostly terror.
"C-Captain! That thing's closing in! So fast! It's going to catch up!"
"Damn it!" Charles roared into a nearby communication tube. "Chief Engineer! Push the vortex furnace to maximum! We've got something on our tail!"
"Aye, Captain!" a hearty voice rang back from the iron pipe.
Thick black smoke poured from the ship's smokestack as the steamboat's speed began to climb.
"It's still getting closer! It's so fast! It's about to catch us! God! What the hell is that monster!"
The boy's voice rose several octaves, shrill with terror. He was shaking like a leaf, on the verge of shock.
"Deep! Close your eyes!" Charles, his nerves stretched taut, kicked the boy in the calf, sending him sprawling to the deck.
John slammed the boy's head to the floorboards. His face was flushed as he yelled, "Don't look, don't listen, don't think! The captain will get us back!"
As soon as he finished speaking, there was a deafening BANG! The cabin shuddered violently, sending the two on the floor rolling into a heap. Charles barely managed to hang on to the ship's wheel, saving himself from being thrown aside.
"Captain, it hit us!"
Charles's face was ashen. The muscles in his jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth.
He pressed his mouth to the communication tube and roared, "Chief Engineer! Overload the vortex furnace! Thirty seconds!"
"Captain! No! This thing's too old! It'll blow!"