Elyra stepped back, her eyes widening in astonishment at the number of blue ghosts that had suddenly multiplied, surrounding Silas and Sven like a ring of cold death.
"Silas!" she screamed, dashing toward him with lightning speed.
Silas stumbled back a few steps, while Sven's mind couldn't handle the sight; he let out a muffled scream and ran away into the darkness, panting, leaving them to their fate.
Elyra didn't hesitate. She gripped the hilt of her sword, "White Fang," with both hands and leaped into the air, a massive jump that brought her level with the nearest ghost. With a savage motion, she swung her sword to cleave it in two.
WHOOSH!
The blade passed through the glowing blue body without any resistance, as if she were cutting through air or a mirage. She lost her balance due to the excessive force of the blow that found no target, falling onto the sandy ground and rolling.
She got up quickly, staring at the unaffected ghost:
'What is this? I am sure I stabbed it... but there is nothing there! Is it an illusion?'
Silas looked at her, his mind racing:
"Elyra! I think it's a visual trick... just light to keep us away from the place!"
He adjusted his glasses and advanced confidently toward the gate, ignoring the screams that had doubled in intensity. He thought to himself:
'If we can't touch them or attack them, they can't touch us either. They haven't moved to harm us so far, only screaming.'
He aimed the hook of his cane toward the top edge of the gate again. The ghosts gathered around him, and the screams intensified until they were deafening, but he continued to advance stubbornly.
BOOM!
It wasn't the sound of a ghost. It was the sound of a mechanical launch.
A spherical metal projectile fell from the top of the gate, hit the ground, and exploded immediately. It wasn't shrapnel; it released a bright fiery spark and a thick cloud of burning white smoke.
Projectiles began to rain down on them.
Silas tried to take cover, but he was in a completely open area, with no rock or wall to hide behind.
"Elyra!" he shouted when he saw a projectile land near her. "Are you okay?"
Elyra stood amidst the smoke, appearing physically unharmed. Those projectiles weren't lethal explosives, but something else.
The smoke intensified and gathered around them, and the chemical substance began to react with the air.
"AAHH!"
Silas suddenly screamed in pain, covering his eyes with his hands and falling to his knees.
He tried to open his eyes, but it felt as if burning liquid had been poured into them. Tears flowed uncontrollably, and all he could see through his swollen eyelids was the faint blue of the ghosts, which seemed to be mocking him.
Elyra grabbed him by the shoulder, asking with a voice full of worry:
"Silas! Are you okay?"
She, too, felt a severe burning in her eyes, and coughing began to tear at her chest, but her modified body resisted the pain better than his.
Sven, who was watching from afar, saw the smoke and heard Silas's screams, and decided that was enough. He fled and disappeared into the fog, preferring hunger to blindness.
Silas and Elyra tried to stand and move away from the gas cloud, stumbling over each other.
"Hey! You there! Get away from here! Come on, follow me, or those things won't stop screaming and appearing!"
A man's voice appeared, speaking sharply from a few steps away, outside the range of the gas.
They had no choice. The two stood up, tried to track the source of the voice, and ran in its direction, away from the gate, the ghosts, and the suffocating smoke.
Minutes later, in a safe area between the rocks.
"You say you came by yourselves looking for this island?"
The man laughed a small, mocking laugh as he poured water from a leather skin onto Elyra's hands so she could wash her red eyes.
"This is the first time I've heard something like this... everyone who comes here is like me, homeless people who don't even remember how they got here in the first place."
They had distanced themselves enough from the gate. Silas stood, his face wet with water and his eyes still tearing, looking at the man who had saved them.
The man was different from the other homeless people. His face and body suggested strength and relatively good nutrition. And although his clothes were torn and stained with soot, he wore tall, sturdy black boots, unlike the barefoot others.
Silas guessed immediately:
'It must be Moros. He is the one who brings food to the others, so it is natural that he eats first and then brings the leftovers to the rest. His different appearance and boots confirm it.'
Elyra interrupted his thoughts as she wiped her face with her shirt sleeve:
"Moros... that's your name, right?"
The man stopped pouring water and looked at them coldly:
"You know my name... it seems you had an interesting conversation about me with the others."
He put the skin back on his belt and continued:
"Since you are here, you must have a good reason for coming. Maybe you are looking for something, but sorry to disappoint you... there is nothing here."
He took a sip of water and continued in a warning tone:
"Leave this place. You are wasting your time; what happened to the others might happen to you, until you also forget why you are here and get lost forever."
He said it with simple sarcasm, as if speaking of an inevitable fate.
"Don't you want to leave the place? I see you liked living here,"
Elyra said with similar sarcasm, sheathing her sword.
Moros laughed lightly:
"Heh... The thing is, I got used to the place. And I am the one who provides food for the rest, so this became a duty for me here. You might ask me, beautiful, where do I get the food? I won't tell you."
He looked at Silas seriously:
"You can help the rest if you want, but your ship won't carry everyone. If you help some, the rest will also want to board... Heh, I think you have no idea about their number. I advise you to leave now."
Elyra asked him, looking toward the distant gate:
"Then why do those ghosts appear as if they are trying to protect the place?"
Moros shrugged indifferently:
"I don't know... even I don't approach that place."
He moved to leave them.
"I'm leaving now... I hope you leave safely."
"We are looking for the scrapyard,"
Silas said quickly before the man walked away, as if casting his final question.
Moros stopped, turned to them with surprise on his face, then burst out laughing:
"You say you came here for the scrapyard?"
He laughed as if it were the funniest joke he had heard.
"You never cease to amaze me! It's just a place for waste... nothing there but rusty scrap. Do you want to load scrap onto your ship? I think you can't; you need more than one person and equipment to extract it... Hahaha!"
He waved his hand and disappeared into the darkness, leaving them even more confused.
///
On the other side of the island, where the ship with red sails had docked.
"Get those scum off the ship and throw them outside!"
Captain Jackson raised his voice, ordering the crew, crossing his arms as he looked toward the black beach with a sadistic smile.
The crew brought out a group of people tied with strong ropes, dragging them like cattle. They were making sounds of moaning and crying, begging for mercy. Most of them were old people worn out by time, and among them were some young women looking in terror at the dark waters.
"Shut up, you fools! You will get your freedom now,"
said the man who had held the compass earlier, grumbling as he dragged an old man resisting weakly.
"Damn... why am I always the one doing this?"
The pirate cut the rope with his knife, then pushed the old woman roughly off the edge of the ship.
She fell into the cold, shallow water and screamed, trying to crawl onto the black sand.
The crew continued doing this to the rest, throwing them one by one like worthless trash bags.
Captain Jackson watched the scene with excited eyes, his gaze shining with the glint of madness, as if watching an entertaining play.
He lit a cigar and blew smoke toward them, shouting:
"You are free now! Drown... or continue living in the hell of this world! The choice is yours!"