35 Nightmare

As Lord Edwards' imposing presence departed, Victor found his weary mind finally able to exhale. The deluge of information imparted by his newfound servitude had left him with a conscience heavy as a storm-laden sky. All he yearned for now was respite, to sink into the embrace of a deep, dreamless slumber.

Night surrendered to morning, and as the sun's gentle rays kissed his face, Victor stirred, emerging from the depths of his well-deserved rest. He fixed his gaze upon the mysterious tarot card bestowed upon him by his Lord for communication.

This card, an enigmatic masterpiece, seemed as though it had been crafted from a dark, lustrous crystal that emanated an ominous aura. The colossal, dark-green serpent coiled upon its surface bore a foreboding air of death and destruction. At its base, the inscription "One" etched a chilling resonance.

As Victor scrutinized the card, his thoughts suddenly surged with an influx of knowledge. It was as though an ethereal tome had unlocked within his mind, pages adorned with cryptic runic symbols and arcane patterns, each exuding its unique essence.

In the presence of this mental tome, another materialized before Victor's eyes, transcribing its pages with the very symbols and patterns contained in the mental book, weaving a spectacle of knowledge and power.

From the ethereal tome, Victor sensed an array of diverse powers beckoning to him. Among them were abilities like Shadow Lurking, Psychological Invisibility, Fire Ravens, Mirror Substitute, Paper Figurine Substitute, Prohibition, Freeze, Theft, Appearance Change, and countless more. Each offered a unique and potent tool for the tasks that lay ahead.

As he navigated this newfound wellspring of capabilities, a piece of information emerged in his consciousness: "Use these powers judiciously. I shall bestow more upon you in a week's time."

The voice of his Lord echoed within his mind once more, an unexpected yet invaluable gift. Victor, humbled and grateful, knelt in deep reverence to express his profound gratitude to his liege.

Victor's mind swirled with newfound knowledge, a treasure trove of recorded powers and insights into their use, alongside extensive information about the Myriad Anchors pirates.

With this arsenal of abilities and wisdom, he felt ready to embark on his inaugural mission. Leaving the hotel behind, he strolled through the lively streets of Bayam, heading toward the very ship where Lord Edwards had vanquished his father.

Upon arriving at the bustling main pier housing the Iron Puppet, Victor observed the familiar crew members diligently tending to their duties.

However, their focus had shifted to cleaning the main cabin, which bore scars of recent conflagration. The gruesome remnants of his father and Frederick had been conspicuously erased.

The crew members turned their gaze towards Victor, a palpable air of respect emanating from their expressions. Stepping forward, the second-in-command of the crew, a man with long azure hair and piercing forest-green eyes framed by an angular face, approached Victor. Clad in typical sailor attire, he addressed Victor with a nod of deference, "Good morning, Captain. What are your orders?"

The crew's markedly different behavior left Victor contemplating the extent of his Lord's power and influence. His thoughts soon turned to the mission at hand.

"Our mission is of utmost importance. We must locate all instances of the Myriad Anchors and eliminate them directly. Their main fleet was last seen in Bansy Harbor, and that's where we're headed next. If we don't find them along our direct route, we'll search the surrounding areas for some time." Victor's tone carried a sense of commandment from it like his orders couldn't be easily denied.

The blue-haired man sternly nodded in understanding and looked at the rest of the crew. With an authoritative tone, he ordered, "Prepare the ship for departure! Raise the anchor, unfurl the sails, and secure all cargo! We're leaving for Bansy Harbor!"

Showing their utmost respect and efficiency, the crew members immediately set to work. Soon enough, the ship was sailing toward Bansy Harbor at full speed.

…

In a dimly lit chamber shrouded by an eerie ambiance, a profusion of black candles cast ghastly flickers across the walls.

Two figures, obscured beneath dark robes that concealed their identities, knelt before a foreboding presence. The figure that stood before them, cloaked in a sinister, obsidian-hued armor that exuded an aura of malevolence, addressed the hooded supplicants with an icy detachment. His gaze seemed to pierce through the fabric veiling their faces.

"T has perished," he declared with a chilling finality, his voice devoid of warmth or compassion. "I cannot divine the identity of the perpetrator. Journey to Bayam and uncover the details. Call upon me when the need arises."

His words hung in the air like an ominous decree, resonating with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

The two hooded figures, their devotion unwavering, responded in unison, "Yes, your Highness."

With a fluid, almost unnatural swiftness, they dissolved into shadowy wisps and vanished into the darkness. The man in the obsidian armor unsheathed a dark sword from his left side, and with a single, swift motion, cleaved through a statue that bore an uncanny resemblance to the late Mr. T.

Etched upon the blade of the dark sword were cryptic letters that spelled out the ominous title: "Saint of Killing."

…

As Victor's ship swiftly cut through the azure waters, it took them a mere five days to reach the renowned Bansy Harbor. But just as Victor was poised to issue the order to dock, an unexpected message resonated in his mind, imparting a somber revelation.

"Do not set foot in Bansy Harbor if you value your life," his Lord's voice intoned solemnly within his thoughts. "The place bears an inexplicable connection to forces far greater than itself—a potent curse, you might say."

The weight of his Lord's warning cast an eerie shadow over Victor's disposition. He bowed his head, unable to shake the trepidation that had seized him, and directed his crew to circumnavigate the enigmatic harbor while conducting a meticulous search of the surrounding waters.

Victor, accustomed to his Lord's uncanny guidance, wasn't taken aback by the direct and timely warning he had received, also taking into consideration he had previously warned his Lord of his mission's progress through the huge snake that acted as a messenger.

As the Iron Puppet continued to encircle Bansy Harbor, Victor's vigilant gaze took in every detail of the island's surroundings, but little of note emerged. The lone clue that stood out was a conspicuous gathering of liquor barrels, adrift in the waters some distance from the isle, as if someone had hastily abandoned them.

Victor promptly dispatched a group of crew members to retrieve one of the barrels and transport it aboard his ship. Once secured in his cabin, he called upon one of his recorded abilities, one he could only use twice—Dream Divination.

With this arcane power, Victor knew he needed to formulate a specific inquiry and then surrender to slumber. Following the guidance gleaned from the wealth of knowledge imparted by his Lord, Victor pondered briefly before posing his question: "Who is the owner of this barrel, and where can they be found?"

By Cogitating to enter a state of slumber, he soon witnessed a formidable vessel bedecked with silver sails, sailing relentlessly across the vast expanse of the ocean. It traced a steady course away from Pritz Harbor, heading northward toward a diminutive island.

Victor awoke from his slumber with a radiant grin on his face. Luck had favored him immensely, leading him to discover objects inadvertently left behind by his quarry. It was akin to a stroke of otherworldly fortune, almost supernatural.

"Follow the route leading out of Pritz Harbor!" he commanded his crew with unwavering determination. "We shall head north for several days until we reach an island. There, we shall find our targets with ease."

…

Cocketrice Isle, aboard a grand ship adorned with resplendent silver sails. Within the confines of the common cabins.

"What the heck happened in Bansy? The locals went mad, tried to butcher us! And to top it off, we lost a mountain of liquor while we scrambled to escape. Damn rotten luck!" The youthful blonde among them rambled on as he voraciously devoured a massive chicken leg, shoving it into his mouth with abandon.

Joyful music wafted through the air, and the crew, seeking respite from the bizarre incidents at Bansy Harbor, threw themselves into revelry.

Several crew members had even begun to wager their hard-earned coin in spirited card games. When the cards turned against them, tempers flared, and soon, fisticuffs erupted, much to the amusement of the onlookers.

Seated across from the blonde youth was a striking green-haired woman, her countenance graced by a faint smile. She regarded him with warmth as she spoke, "At least we secured that potent artifact for the captain. With it, perhaps we can raid one of the bustling harbors near the Southern Continent in the near future."

Her response piqued the youth's curiosity. "Indeed! But just what kind of artifact is it? I saw it turn an entire tree into a stone golem!"

The green-haired woman's laughter tinkled like a crystal stream. "It's not just the artifact, my friend. Our captain's innate power is the key. He intends to ascend to godhood using that item."

The youth's eyes widened in astonishment. "Already prepared for Sequence 4? I heard he only achieved Astromancer status a few months ago..."

"That's right," she affirmed with pride. "It merely underscores the captain's immense prowess. Even that peculiar Devil from before couldn't vanquish him, after all."

The green-haired lady's words descended into a disconcerting and ominous murmur within the confined quarters of the crew. A dense pall hung over the space, extinguishing the joyful music and laughter, replacing them with an unsettling silence broken only by the crew's hushed breaths. As she realized the gravity of her revelation, she clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear, and offered a trembling apology to the assembled crew.

The blonde youth, a newcomer among them, remained baffled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "Why the grim faces, everyone? What Devil are you talking about?" he inquired, his confusion palpable.

A deep silence gripped the room. The green-haired lady, compelled to continue, struggled to steady her trembling voice. "A few weeks ago," she began, her tone hushed, "we orchestrated a daring heist at the main pier in Bayam. Everything proceeded smoothly, and we were departing the scene with a haul of Beyonder characteristics and Beyonder refugees."

Her voice grew even softer, almost drowned in trepidation. "But as we sailed away, another ship approached the pier, seemingly intent on docking. Some of our crew, those with keener spiritual intuition, urged us to veer clear of the vessel, though they couldn't quite articulate their apprehensions. They were... gripped by an indefinable fear."

"Yet most of us," she continued, her voice a mere whisper, "ignored their warnings. We were determined to plunder the grand cruiser that was also nearing Bayam, so that's precisely what we did. After circumventing the cruiser, we breached the VIP cabins first, and within one of them..."

Her voice quivered, and she trembled uncontrollably, her visage as pallid as death itself. Another crew member, a burly, bald man whose robust musculature was on full display, bore scars on his body. One particular scar resembled a snake, as if seared into his flesh.

"We discovered a strange young man with white hair, dining in quiet solitude," he interjected, his voice tinged with distress. "One of our own, Jackson, a formidable Sequence 7 Weapons Master, was the first to address him. He demanded the young man surrender his belongings in exchange for his life. But the young man didn't respond—didn't even acknowledge our presence. He continued to consume his steak, as if we were mere phantoms."

"Jackson, growing infuriated by this indifference, lunged at the youth with his scimitar without a second thought," the burly crew member recounted, his expression twisted in remembered terror. "Yet, that was the final time he ever wielded a blade."

His voice trembled as he recounted the horrors they had witnessed. "The white-haired youth... he didn't even blink. It was as if our existence truly meant nothing to him. He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, a monstrous conflagration engulfed the entire chamber. The flames were malevolent, teeming with life, and before any of us could react, Jackson had been devoured by a maelstrom of dark-green flames. He was reduced to naught but ashes, and the room became a sepulcher."

The man's terror deepened, his voice quivering as he pressed on, "Fourteen of us boarded that accursed liner." His tone cracked under the weight of despair, "Only three made it out alive."

A heavy pall hung over the room, a stifling silence that seemed to echo with the haunting memories of that ill-fated day.

"He didn't just slaughter us," the man continued, his words laced with dread, "but every last one of those refugees we had taken captive. He went so far as to grievously wound our captain as we attempted to flee."

The room seemed to close in on them, shadows deepening as the crew member's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "I can still see his face in my nightmares. A monstrous Devil, clad in a shroud of pale bones, wreathed in an unholy inferno of dark-green flames. He slaughtered everyone on that ship, silenced all witnesses on the pier, and plundered our very identities... That creature was the embodiment of malevolence."

As he spoke, the crew member's hands trembled uncontrollably, his eyes haunted by the memories of that gruesome encounter. "I was one of the lucky ones to escape with my life, but I'll never forget the terror of that day. He took everything from us, and we were helpless before that overwhelming power."

The air grew thick with dread, memories of that nightmarish entity resurfacing in everyone's minds, casting an eerie pall over the room. It was a being beyond human comprehension, a living terror that had no place in the world of men.

Just as they were attempting to push those haunting recollections aside, a deafening BANG shattered the already tense silence. The ceiling caved in, showering them with debris and choking dust. Panic seized the crew as they scrambled to their feet, struggling to see through the billowing haze.

But what they beheld was a sight they had prayed never to witness again. Their eyes fixed upon a lone figure, standing amidst the ruins of the crew quarters.

Bone-clad and towering, the entity's monstrous form defied all reason and comprehension. Its skeletal armor, a grotesque fusion of unearthly bones, coiled around its body in tenebrous, organic patterns. The bones appeared as though they'd been fused together by some diabolical force, each one etched with ancient, cryptic symbols that pulsed with malevolent energy. These markings seemed to possess an intelligence of their own, shifting and rearranging in an unnerving display of otherworldly life.

Dark-green flames enveloped the abomination, their unholy light casting eerie, shifting shadows that seemed to writhe and contort with a sinister, sentient purpose. The flames danced with a malevolent glee, lending the creature an aura of undeniable dread. The very air around it seemed to warp and distort, as if the world itself recoiled in horror at its presence.

The bone mask that concealed its face bore a nightmarish, contorted expression—an eternal, mirthless grin that twisted the creature's features into a visage of perpetual torment. Its empty eye sockets radiated an unnatural, soul-piercing darkness that seemed to draw the onlookers into an abyss of despair.

In that excruciatingly drawn-out moment, the crew members were paralyzed, their minds engulfed in an overwhelming sense of terror and hopelessness. It was a vision of pure horror, an eldritch manifestation of malevolence that defied the laws of nature, a harbinger of unimaginable suffering that had descended upon them to claim their very souls.

And from the abomination's gaping, twisted maw came a slow and dark murmur. The words dripped with a profound, unholy devotion, a pledge of servitude to a malevolent force beyond mortal comprehension. It was a chilling epitaph of their impending doom, a grim reminder of the horrors that lurked in the shadows of their existence.

"My Lord, may thy gaze bear witness to this lowly servant."