Upon fully grasping the frightening implications of the term “counterfeit” as defined by Duncan and his companions, the realization that an unknown quantity of these deceptive duplicates had recently emerged within the city-state sparked immediate alarm. The concern grew even more pronounced when he considered the potential for their harmful effects, such as decay and psychological disturbance, to have already propagated across a wide geographical area. Fear was plainly visible on Nemo Wilkins’ face; he was unable to conceal it.
Old Ghost, a man of volatile mental stability that swayed between moments of clarity and episodes of disarray, also felt the terror radiating from this unsettling situation. His continual mutterings about the queen and her guard, together with his uneasy and agitated behavior, highlighted the depth of his disturbance. It took a significant amount of time for him to restore his mental equilibrium.
Subsequently, Nemo’s emotional state transitioned from fear to anger.
He was struggling to come to terms with the sudden and inexplicable death of “Crow,” his long-time comrade. More distressing was the existence of a counterfeit of the deceased friend, a disturbingly lifelike replica that lay ominously in front of him. This perversion of life felt like a direct, contemptuous insult to the memory of the departed.
Observing Nemo’s emotional transition, Duncan commented, “The hallmarks of the Annihilation Cult’s work are clear in this, and the city’s protectors are probably carrying out a comprehensive search. I anticipate they’ll make some headway soon.” He paused before adding, “But merely apprehending these cultists may not tackle the core issue. The true source of this problem lurks in their shadow.”
“Behind the cultists?” Nemo’s anger was briefly supplanted by surprise as a new thought entered his mind. “Could there be… a god-like figure involved in this?”
Vanna, who was part of their group, replied, “This crisis is a never-ending wave of counterfeits originating from the ocean’s depths, a problem that even the Frost Queen failed to resolve half a century ago. Do you truly think that mere cultists could be orchestrating such a formidable task?”
Morris further expanded on the narrative, “The evidence implies the involvement of the Nether Lord in this situation. Its influence, and potentially parts of its being, may have already seeped into our world. However, the specifics are not your concern.”
Common folk should not be burdened with too much knowledge about the gods.
Upon detecting the tacit warning in the elderly scholar’s voice, Nemo promptly regained his composure and acknowledged his understanding with a nod, “I get it… I won’t inquire further.”
The last thing he desired was to provoke the wrath of the Nether Lord and risk being strangled in his sleep merely for possessing forbidden knowledge.
With that subject concluded, Vanna then directed her attention to the body of the “Crow” replica that lay motionless on the ground.
The duplicate was intricately crafted, with a frighteningly accurate likeness. On the surface, it maintained a striking resemblance to the original. However, along its edges, a dark, sludgy substance that appeared similar to “mud” started to ooze out, suggesting the onset of decomposition.
This was Duncan’s inaugural experience in witnessing the metamorphosis of a counterfeit, from its fully formed embodiment to its gradual decay and disintegration as a bystander. The insights he could acquire from this process were beyond priceless.
Venturing further into the study, he reached out to inspect the pocket of “Crow’s” coat, a location previously identified as the resting place of the enigmatic “holy text.”
Upon careful examination, he discovered the pocket was empty, its fabric structure slowly deteriorating and losing integrity, mirroring the rest of the entity’s physical form.
Vanna reached out too, and with a flick of her hand, the moisture from the surrounding air rapidly coalesced into icy blades – a temporary dagger came into existence in her hand, a consequence of her conjuration spell. Employing this transitory weapon, she began to cut away the clothing around “Crow’s” chest area, revealing an unusual, cotton-like consistency beneath. The innermost layer was a blend of lumpy, sticky fibers that seemed to merge flawlessly with the deeper layers of skin and flesh.
“The paper wasn’t replicated… The interior of this forgery is in a typical state of chaos… There’s no blood…” Duncan murmured to himself. His hand ventured out to touch the slowly squirming, black, sludge-like substance close by, but it appeared to shy away on contact, contracting as though it was a sentient being and moving away. “These substances are yet to solidify completely, but their mobility seems to be slowing down.”
After a moment’s observation, he rose, sighing softly, “There’s nothing more to glean from this. Let’s perform a purification ritual on this to prevent further complications. Vanna, I would suggest everyone maintains a safe distance.”
Upon hearing Duncan’s direction, Vanna immediately retreated a few steps, guiding a confused Alice with her. Mr. Morris followed their movement.
Nemo and the elderly man also replicated their retreat, their faces expressing their confusion; they were uncertain about the sudden tension that Vanna and the others exhibited.
However, their confusion was short-lived.
A gathering of strange, green flames sprouted from the ground at Duncan’s feet. These flames, reminiscent of a predator eyeing its prey, lunged towards the counterfeit body nearby. The fire surged, crackling like spiritual firewood being devoured. The bizarre body, composed of black, sludge-like matter, was almost instantaneously engulfed and incinerated. As the flames raged on, the gas lamps adorning the surrounding walls and the lanterns in Nemo’s and the elderly man’s hands began to glow with a similarly spectral green hue.
This spectacle was transitory, lasting only a few moments, but Nemo was already bathed in a cold sweat. He was consumed by a profound dread when the flames intensified. He was beset by a strange sensation that his soul might resonate with the fire and set itself ablaze. As the flames dwindled, he was overcome by a wave of relief as if he had narrowly escaped a calamity.
Duncan turned towards the group, who had retreated to a distance that was almost at the farthest end of the corridor, “It’s done… Why did everyone back off so much? A few steps of distance would’ve been more than enough, right?”
“I suffer from a psychological trauma associated with this phenomenon,” Vanna confessed in a candid manner.
Duncan: “…”
Following a moment of awkward silence, Duncan gingerly touched the bandage near his nose and advanced further into the corridor, “Ahem, let’s proceed and uncover what lies in wait.”
The group kept following Duncan’s lead, with Nemo observing the stout figure marching ahead, his lingering unease clearly visible. After a few steps, he turned to Old Ghost at his side and asked, “Do you think… Captain Tyrian is also afraid of his own father?”
The old man didn’t seem to acknowledge his question, continuing to stride ahead with a somewhat vacant expression on his face as he stared into the distance. It wasn’t until Nemo repeated his question a couple of times that the elderly man responded almost absentmindedly, “I’ve come across those flames before…”
Nemo was surprised, “Encountered them before? You mean you’ve seen flames like those? Where did you come across them?”
However, the old man didn’t answer. With a rope casually draped over his shoulder and a crowbar in hand, he continued to stroll forward as if entranced. Suddenly, as if remembering something crucial, he hastened his pace to catch up with Duncan and Alice who were ahead, whispering under his breath, “The Queen is up ahead, we must hasten, we have to hurry…”
Watching the old man’s pacing form, Nemo scratched his head and muttered, “Well, he’s drifted off into one of his episodes again…”
After an uncertain span of time, the group stopped once again. A mound of collapsed boulders and semi-molten steel debris entirely obstructed their path. The blockade appeared to have existed for at least the past fifty years or so.
“This is the end of this passageway,” Nemo gestured to the rubble and wreckage ahead, explaining, “The Queen’s Guard inflicted this damage during their retreat. The entire collapsed area likely spans several hundred meters in length; it’s utterly impassable.”
“We’ve hit a dead end… yet we’ve discovered nothing noteworthy along the way…” Vanna couldn’t help but furrow her brows as she looked back over the path they had just traversed, “We didn’t even stumble upon any signs of the ‘counterfeit’s’ movements.”
Duncan, however, remained silent, his eyes fixed on the mounds of stones, concrete, and steel of the demolished ruins. His eyebrows knitted together in contemplation, but he chose to keep his thoughts to himself.
“What are you looking for?” Alice’s curiosity finally overcame her.
“Any possible nooks or passages,” Duncan replied with a calm demeanor, “While humans might not be able to pass through, a substance with a fluid-like state could seep through small cracks.”
“Do you imply… that the counterfeit was in a liquid state on the other side and only solidified after penetrating this side of the corridor?” Morris quickly grasped the implications of Duncan’s intentions, yet the mental image sent shivers down his spine, “That thought… is deeply disconcerting.”
Duncan continued his silent survey, stepping back to get a comprehensive view of the blocked corridor’s end.
There were no signs of abnormalities to be detected, so how exactly did the counterfeit manage to appear within the restricted confines of the corridor? Where had “Crow” been before this incident, and how did he end up in his present position?
……
A subtle layer of fog veiled the seemingly infinite expanse of the Boundless Sea, and a sleek steamship with a pristine white hull sliced its way through the haze, trailing a wake of waves behind it.
Swaddled in a thick coat, Captain Lawrence ventured onto the deck and surveyed the foggy seascape, a crease of worry etching across his brow. He was not enjoying the weather. Not only was the visibility poor, but the icy cold also gnawed at his bones through his heavy coat.
“The northern climates… are far from welcoming to an old man like myself, a man born and raised in the Central Sea,” Lawrence murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of complaint.
His first mate, Gus, a tall, slim, middle-aged man adorned with short, curly brown hair, joined him, laughing lightly, “The Cold Sea always presents itself like this, shrouded in more fog than any other place. Even during daylight, it’s misty, the air drenched with a biting chill, and the city-states frequently experience abrupt snowfalls… it’s tough for outsiders to adjust.”
Captain Lawrence had initially planned to prolong his stay in Frost for a little longer. However, considering the harsh conditions, it seemed more prudent to depart as soon as the required tasks were completed. Prolonging his stay in such an environment could inevitably lead to illness. Shaking his head, he announced, “The fog appears to be thickening. We’ll need to reassess our navigation route in an hour.”
His first mate immediately nodded in agreement, “Understood, Captain, I’ll arrange the necessary procedures right away.”
Acknowledging with a grunt, Captain Lawrence then inquired, “Have we received any response to the signal we sent to Frost?”
“Not as of yet,” replied the first mate, “But this is standard procedure. The ports in the northern city-states have always been slow in their operations. As we approach closer, they’ll be forced to respond to our docking request.”
