The cacophony of gunfire echoed ominously, reverberating off the deserted structures around. A massive mechanical arachnid, powered by a labyrinth of steam gears, pivoted on its colossal form, its six menacing machine guns whirling menacingly. They belched out fiery streams of death, reminiscent of a merciless harvester, relentlessly mowing down the abhorrent creatures that seemed to materialize endlessly from the enveloping fog. Occasionally, stray bullets would whizz out of the dense veil, striking the spider walker’s thick armor and the strategically placed sandbag barricades.
Among these monstrous adversaries were grotesque parodies of soldiers, their forms encased in heavy armament, and even horrendous mechanical spiders oozing a viscous black sludge.
As the gruesome battle raged on, these terrifying foes multiplied in number, adding to the formidable resistance.
“These accursed abominations are duplicating us!” an irate soldier roared from behind the safety of the barricade, his breath ragged through the filter of his mask. His metal armor bore the marks of countless engagements, and the power conduits snaking through his armor joints had sustained damage. From the damaged valves, steam hissed out ominously. Emblazoned on his steam backpack was the insignia of Frost’s elite guard unit, a mark of his mettle and valor.
“They’re not merely mimicking us,” retorted the squad commander, his voice strangled and grave behind the confines of his breathing mask. The street was rapidly filling with a dense haze. To shield themselves from any potential toxic vapors, all combatants had donned the intimidating respiratory protection. “Every abomination that materializes from the fog is a threat, every single one!”
“Over at the intersection ahead, I spotted a group of individuals sprinting past!” another soldier bellowed suddenly, “They appeared to be armed civilians, or perhaps sailors from a vessel!”
“I saw it as well! Their images were blurred, they were ablaze, but the flames… the flames were an eerie green!”
At this, the squad commander jerked his head up but was caught off guard by a sudden, otherworldly howl emanating from the fog’s depths, followed by the chilling sound of imminent demise.
A grenade ripped through the foggy obscurity, navigated the tiny gap in the barricades, and detonated right underneath the mechanical spider walker. With no time to react, the deadly explosion let loose a shower of lethal shrapnel.
The thin metal chest plate stood no chance against the close-range onslaught, the blast wave sending the commander and his soldiers sprawling in all directions.
After what seemed like an eternity, the commander regained a sliver of consciousness amidst the disorientation. In his peripheral vision, he witnessed the steam walker wavering precariously before collapsing, its armor shredded as power conduits ejected clouds of white steam, and its remaining turret spewed a final barrage before it toppled.
From the fog, an incalculable number of nebulous forms surged forth, seizing the opportunity to advance towards the next intersection.
The squad commander painstakingly maneuvered his body, his hand gripping a primed hand grenade with a determination born of desperation. The exact moment when he had pulled the pin was a blur in his memory—perhaps it had been during the violent blast that had sent him sprawling, or perhaps it had been an instinctive action as unconsciousness claimed him.
He felt as if he had depleted every ounce of his strength, attempting to lob the hand grenade into the dense veil. However, in his weakened state, he merely managed to release his grip, allowing the iron-gray cylindrical device to tumble clumsily onto the street. Smoke trailed ominously from the hissing fuse as it rolled into a desiccated gutter, vanishing into the shadowy recesses, slipping into a fissure, skidding down a sloped air vent, and finally plummeting into Frost’s deteriorated subterranean realm. In that forsaken darkness, it detonated with a resounding boom.
“Bang!”
A distant rumble reverberated from far above, causing the tunnel’s ceiling to quiver slightly, showering the occupants below with a light dusting of debris and grit.
The individual known as “Sailor” instantly recoiled, his withered features etched with palpable unease. “Are we certain this place isn’t going to crumble down on us?!”
“It has remained intact for decades,” Lawrence responded nonchalantly, advancing ahead. The subdued glow from the gas lamps set into the corridor walls barely lit their way. “For a mummy, you’re surprisingly faint-hearted. Shouldn’t it be you, as an ‘anomaly,’ who instills terror in others?”
“I believe… the mere concept of excavating such an enormous subterranean expanse beneath the city-state is terrifying in itself!” Anomaly 077 countered nervously. “What were you thinking…”
Lawrence shrugged dismissively. “How should I know? I wasn’t the one who dug it.”
Unfazed by the mummy’s apprehensions, he glanced down at the small mirror affixed to his chest. “Martha, how’s the situation on your end?”
“Pretty chaotic,” Martha’s voice resonated from the mirror, interlaced with distant sounds of explosions and cannon fire. “Since your entry into the Second Waterway, the entire mirror world has spiraled into ‘madness’—all the vessels within and outside the harbor have opened fire on me.”
“Are you holding up okay?”
“I’m not so easily dispatched, but the unfortunate news is that our adversaries aren’t either. They’re perpetually reappearing from their reflections.”
Lawrence lapsed into momentary silence, gazing pensively at the darkened corridor extending before them.
“How much further until we reach the deepest section?” He asked.
“It’s quite a ways off, but there’s a ‘shortcut’ you can take.”
Lawrence arched an eyebrow. “Shortcut?”
“Do you see those puddles on the ground? Locate a road sign, then find the nearest puddle to it, and inspect the reflection within it.”
Baffled yet intrigued, Lawrence complied with Martha’s instructions and approached a puddle fitting the description. He stooped to scrutinize the mirroring surface.
The reflection in the puddle presented an image of a crossroad, accompanied by a plaque mounted on the wall at the intersection. He could barely decipher the inscription: “Main Drainage Pipe of the Upper City District.”
His eyes widened in bewilderment as he glanced up at the wall beside him.
The words etched into the aged and rusted plaque read: “Drainage of the Harbor District.”
Martha’s voice reverberated from the mirror: “Do you see it? The mirror world is discontinuous.”
“Incredible… It’s like to a dream…” Lawrence murmured, peering once again into the puddle. Despite his extensive experience as a captain navigating the Boundless Sea, he had to acknowledge that everything within this mirrored city defied his understanding. However, he swiftly regained his composure. “So, how do we exploit these ‘shortcuts’?”
“You’re already at your destination,” Martha retorted, a note of amusement in her voice. “Once you’ve lingered in front of this ‘mirror’ long enough, you’ve arrived.”
Lawrence jerked in surprise and swiftly looked up.
Before his gaze was an intersection. A flickering gas lamp was recessed into the corridor wall, and on the closest plaque, the weather-worn inscription was barely discernible—Main Drainage Pipe of the Upper City District.
Anomaly 077 gaped in disbelief at their abrupt change in surroundings. His gaze darted between the roadside plaque and the reflection in the puddle. After a prolonged silence, he stammered out, “Is such a thing even feasible?!”
The assembled sailors pivoted their gaze to the dumbfounded mummy, making looks of “are you serious?”
However, Lawrence remained unaffected by Sailor’s reaction. Instead, he contemplated the dimly lit corridor stretching ahead. After a moment, he turned to Martha with a puzzled expression, “We’ve already made it to the Second Waterway, but where’s the ‘backup’ you spoke of? Where are the ‘Queen’s Guards’ who are supposed to be engaged in the Second Waterway?”
From the mirror, the remote sound of cannon fire could be discerned. Martha’s voice reached Lawrence a few seconds later, “Take the left fork, follow the red signs all the way. When the path ends, halt and wait… They will show up. When the hour arrives, they will materialize.”
Lawrence’s brow furrowed, “Hour?”
“…The Queen’s Guards strike at midnight – each and every midnight. They remain invisible until then.”
…
In the hidden chamber where the “Golden Flute” tavern’s underground communication hub was housed, “Old Ghost” abruptly awoke.
“What time is it…”
The old man’s gaze seemed slightly unfocused as if he was roused from a dream. However, in the dimly lit room, the only response he received was the sporadic “beep” sound emitted from the monitoring equipment and the faint echoes of distant gunfire.
In the next moment, Old Ghost’s eyes sprung wide open.
The faint echo of gunfire?
Gunfire!
The old man’s senses were jolted into wakefulness. The gunfire sounded muffled and distorted as if muted by thick walls, multiple floors, and the passage of several decades. He quickly extricated himself from the bed and reached for an object on the bedside table.
It was a large wrench that he kept close even in his slumber – his tool and his weapon.
“The battle has commenced… The battle has commenced… I can’t be idling here… It’s time to muster…”
Old Ghost muttered, shuffling into his shoes before snatching up his coat from the chair beside him. Then, he glanced around the room he had just been occupying.
This was the concealed room designated for communication with the Mist Fleet. Nemo had arranged for him to rest here while he monitored the equipment.
But in the next moment, Old Ghost appeared to have forgotten everything related to this room again. His gaze grew unfocused once more, and he surveyed the door at a distance with a perplexed expression.
“Oh! The door is over there!” Old Ghost exclaimed with a sudden realization. Wearing a pleased expression, he briskly crossed the room and swung open the iron door leading to the underground passage.
Opposite the door, a narrow, chilly corridor unfurled. The lighting in the passage flickered intermittently, underscored by the sibilant sound of insufficient gas supply to the pipeline.
“The gas pipeline seems to be malfunctioning… Is the pressure inadequate? No, no, there’s no time to fret over these…” Old Ghost observed the lights in the corridor and murmured to himself. He stepped forward but seemed to recall something and turned back to look at the secret room he had just exited.
The room was vacant.
Everyone might have congregated in the tavern upstairs.
“Crow, I’m heading out, you stay put!” Old Ghost called out to the empty room, then spun around and began to shuffle towards the dimly lit tunnel with his trusty large wrench in hand.
His destination was the Second Waterway.
The hour for the Queen’s Guards to launch their counterattack was upon them.
