In the deepest reaches of the corridor, faint murmurs resonated like ghostly whispers that one couldn’t quite understand. It sounded as if the wind was softly sighing, hushed voices were discussing secret matters, there were constant footsteps like a restless soul pacing back and forth, and occasionally, the sharp sound of gunfire would pierce the quietude.
These sounds blended into one another, losing their individuality. It felt as though everything was merging into a singular existence, without the conventional sense of direction, devoid of time or space. The corridor itself was reminiscent of this feeling, shrouded in a thick fog, ready to swallow anything or anyone brave enough to walk through it.
An old man, his back hunched from the weight of many years, moved with caution through this winding, maze-like corridor. In his grip, he held a heavy wrench which would occasionally knock against the many pipes that decorated the walls of this underground pathway.
Who was this old soul? Why was he in such a place? Where was he headed and for what reason?
There had been an attack. At the stroke of midnight, the Queen’s Guard had been mobilized. But the question remained: what or who were they attacking? And where was the battlefield?
Random snippets of memories and fleeting thoughts would occasionally emerge in the old man’s clouded mind, only to disappear just as quickly. Sometimes, he felt as though he was caught between two realities, his muddled senses and memories tangling up inside of him. At other moments, he felt he had been stuck in one spot, waiting for an instruction for decades.
Looking down, the old man noticed his wrench had knocked against something. It was a helmet – jet black with a slim brim, bearing the emblem of the Queen’s Guard. It was a piece of history, not commonly seen anymore.
He stared blankly as the helmet tumbled and eventually rolled into a nearby drainage. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadowy figure try to emerge from the drain, but it faded into the encompassing darkness just as quickly.
With his mind awash in confusion, he trudged onwards, the environment around him seeming more and more like a thick, engulfing tar. It felt like an eternity, but he finally reached the end of this mysterious corridor.
Here, a chaotic scene awaited him. A mess of pipes, debris from a collapse, and an eerie smoke rising from the ruins blocked his way. He looked around, trying to make sense of where he was. He was certain he had never come across such a place on his usual routes in the sewer, yet he felt he was meant to be here for some purpose.
He glanced down, catching his reflection in a small pool of water next to the debris. His eyes, filled with confusion and uncertainty, stared back at him.
What was he supposed to do here?
Suddenly, the pool of water displayed an eerie scene before him—
Soldiers from the Queen’s Guard battled the monstrous beings of the corridor. With their weapons, they managed to turn these ghastly creatures into cold, lifeless mud. The very walls, which seemed to seep with a mucky substance, became dry wherever these soldiers went, and the once-consuming darkness began to wane, giving way to a clearer path.
Everything happened exactly as Lawrence had anticipated. The mere presence of the Queen’s Guard was suppressing the strange “corruption” afflicting the mirror reflection of the city-state.
If one were to describe the events taking place in this mirrored city-state, it would be as a monumental battle between two great powers. On one side were the mud monsters, and on the other, the Queen’s Guard. Their intense struggle and intertwined destinies might have persisted for a good fifty years.
Guided by Lawrence, his naval squad quickly moved through the intricate corridors, following the path previously cleared by the ghostly Queen’s Guard. What used to be a long, hours-long trek was now significantly shortened to mere minutes. Throughout this speedy expedition, Lawrence was deeply introspective and observant.
He tried to decipher the mysteries surrounding the Queen’s Guard and hoped to somehow establish a rapport with these ghostly warriors. However, all his attempts were in vain.
It was as if the Queen’s Guard didn’t even notice Lawrence and his squad. These spectral soldiers seemed more like remnants of a bygone era, endlessly replaying a historical battle. They marched, shot their weapons, engaged the enemy, and were defeated, all in a loop that might have been ongoing for countless years.
Martha’s information about the Queen’s Guard was spot-on, but it wasn’t the whole story.
Trying to work in tandem with these ghostly “allies” was a riddle that continued to elude Lawrence.
“Captain! They don’t seem to notice or acknowledge us. What should we do?” One of the sailors approached Lawrence, stating his apprehension. “Following them like this, aren’t we just dead weight?”
Lawrence’s face was a mix of frustration and determination. His eyes involuntarily drifted to a small mirror pinned to his uniform. Before he could gather his thoughts, Martha’s voice emerged from the mirror, “I’m in the dark as much as you are about this situation. I knew they existed, but I never found a way to communicate with them.”
Behind her voice, faint sounds of gunshots emanated from the mirror, indicating that Martha too was in the midst of her own challenges, possibly as intricate as the ones down in the sewers.
“Have the Queen’s Guard been replaying this same battle over and over for years?” Lawrence pondered aloud. “Is the outcome always the same every time?”
“Yes, it always ends the same way. They start their assault at midnight, only to pull back an hour later. Every time, they’re halted at the last hurdle!”
They couldn’t overcome the final barrier?
With this newfound knowledge, Lawrence instinctively looked in the direction where the ghostly soldiers were heading.
They were moving towards the far end of the corridor. In that dark, tumultuous area, a palpable and malevolent force seemed to loom, feeling as suffocating and thick as molten tar.
Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve pieced it together!”
From the mirror, Martha’s inquisitive voice rang out, “What have you understood?”
But Lawrence couldn’t indulge Martha’s curiosity from the mirror. Having realized his crucial role in this unfolding saga, he swiftly marshaled his men and hastened his advance.
Simultaneously, the tumult within the corridor reached a fevered pitch. The Queen’s Guard was gearing up for their ultimate onslaught. The spectral warriors, made of the very essence of shadows, roared into battle, their weapons wreaking havoc upon the abominations obstructing their path. As soldiers disintegrated into fleeting ghostly trails, monsters were obliterated, melting into muck that then seeped away. As this epic clash continued, all combatants inexorably gravitated to the corridor’s end.
At last, Lawrence was confronted with the climax of this intense conflict and the daunting barrier that had thwarted the Queen’s Guard for decades.
Before them stood a colossal door, ensnared by a complex web of thorny brambles and smeared with loathsome, dark mud. Its menacing aura was akin to a tangible nightmare, sending a chill down one’s spine.
The door itself appeared to have been carved and marked by gnarly thorns, eerily reminiscent of a twisted crown fashioned from twisted tree branches. Deep within this mesh of thorns, faint lights writhed and fluttered, akin to a myriad of watchful eyes concealed within a dense jungle. A mere glance could overwhelm a soul with overwhelming dread and madness.
Even Lawrence, fortified with the power of the spirit fire, was momentarily taken aback by this foreboding sight. Doubts and anxieties raced through his mind.
This, then, was the goal of the Queen’s Guard.
Directly in front of this menacing entrance, a thick sludge of black mud was agitating, giving rise to a veritable horde of ghastly beings. These grotesqueries appeared to be distorted versions of humans, bearing vague resemblances to city guards, naval officers, pirates, weapon-wielding civilians, and even surreal, monstrous amalgamations of ancient cannons and skeletal debris.
These twisted entities, protected by makeshift defenses set up within the hall, zealously guarded the vine-entwined door as if it was a sacred relic.
The ultimate battle was underway.
With unparalleled vigor, the Queen’s Guard unleashed their full arsenal upon the monstrous guardians positioned at the corridor’s end. This retaliation reverberated through the entire Second Waterway. In the ensuing chaos, both sides suffered immense casualties, reducing their numbers by more than half. Lawrence and his few accompanying sailors were forced to take cover at the outskirts of this apocalyptic scene.
Despite being shielded by the spirit fire, Lawrence couldn’t confidently assert that he’d emerge untouched from this battlefield.
But he wasn’t merely hiding away. He was scrutinizing, keenly evaluating the Queen’s Guard as they contended fiercely in this existential confrontation.
As the battle raged and the forces on both sides dwindled, the defenses fronting the door began to waver. Those formidable cannons and demonic creatures were reduced to debris, and chinks began to appear in the vanguard of the thorns.
“Blasting team! Proceed!”
Hidden adjacent to the Queen’s Guard’s position, Lawrence suddenly registered a voice. It was the commanding tone of a guard leader.
The next moment, he spotted movement at the periphery of his vision.
A small team had detached from the main group and slipped into the drainage channels at the hall’s edges, effectively out of the monsters’ line of sight. They stealthily navigated towards a concealed area, flanking the thorny door.
Simultaneously, the front line’s firepower escalated as a hail of projectiles rained down, aiming to subdue and distract the monsters guarding the door.
Lawrence couldn’t help but hold his breath. Even though he was aware that what he was witnessing might be an illusion unaffected by external factors, his body responded instinctively.
His worst suspicions were quickly confirmed.
The team responsible for setting off the explosives, who were trying to approach the vine-covered door along the battlefield’s edge, were spotted.
Metal projectiles rained down into the drainage channel, and in a heartbeat, the soldiers equipped with explosives were consumed in a fiery blast.
Almost simultaneously, another explosives team made their way into the shadowy trench on the opposite side of the hall, attempting to covertly approach the door that was bound by thorns.
But their efforts were in vain. They too were detected, and the second team met their doom just a short distance away from the vine-laden entrance.
In the midst of this chaos, a sailor’s soft whisper reached Lawrence’s ears: “They’re disappearing!”
Snapping his head up, Lawrence watched in shock as the scene in the corridor unfolded.
The Queen’s Guard was dissipating.
After the disheartening failure of the second explosive team, the Queen’s Guard came to an abrupt halt. Their ghostly silhouettes began to wane, becoming increasingly transparent. Within moments, about a third of them had almost faded completely, resembling faint specters!
Martha’s voice from earlier echoed in Lawrence’s mind: “…they never manage to breach the final barrier…”
The weight of this revelation hit Lawrence hard. He finally grasped the depth of Martha’s words and understood the inevitable outcome of this repeated clash—the Queen’s Guard were doomed to fail. Regardless of their tireless efforts and the number of times they relived this battle, the stark reality was that they could never surmount this “last stand” in their critical mission.
This campaign had met its tragic end fifty years ago.
Each subsequent replay was merely a mournful reminder of that fateful defeat.
Lawrence felt a pang of despair, but a sudden movement caught the corner of his eye, snapping him out of his thoughts. Another figure was entering the battlefield from a remote corner of the hall.
Like the rest of his crew, Lawrence found himself transfixed by this mysterious apparition.
He was clearly no soldier. Instead, he was a young man who bore the unmistakable look of an engineer that might have been assigned to the military. His attire was a dark blue, rugged work uniform complemented by a softly angled hat on his head, evoking a fashion style that had been in vogue half a century ago. The young man swiftly moved towards the trench, a hefty wrench and a pistol hanging securely from his belt, eyeing the explosives left behind by the second demolition team.
Gripping the wooden box teeming with explosives, he made a frantic dash towards the imposing door ensnared by thorns.
For a fleeting moment, Lawrence found himself entranced, hopeful that the young man would achieve what others couldn’t.
But that hope was shattered when a bullet pierced the air, directly hitting the young engineer’s shoulder. His body recoiled from the impact, convulsing in pain, and fell agonizingly close to his destination – just a few steps away from the vine-entwined entrance.
The entire hall seemed to fall under a spell of silence, its vastness echoing the profound tragedy of the Queen’s Guard’s final charge.
This might have been the conclusion of a sequence that had been replaying itself for decades.
The sight of the young engineer, lying defeated on the ground, left Lawrence utterly speechless.
This man represented the final hope of the Queen’s Guard, the last beacon in their cyclic struggle, his fall emblematic of the climactic point of this ceaseless battle.
Then, a rush of adrenaline brought Lawrence back to the present.
Emerging from his hiding spot, Lawrence charged forth. The sailors watched in disbelief as their captain dashed with an urgency they had never witnessed before, making his way to the fallen young man.
The once-silent hall was now rife with commotion. The remaining monsters, previously dormant, sprang to life, bellowing and unleashing their weaponry, which reverberated deafeningly.
“Protect the captain!” The crew’s shouting voice pierced the mayhem.
Yet Lawrence seemed impervious to all around him. His focus was singular – to reach the explosives. Despite being hit several times, his determination overrode his sense of pain. Crossing the vast hall, he dived into the trench, making a desperate lunge for the explosives. But as he reached out, his hand phased right through the wooden crate.
Stumbling clumsily, Lawrence looked on, utterly dumbfounded.
The explosives, undisturbed for five long decades, remained unaffected by Lawrence’s tardy efforts to ignite them, serving as a poignant reminder of the futility of this timeless battle. Just like the ethereal Queen’s Guard that surrounded him, the box of explosives was but a mirage, untouched by his frantic attempts.
The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder as bullets tore through it, narrowly missing their mark. With every shot, the ground heaved, sending fragments of earth flying. The guttural growls of the mud monsters grew louder, sounding like a death ring, and some had already made their way into the trench, their menacing eyes hinting at a desire to tear Lawrence limb from limb.
However, Lawrence stood immobile, his eyes transfixed on the spectral box of explosives. A myriad of emotions swirled within him — a mix of bewilderment, irony, and a sense that some unseen force was taking perverse pleasure in his predicament.
Then, a barely perceptible movement on his periphery snapped him back to the present.
He looked on, astonishment clouding his face, as the previously downed young man began to show signs of life.
The man, still gripping the large wrench by his side, shivered uncontrollably. He managed to lift his head, eyes wide, staring directly into Lawrence’s. There was an ethereal glow around Lawrence, an eerie green flame that seemed to mesmerize the young man.
In sheer amazement, Lawrence stammered, “Can… can you see me?”
However, the young man seemed to be in a trance. His lips moved rapidly, and after straining to listen, Lawrence caught snippets of his mutterings…
“…I’ve encountered them before, those flames… yes, I’ve seen them… over and over again…”
“Flames? What are you talking about?” Lawrence’s confusion was evident, his voice edged with desperation.
Yet, the young man paid him no heed. With great effort, he began to rise, blood staining his attire. Stumbling, he made his way towards the formidable door engulfed in thorns, all the while murmuring something Lawrence couldn’t quite grasp. Amidst his garbled words, Lawrence could discern certain names…
“Nemo… Admiral Tyrian… Crow…”
Despite his apparent injuries, the young man persevered.
However, his determined journey was cut short.
From across the battlefield, a volley of gunfire rang out. The young man’s body jerked violently before he fell again. Yet, in an almost mystical sequence, another being — an aged, hunched figure — emerged seemingly from the fallen man’s shadow.
The scene seemed surreal to Lawrence. He observed the exact point where this elderly individual had risen — straight from a pool of blood that mirrored the young soldier.
“I… I’ve finally arrived…”
With trembling hands, the old man reached out to grasp the explosive device, a joyful grin painted across his wrinkled face.
“I’ve done it!”
His proclamation resonated through the hall, and his laughter was a striking contrast to the bleak surroundings. Clutching the explosive box tightly, he struck a match and set the fuse alight. With an exuberance that defied his age, he charged headlong towards the ominous doorway, repeatedly shouting:
“I’ve made it through!
“Engineer Wilson here!
“Engineer Wilson reporting back!
“I’ve survived!”
“BOOM!!!”
The deafening explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the cavernous hall, and its echo was felt in every nook and cranny of the surrounding corridors.
