Deep Sea Embers

Once smooth and pristine, the paper was now marred and crinkled, splotched by an unusual gray-black substance that the layman might mistake for mud. This mud had invaded multiple areas of the paper, disrupting the ink and rendering some of the script smeared and fragmented. Yet, thanks to the scrupulous efforts of Morris, who treated the damaged document with painstaking care, a large portion of the words had been recovered and rendered just legible enough to be deciphered.

The written record belonged to “Scott Brown”, and chronicled the bizarre physical transformations he experienced during his last clear and rational moments.

“… Roughly at 4 a.m., which marked twelve hours since I had locked and secured the door, I was struck with intense ringing in my ear. Accompanied by sporadic bouts of dizziness, it impaired my ability to move around. I could only muster the strength to write during those brief periods when I felt marginally better. I detected what appeared to be blood pooling beneath my skin, accompanied by bruises that had surfaced without any apparent cause…

At around 6:30 a.m., I experienced a sensation as if my internal organs were in complete disarray. It felt as though the structures within me had morphed, each assuming its own unique role, and started shifting. There was no pain, and the dizziness had also ebbed away… My fear began to dissolve, and in its place, vivid memories started to resurface…

Close to 7 a.m., my memory served me with starkly clear images of my own death. The realization dawned upon me that the original version of me had already perished. Inexplicably, my left leg had fractured—it was as if a portion of the bone had suddenly disintegrated and disappeared.

At 8:15 a.m., the disintegration of my left leg began. It started with spontaneous cracks appearing on the skin, followed by the internal tissues leaking out in the form of a gray-black fluid. The fluid appeared to display signs of life, wriggling and crawling on the floor and even climbing up the walls… I feared that the wooden boards I had nailed across the window would not be able to contain these eerie and terrifying entities, but to my relief, I found that they gradually lost their activity once they left my body. Moreover, even while active, they seemed to consciously avoid sunlight… This could be a critical piece of information, so I’m noting it down here…

… Despite my heart having ceased to function, my consciousness remained intact. I was aware that my body was no longer operating according to regular human physiological processes. When I tried to make a cut, instead of blood, a gray-black viscous substance oozed out slowly… What was my body composed of at this point?

The dissolution process started spreading to my entire lower half. I had to strain myself to stay still and continue documenting these observations—I no longer felt any pain, had no breath, and my heart had stopped functioning long ago. At times, I could hear a humming sound, as if the substance that now formed my body was resonating… The viscous substance kept leaking out, turning the room into a mess…

… I hope Garloni is not frightened when she comes to clean the room… Although, as I pen down her name, I can barely remember what Garloni looks like.

At 10:30 a.m., what I feared the most started to happen. My vision began to deteriorate rapidly, and my surroundings quickly faded into darkness. I had to feel the edges of the paper to keep my writing legible…

I am not sure of the exact time now, but it must be somewhere between 11 a.m. and 12 p.m. I heard a sharp, unusual noise that lasted for approximately five minutes, after which all discomfort began to fade, and the sensation in the remaining parts of my body rapidly diminished. I could vaguely feel the area below my chest sinking. Perhaps another hour has passed…”

“Do you need some time alone?” asked Duncan, his voice calm as he studied the old man. “I can wait for you outside.”

“No need, I’ve already mourned him once,” Morris replied gently, shaking his head. “I just didn’t expect to come across his academic records again after six long years… This information is valuable, isn’t it?”

Duncan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned in closer to study the gray-black mud, now hardened and motionless, scrutinizing its edges meticulously. He then picked up the last record left by Scott Brown, carefully examining the areas where the paper was soaked thoroughly by the mud.

The borders where the paper met the mud were slightly blurred and irregular. The distinct demarcation line seemed to have vanished, and the two materials appeared to have partially fused.

Upon noticing Duncan’s actions, Morris queried, “Did you discover something?”

“… Primal matters,” Duncan lifted his gaze to meet Morris’. “The local church in Frost is conducting research on this type of substance. They believe that the viscous residue remaining after the decomposition of deep-sea replicants bears a striking similarity to the primal substances mentioned by the Annihilators.”

Morris paused momentarily, but by now, he had grown used to Duncan’s uncanny ability to unearth new leads from the most obscure sources. He, therefore, didn’t ask where this piece of information had originated from. After some contemplation, he responded, “… I am familiar with the topic of primal matters. When you investigate the history of the cultists, you can’t avoid running into this mysterious substance.”

He took a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts, before continuing, “Just as the Suntists firmly believe that the ancient true sun will ultimately save the world, the Annihilators have a similar ‘prophecy of salvation.’ They believe that one day, the Nether Lord will awaken from his deep slumber and, in his wrath, will destroy the existing world, which they believe has been manipulated and deceived by the gods. They believe that the ‘real world,’ represented by the mysterious deep sea, will rise from the depths of the earth and once again become a paradise for mortal beings. Before that day arrives, primal matters will surface in large quantities. According to them, it is the blueprint of all things, the fundamental essence of the world. It will envelop everything and restore the world to its original state…”

As the elderly scholar narrated the tale, Duncan maintained a silence that lasted for a few seconds before he raised his head and asked, “Appear in abundance… emerge from the deep sea?”

Morris didn’t respond immediately.

“I find these Annihilators increasingly fascinating. But it’s not their ‘prophecy of salvation’ that intrigues me. I’m more interested in understanding how they’ve established a ‘connection’ with the place that’s located a thousand meters below Frost,” Duncan shook his head. “The replicants originate from the deep sea, as do the Obsidian and the submarine found on Dagger Island. Yet, this secretive group of Annihilators… How have they managed to make contact with the force that lies a kilometer beneath the water?”

“… Building a submarine that can navigate to and from the deep sea, a kilometer beneath the surface, is no easy task, even for a powerful city-state. At the very least, this isn’t something a group of cultists could achieve,” Morris began, lost in thought. “However, they might be indirectly channeling the power of the deep sea, or they might be communicating with the ‘powerful presence’ of the deep sea through some sort of ritualistic practices.”

“So, there must be a larger cult stronghold hidden in Frost, a concealed location large enough to hold extensive ceremonies, potent enough to harness the power of the deep sea consistently, capable of creating replicants within the city-state, and even infiltrating Dagger Island,” Duncan stated slowly, casting his gaze around the room. The room’s only window had been sealed off with wooden planks, and the ceiling, walls, and floor were coated with dried, lifeless “mud.” Every trace in the room seemed to tell a harrowing tale of a desperate fight for survival.

“Perhaps, in the end, we’ll have to give the cultists here a little surprise from the Vanished,” he murmured softly, rubbing his fingers together. A tiny cluster of dark green flames fell from his fingertips, silently landing on the floor before rapidly disappearing.

Of course, Morris noticed this, but he remained silent and glanced towards the nearby table.

That was where Scott Brown had last “worked”—perhaps it was a transient replicant, but as it hunched over to write while its body was collapsing, it still had a noble soul.

“… So, what’s the plan?” The old scholar looked up at the captain. “The traces in the room, the information Brown left behind, and… Garloni downstairs.”

“We’ve already collected enough evidence. Let’s leave the rest to the people of Frost,” Duncan said, his tone indifferent. “Leave the room as it is, place the letter in a noticeable spot on the table, and prepare an anonymous tip-off letter. As for Garloni…”

Duncan paused, hesitating for a moment.

“Garloni’s cognitive interference has yet to cease. Even after the replicants in this building have disappeared, she shows no signs of regaining consciousness. She continues to believe her teacher is resting in this room. This indicates that the ‘source’ of the interference isn’t her teacher, but something else that’s still active and hidden deep within the city-state. She won’t truly recover until that source is eradicated.”

As he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he was considering something else.

“And… we can’t be certain how many other ‘Scott Browns’ and ‘Garlonis’ there are in this city-state.”

Morris’ expression became grave: “You mean…”

“Rumors of the dead returning circulate in the city, while at the same time, completely contradictory news reaches Tyrian,” Duncan looked at Morris. “I fear that replicants and cognitive interference have thoroughly infiltrated this city-state.”