Deep Sea Embers

A boatswain, a towering figure with a rifle firmly gripped in his hands – an almost irrelevant weapon in the face of such a maritime confrontation – rushed towards Lawrence. He visually assessed the captain, his anxious eyes scanning for any signs of injury. Upon confirming Lawrence’s unscathed condition, he exhaled a deep breath of relief. “Thank God! You’ve returned – there was an earth-shaking blast from the island. When you failed to return, the second mate grew worried, thinking that something might have befallen you…”

Memories of recent events at the dockside square flooded Lawrence’s mind, their vivid recall causing his face to visibly express a complex whirl of emotions. He remembered the sudden appearance of the four additional sailors and the bizarre green flames that added an uncanny aura to the scenario.

Lawrence was indeed privy to significant occurrences on the island, but this was neither the time nor place to delve into those matters.

“That’s a discussion for a later time,” he responded curtly, dismissing the boatswain’s inquiries with a calm shake of his head. “What’s our current situation? Where’s Jason?”

“The second mate is orchestrating our defensive strategy from the bridge. We’re in the throes of battle with an unidentified warship,” the boatswain quickly briefed, “As soon as that ship entered our radar, it initiated a relentless attack. It’s been slowly but steadily closing in on us, and we just endured a hit on the stern. The damage is thankfully minor, but we must make our retreat immediately. A warship’s firepower far outmatches the White Oak.”

“Set our course away from this chaos,” Lawrence instructed without a shred of hesitation.

The ship’s steam core issued a low, menacing rumble as the metallic catalyst began to unleash a surge of powerful energy. This vigorous propulsion system set the ship’s propellers in forceful motion, enabling the White Oak to make a swift exit from the danger-riddled harbor. Amid the gigantic waterspouts created by the unyielding cannon fire, the magnificent exploration vessel sped away with its pristine white hull, leaving Dagger Island obscured behind a dense curtain of fog.

Yet, their pursuers remained undeterred, pursuing them with unwavering resolve.

Lawrence made his way to the bridge, scrutinizing the escalating naval situation through the expansive window at the ship’s stern. Far in the distance, contrasted against the immense, undulating expanse of the sea, he could discern the intimidating silhouette of their adversary – a medium-sized warship unyielding in its relentless pursuit. It continued to discharge its main cannon from the bow, each subsequent shot igniting a brilliant flash that penetrated the enveloping darkness, casting an eerie illumination over the surrounding sea.

The fact that their pursuer was a smaller warship rather than an imposing, gargantuan battleship was indeed fortuitous. Had their opponent been of the latter class, the White Oak would have undoubtedly been reduced to wreckage by now.

Regrettably, the enemy’s ship demonstrated remarkable agility. Despite the White Oak pushing forward at maximum velocity, Lawrence could see the looming inevitability – their pursuers would soon gain on them and surpass their pace. The enemy warship was unrelenting, steadily diminishing the gap that separated them.

“We can’t outpace them,” the first mate’s voice resonated with a thread of despair, “their speed is unmatched… and our weaponry simply isn’t equipped to take on a warship!”

Lawrence kept his silence, his mind caught in a whirlwind of tactical calculations as he attempted to devise a quick strategy.

Despite being classified as a civilian vessel, the White Oak was far from vulnerable. As a state-of-the-art exploration vessel, constructed for extensive journeys across the vast and unpredictable Boundless Seas and explicitly designed to transport hazardous, sealed artifacts between various city-states, it was equipped with a military-grade steam core and a sophisticated anti-sinking structure. The ship’s keel, hull, and superstructure had all been significantly fortified, lending it a durability akin to a military vessel of similar size.

However, its major shortcoming was the lack of significant firepower. As a civilian ship, it was equipped with only a handful of small-caliber cannons designed to ward off minor pirate threats or to repel aggressive marine creatures. In the face of a warship armed to the teeth with advanced weaponry, these defenses were patently insufficient.

Given these circumstances, the White Oak’s capture seemed imminent. As the enemy ship relentlessly closed the distance, their volleys of gunfire were bound to increase in accuracy.

Regardless of the vessel’s robustness, it was clear that enduring a sustained and concentrated artillery onslaught was beyond its capacity.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle echoed from afar, promptly followed by a thunderous explosion that jarred Lawrence from his deep reflections. The impact’s force resonated in his ears, and the deck quaked violently beneath his feet. In the corner of his eye, he observed a terrifying inferno rip through the White Oak’s side, causing twisted shards of metal and splintered fragments of the deck structure to scatter haphazardly.

“We’ve taken a hit on the starboard side… Extinguish the fire!” roared the boatswain.

Even amidst the violent upheaval, Lawrence managed to maintain his balance. His countenance abruptly altered, suggesting a sudden, decisive idea that dawned on him.

“Bring me the cargo,” he addressed his first mate, who was desperately attempting to restore order on the bridge.

“The cargo?” The first mate momentarily faltered, but a flicker of comprehension swiftly crossed his face. A mix of dread and determination reflected in his eyes as he promptly complied, handing Lawrence the ship’s logbook.

Lawrence briskly flipped through the logbook, his eyes darting over the entries until they rested on one particular line.

“Unlock the number two containment room and bring ‘Anomaly 077’ to the bridge,” he commanded the first mate with resolute determination. “Make sure a fresh blanket and a new binding rope are at hand for secondary sealing.”

The first mate’s expression turned grave despite anticipating such a command. “Captain, are you certain…”

“We have no other options,” Lawrence asserted with absolute conviction. “There are historical precedents for unsealing the cargo in critical situations. If the church wishes to reproach us later, I will assume full responsibility.”

The first mate appeared to want to dispute the order, but under Lawrence’s firm gaze, he swallowed his reservations and responded with a resolute nod. “Aye, Captain!”

The order was executed promptly. A team of sailors, specifically trained to handle such sealed artifacts, quickly descended into the ship’s belly, unlocked containment room number two, and followed the exact protocol to deactivate the seal enveloping Anomaly 077.

Shortly after, amid the relentless cacophony of cannon fire, a group of sailors emerged onto the bridge. They carried Anomaly 077 and gingerly placed the retrieved object before Lawrence.

Lawrence glanced down, his face imbued with a solemn gravity as he examined the “anomalous object” brought up from the sealed chamber.

Lying before him was a withered corpse, tightly swathed in layers of cloth.

Anomaly 077, often affectionately dubbed as the “Sailor”, was a mystifying relic that Lawrence had grown to know well due to its frequent presence among his ship’s distinctive cargo.

This baffling artifact was initially unearthed on an exploratory vessel that had inexplicably vanished for three years, and it was believed to be the catalyst for the ship’s unexplained absence. Anomaly 077 presented itself as a 1.7-meter-tall mummified figure that, once unsealed, exhibited signs of life – it was even capable of speech and displayed noticeable cognitive functions. Its characteristics were eerily consistent with the role suggested by its description.

As a ‘sailor,’ it had an inherent compulsion to assume control of the closest ship, taking over all its operations within minimal time, regardless of external conditions, the vessel’s specifications, or its control systems. Once it established control, it would instantaneously teleport the ship away. This process, which transpired in a matter of minutes, could be applied to any ship, propelling it to a random location on the ocean.

However, this teleportation was far from a tranquil voyage. Ships affected by Anomaly 077 invariably rematerialized at the heart of a raging storm.

It remained an enigma whether Anomaly 077 intentionally chose the storm as the teleportation destination or if the tempest was an inadvertent byproduct of the teleportation procedure. Nonetheless, it was well-documented that only a select few ships were successful in escaping unscathed from the turbulent storm that awaited at the “endpoint.”

Innumerable ships and many unfortunate individuals had succumbed to Anomaly 077’s unpredictable whims.

However, as per Lawrence’s understanding, handling Anomaly 077 wasn’t overly complex. Once unsealed, it would independently activate its abilities, yet it could be easily re-sealed after the teleportation. Simply tying a new binding rope around its neck would render it inactive, and wrapping it in a shroud would induce it back into a dormant state. The mummified entity exhibited no extraordinary physical prowess or battle capacities.

The only hurdle that awaited the White Oak’s crew post the impending teleportation was to steer through a fierce storm – a challenge that Lawrence and his men had encountered and triumphed over several times before.

Bending over the corpse, cloaked in a fabric of mystery, Lawrence gently placed his hand on the cloth.

The ship’s crew stationed on the bridge observed with a blend of apprehension and grim fascination, their eyes riveted on this eerie tableau.

Drawing a deep breath, Lawrence gingerly untied the knot that fastened the shroud.

Almost immediately, he perceived a subtle gasp for air, the sound seemingly emanating from the mummified entity hidden beneath the cloth.

The shroud slithered off as though propelled by an unseen force, exposing Anomaly 077 to the wide-eyed crew. The revealed figure was a gaunt corpse clad in the disintegrating remnants of ancient sailor’s garments. Its sparse hair was dry and brittle, its frame whittled down to skeletal thinness, and it lay motionless on the deck.

The mummy’s chest initiated a rhythmic pattern of subtle rises and falls. The movement grew so pronounced that Lawrence felt he could perceive the throbbing beat of a heart and the steady tempo of breath.

Anomaly 077 had been activated – the Sailor had awakened from its sealed hibernation.

Slowly, the mummy opened its eyes and laboriously pulled itself into a sitting position, its joints producing a chorus of creaking noises.

“Assume interim control of this ship,” Lawrence instructed, his countenance a tumult of conflicting emotions. “We need to facilitate a quick exit.”

Anomaly 077 hoisted itself to its feet, its gaze meandering around its surroundings before ultimately settling on Lawrence.

Inexplicably, Lawrence detected what appeared to be a hint of apprehension etched onto that ancient, unsettling face.

Astonishingly, he observed the mummy faintly shivering.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a prank!” The mummy’s voice echoed, a grating whisper laden with terror. In the ensuing moment, under the collective scrutiny of the crew, it shut its eyes, pretending to be lifeless while clutching the fallen shroud to swathe over itself again.

Lawrence: “…?”

The crew: “…?”