Chapter 61: Buzzzzzzzzzzz |
Morgan jolted upright from the edge of the bed, his hand already gripping the sword’s hilt.
“Who’s there?”
The voice echoed through the cramped cabin, but was swallowed by the storm pounding against the window outside.
The moment he spoke, the massive shadow vanished with a swoosh, as if it had never been there. Only the rain remained, washing over the porthole and blurring the darkness beyond.
Morgan took a deep breath, got up, and donned his armor.
He lifted Archeus, grabbed the oil lamp from the table, and slowly pushed open the cabin door.
The corridor was empty.
The rain was pouring in through the open hatch. Morgan raised the lamp; its light swayed in the wind and rain, illuminating nothing but dense streaks of rain.
He stepped onto the deck. No one was there.
He leaned over the railing and looked down.
Every room on the ship was dark.
Portholes stared back at him like dead men’s eyes, pitch-black and hollow.
Only his own cabin showed a faint sliver of light.
Morgan’s heartbeat quickened. He tightened his grip on the sword and decided to go find Mr. Prestor.
He crossed the slippery deck, pushed open the hatch, and descended the stairs.
The oil lamp’s light only reached a few steps ahead. Beyond that, there was nothing but endless darkness.
He arrived at Allen’s door.
Just as his hand touched the door panel—
The reflection on his blade made his pupils contract.
A hideous fin was slowly swaying behind him.
Morgan spun to the side.
A dark figure brushed past his armor and lunged forward.
In that fleeting flash of light, Morgan saw it clearly—
A Naga.
Its upper body vaguely retained a humanoid shape, but was covered in dark green scales. Its head was a twisted fusion of snake and human, with vertical pupils gleaming eerily in the darkness.
Its lower half was a long serpentine tail that slithered and writhed across the floor, and the dorsal fin along its spine extended all the way to the tip of its tail, now raised in fury.
Morgan didn’t give it a second chance.
With a low growl, he clenched his left hand, and a golden light bloomed in his palm.
Hammer of Wrath!
The light struck the Naga like an invisible giant hammer, forcing a shrill shriek from it as it fell into a daze.
In the next instant, Morgan swung Archeus with his right hand. The blade, wreathed in Holy Light, cleaved straight into that ugly head.
Thwack!
Holy Light and flesh splattered together. The Naga’s head dropped to the floor, its tail still twitching and thrashing, spattering stinking liquid everywhere.
Morgan didn’t pause. He turned and pounded on Allen’s door.
“Mr. Prestor!”
No response.
He knocked again. Still nothing.
Morgan gritted his teeth, took a step back, and slammed his shoulder into the wooden door—BAM!
The door burst open.
Allen was lying on the bed, brows furrowed tightly, his face pale. He seemed trapped in some nightmare.
Morgan rushed over and shook him by the shoulders.
“Mr. Prestor! Wake up!”
No reaction.
Morgan took a deep breath, pressed his right hand to Allen’s forehead, closed his eyes, and began chanting. Golden Holy Light flowed from his palm, slowly enveloping Allen’s entire body.
But the moment the Holy Light touched Allen, a plume of black smoke rose from him.
“Aaaaaagh—!”
Allen screamed as he sat up abruptly, gasping for breath.
Morgan was startled and quickly withdrew his hand.
“Mr. Prestor! Are you all right?”
Allen didn’t answer. He panted heavily, staring at some point in the void, his pupils not yet fully focused.
He had just had a dream.
A dream that felt extremely real. An orc shaman, hunched over, standing inside a deep underground bunker.
Around him were rough stone walls, and burning torches cast flickering shadows.
The orc was covered in bone fragments and feathers. His murky eyes were filled with madness and fear.
His lips kept moving, muttering to himself.
“We’re running out of time…”
“We don’t have much time left…”
“We have to—right now—”
The words after that, Allen couldn’t make out no matter how hard he tried.
Every time the orc was about to say the most crucial thing, his voice seemed to be swallowed by something, leaving only a buzzing sound.
Who was this orc?
Ner’zhul?
What did they have to do immediately? What was the Horde planning again?
“Mr. Prestor!” Morgan’s voice pulled him back to reality. “Can you hear me?”
Allen blinked and finally came to his senses.
“Morgan?” His voice was a little hoarse. “What’s wrong?”
Morgan quickly recounted what had just happened.
When he finished, Allen shot upright, grabbed Xal’atath from beside his pillow, and threw on his black cloak.
“Naga attacked the ship?” His eyes sharpened. “Let’s check on Stella first.”
The two hurried out of the room.
On the corridor, Morgan froze.
The Naga corpse he had just killed was gone.
Morgan opened his mouth, wanting to explain.
Allen patted him on the shoulder.
“No need to explain.” His voice was calm. “I believe you.”
Morgan’s throat bobbed as he nodded firmly.
They quickly reached Stella’s door. Without a moment’s hesitation, Allen raised his foot and kicked the door open—
BAM!
The door panel slammed into the wall with a loud crash.
The room was dim. By the light of the oil lamp, they could see that the bed was empty.
Morgan’s heart sank.
“Where’s Stella?” His voice was full of panic. “She’s gone!”
Allen’s heart tightened.
In that instant, the vision he’d seen in Darkshire flashed through his mind again—Stella’s small body twisted into a grotesque shape, crawling toward him mechanically, her bright blue eyes turned into empty holes…
He gripped Xal’atath tightly, about to speak—
“Huh? Who’s there?”
The bathroom door swung open.
Stella strolled out casually, wrapped in a massive towel.
The towel was far too big for her, bundling her from head to toe like a white cocoon, with only a wet little blue head poking out.
Her face was flushed pink from the steam, like a ripe apple. Her big, sapphire-blue eyes were half-lidded, full of laziness and contentment.
She saw the two people at the door.
Paused for a second.
Then—
“Aaaaaaah—!!!”
She let out a scream.
“Morgan, turn around!” she shrieked. “Benefactor, don’t you dare look!”
Morgan immediately spun around, while Allen looked speechless. “You mean to say… you’ve been soaking in the bathtub since this afternoon?”
Stella hopped on one foot, raising her hands to try to block Allen’s view. Hearing this, she cupped her own rosy little cheeks and said blissfully:
“Yep! Because the bathtub is way too comfy! I figured I might as well make good use of it before I get off this ship!”
She squinted, her face full of bliss.
Then, a flicker of doubt crossed her eyes.
“Wait a second.” She tilted her head. “Benefactor, how did you know I’ve been in there since this afternoon?”
“Because you’ve been missing since this afternoon, haven’t you?” Allen said flatly.
Stella nodded vigorously, a look of “oh, that makes sense” written all over her tiny face.
“Benefactor is so smart!”
Allen didn’t waste more words with her.
“Get dressed. We don’t have time.”
The three rushed out of the room and burst into a random cabin.
Inside, a sailor lay motionless on his bed, breathing steadily as if in a deep sleep.
Morgan went over and shook him, pushed him, even slapped his face—no response.
“It’s magic. They’ve all been put under some kind of sleeping spell. Same as me.”
Morgan gritted his teeth. “I can use Purification—”
“No time,” Allen cut him off. “Let’s check on Jaina first.”
-----------------
In Jaina’s room, she was tormented by a nightmare.
A dream she’d had countless times before.
The battlefield of the Second War.
Fire roared to the sky, smoke filled the air, and the orcs’ war cries were deafening.
She saw the back of her brother, Derek Proudmoore—that young man who always smiled and tousled her hair—as he leaped toward an enemy ship with his sword raised.
“Derek!” She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
She watched him fall.
She watched his corpse sink into the sea, deeper and deeper, until it disappeared into the endless darkness.
The scene shifted.
Deep in the ocean, a rotting corpse opened its eyes.
The corpse was wearing the uniform of Kul Tiras. Its skin was gray and festering, its eye sockets empty, yet it stared straight at her.
That decayed mouth slowly opened, letting out a hoarse, inhuman whisper:
“Run… quickly…”
Jaina wanted to flee, but she couldn’t move.
“Jaina… run… quickly…”
The voice grew closer. A rotting hand reached out to her—
“Aah—!!!”
Jaina woke with a start, sitting upright and gasping for air.
Cold sweat had soaked through her nightgown.
Outside the window, a thunderclap exploded.
BOOM—!!!
Lightning flashed, and a stark white light instantly illuminated the entire room.
And also illuminated the doors and windows.
Behind that door, outside that porthole, countless massive, inhuman figures stood silently.
Their outlines were blurred by the storm, but clear enough to be seen.
They weren’t human. Definitely not.
They had surrounded her.
Jaina’s pupils contracted, and a scream burst from her throat:
“Help—!!!”
---------------
Allen and the other two rushed up the stairs, heading for the luxurious cabin at the top of the ship.
The rain was still pouring in sheets.
Why was it so dark? Even the rain was invisible; only the dense sound of it falling could be heard.
First, put up a shield.
Allen raised his hand and chanted softly.
Shield.
An invisible magical barrier unfolded around him, its translucent light flowing.
The moment the shield formed, his left wrist suddenly began to burn.
Allen looked down.
The three wavy lines on his skin were glowing faintly in the darkness.
A silvery light pulsed like a living thing beneath his skin.
Buzzzzzzzzzzz—
The light pulsed urgently, flickering rapidly, ready to burst forth at any moment.
[Wild Magic Surge has been triggered!]