Chapter 659

Deep within the ship, the engine room was a somber sight. Once bustling with crew members, it was now eerily silent, all the workers having met untimely deaths. Yet, the massive steam core engine, a pinnacle of technology, continued to function autonomously—a testament to its relentless design.

The reactor throbbed with deep, rhythmic pulsations that reverberated throughout the space. Pipes and valves, managed by an intricate automated system, released gentle hisses intermittently. Warning lights, monitoring the metallic ore catalyst, blinked rhythmically, signaling significant pressure within the steam core.

Next to the robust steam core, a towering copper column bridged the ceiling and the floor at the steel walkway's end. Parts of the column's casing were removed, revealing a complex network of gears and rods in synchronized motion. This sophisticated differential engine hummed continuously, its rhythmic ticking echoing as it processed and routed strips of paper to various data storage units or punch card analyzers.

This precise and costly machine was crucial for the ship, autonomously computing essential data for the forthcoming voyage and the engine room operations. This data was relayed directly to the upper-level navigation station—information vital to keep from potential invaders.

Amidst this ominous atmosphere, the ghost captain became aware of the unfolding events, ready to unleash his wrath.

Suddenly, a colossal skeletal spider, symbolizing doom, lunged toward the copper column. In a swift motion, it drove a bone spike into the heart of the differential engine's power shaft.

The spike, releasing a destructive force, easily breached the thick bronze and steel armor of the shaft. The internal steel bearings, which had been spinning ceaselessly, now screeched distressingly, leading to a catastrophic failure of the interconnected gears and rods, dragging the punch machines and their paper tapes into a destructive spiral.

The differential engine, along with the punch card analyzers, depended on this main shaft for power. Its destruction was enough to obliterate the entire system—a "safety flaw" intentionally built in to erase the ship's navigational records and control core in emergencies.

However, this calamity did not deter the ghost captain.

As long as the ship could navigate, it held the potential to transport the captain to his desired destination, the "Holy Land."

To achieve this, the "Saint" needed to override the steam core's robust safety protocols, nearly indestructible under normal conditions.

Encased in a thick, impenetrable shell, the core safeguarded its vital components—the metal ore catalyst and the reaction medium—from external threats. The spherical casing was so durable that not even nitroglycerin explosives might breach it. To neutralize the formidable steam core, it required a methodical shutdown.

Now, the chance for shutdown had arrived.

As the differential engine's power shaft failed, it unleashed a cacophony of sounds: a booming roar and the excruciating screech of collapsing gears. This failure set off a chain reaction, causing all interconnected machinery—gears, belts, and rods—to fall apart. The steam output from the core exceeded the safety valve's limit, filling the engine room with scalding, high-pressure steam. Amid the creaking metal, the steam core's safety pins ejected, and the reactor's spherical shell began to lower.

As the shell descended, it disconnected the core from the metal ore catalyst. Inside, a fierce inferno raged, sending a blistering wave of heat toward the control platform, intense enough to instantly vaporize anyone present.

For the "Saint," this fiery chaos was merely a minor setback.

Braving the intense heat, he swiftly gathered several barrels of nitroglycerin explosives. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the reactor, now a deadly inferno of heat and flames.

It was a moment of self-sacrifice... To destroy everything here and ensure that the Lord's mission was not compromised by the return of the shadow from subspace...

As the flames inside the reactor soared, the situation teetered on the brink of disaster. Just one barrel of nitroglycerin might be enough to tip the scales, potentially annihilating the entire ship.

The Saint hoisted the explosives high.

At that critical moment, the flames within the reactor turned an eerie green color.

Amidst the fierce blaze, a terrifying figure appeared. Duncan's upper body emerged from the steam core's flames, leaning down to face the skeletal spider, who was inches away with the barrel of nitroglycerin. His voice boomed like thunder: "Do you think this will work?"

"Die, ghost!" In a burst of anger, the skeletal spider threw the explosives at the reactor.

What followed was a massive explosion. The reactor was instantly engulfed by a wild, uncontrollable blast. Duncan's fiery form, still unstable, flickered within the explosion. The surrounding flames, unaffected by his ghostly fire, transformed into a devastating shockwave, obliterating everything in the compartment.

The steam core exploded, and the metal ore catalyst initiated a catastrophic chain reaction under the extreme pressure. Amid the deafening roars and intense heatwave, the ship began to disintegrate, starting from the engine room.

In the chaos, the black skeletal spider, a ghastly figure, stretched out its limbs, desperately trying to stabilize itself with its bone spikes. Engulfed by the intense heat, its bones began to ignite. The spider's swollen brain, exposed and throbbing, glowed faintly as its nervous system burned and its blood boiled within its brain tissue. Despite its impending death, a strange thrill energized its mind.

It had succeeded in blowing up the steam core, preventing the ghost captain from gaining full control.

Sure, no one on the ship, including itself, would survive this disaster. But in its final act, it had safeguarded the "Holy Land."

The ship's hull, directly below the engine room, began to break apart. Boiling seawater mixed with flames surged into the cabin with a mighty roar.

The "Saint," with its eyestalks severely damaged from the burns, resignedly awaited death.

Yet, death did not come.

Unexpectedly, the chaotic scene calmed.

Confused and hesitating, the dying skeletal spider lifted its eyestalks again. Through its blurred and dimmed vision, a result of the severe burns, it saw an astonishing sight.

Every flame in the engine room had turned a ghostly green, frozen mid-air as if time itself had stopped. The disintegrating cabin and the raging seawater were also suspended in this eerie stillness.

In this stillness, fragments of the shattered steam core floated, with droplets of molten steel hanging around them, creating a grotesquely beautiful display.

From the midst of this frozen inferno, a tall figure descended. Emerging from the remnants of the steam core's flames, Duncan approached the skeletal spider in the motionless engine room.

He moved effortlessly, pushing aside the hanging molten metal and commanding the stagnant flames to part, his gaze settling calmly on the "Saint."

This "Annihilation Priest," no longer resembling anything human, had somehow survived. Despite being at the center of the steam core's massive explosion and enduring a blast hot enough to vaporize steel, this creature was only severely burned.

Remarkably, in their brief encounter, it had quickly assessed the situation and chose to blow up the ship. This rapid decision-making almost seemed like precognition.

The creature was undeniably powerful, intelligent, and possessed supernatural abilities.

But for Duncan, there was another crucial factor.

As Rabbi had explained, this Annihilation Priest had already integrated its symbiotic demon, removing the most significant vulnerability of an Annihilator: the risk associated with the death or loss of control of the symbiotic demon.

This development made the creature more resilient.

Nevertheless, it was clear that for the Annihilator to reach its full potential, recovering from its current injuries was crucial. In its weakened state, it could not handle the stress of connecting with the enigmatic and powerful Nether Lord.

At that moment, Duncan's focus shifted.

"I've heard that this ship harbors a secret haven known as the 'Holy Land'," he said, lowering his gaze to meet the numerous eyes of the skeletal spider, "Where can it be found?"

The skeletal spider, weakened and battered, showed difficulty in movement. Its limbs attempted to rise but fell limply. From within its grotesque form, a raspy and unclear voice emerged: "It's futile... You'll never find it... I've destroyed all the navigational records and control mechanisms. Moreover, the location of the Holy Land was only known to me, and I've just erased that part of my memory. Even if the Four Gods themselves intervened, they could not find that path..."

Contrary to the "Saint's" expectations, this revelation did not seem to disturb the ghost captain.

Duncan simply nodded, expressing a hint of regret.

"It's of no great consequence, we'll manage."

At that moment, the Saint felt a deep unease. He struggled with his skeletal form, his damaged eyestalks frequently shifting back to Duncan, who stood among the flames: "What... what do you intend to do?!"

Duncan did not answer. Instead, he observed his surroundings: the frozen flames hanging in the air, the distant and damaged cabin, and the turbulent sea visible through the torn hull.

The ship had suffered so much damage that one could see the sky through the large holes in the upper deck, barely visible among the stationary flames.

"This vessel was magnificent, such a tragedy," he murmured softly. Then, he approached the remnants of the steam core and gently touched a cluster of flames frozen in time.

These flames, once the heart of the ship, now needed to beat again.

The ghostly green flames flickered softly, casting an eerie glow across the deck. A deep, ominous rumble resonated through the ship, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment. Despite being completely disabled and in fragments, the vessel began to exhibit signs of life, as if responding to some unseen force. Gradually, it started to pick up speed, as though it were a sentient being awakening from a long slumber.

Duncan, standing at the helm, approached the ethereal flames with a sense of purpose. His voice, steady and commanding, cut through the rising cacophony:

"Let's head home."