Chapter 708: Knock Knock

Primordial Crude Prototypes had been known to thrive in the frigid waters of Frost. However, they had made their appearance in the bordering sea near the sacred territory referred to as the "Holy Land" of the Annihilators. The emergence of this thing exuded a bizarre and frightening presence, yet it didn't come as a complete shock. This was because the entity known as the "Nether Lord" was the central figure linking these mysterious events.

In this chilling scene, Morris squatted next to the humanoid figure of the crude prototype. He pulled out a thin, metallic sampling probe, and with precise movements, he aimed it towards the creature's arm. As the probe made contact, it encountered a remarkably tough exterior, far more resilient than the skin of humans, elves, or even the orcs of the forest folks. The skin possessed an unusual elasticity, akin to a dense and robust type of special rubber.

Applying more force, Morris managed to penetrate this resilient "skin." As he twisted the probe about halfway inside the arm of the humanoid prototype, it brought out a viscous, mud-like black substance upon extraction.

This familiar black sludge appeared inert, showing none of the writhing or reshaping activity it once did.

Shirley, standing nearby, cringed and confessed her growing unease: "I'm starting to feel a bit sick..." The sight of the vile black sludge triggered an involuntary reaction of disgust and goosebumps, as it reminded her of the horrifying experiences they had endured in Frost — the breeding of replicas in the mist, the sprawling tentacles of ancient deities rising from the sea, and the living sludge that flowed through the pipes and sewers.

Meanwhile, Dog seemed utterly unaffected by the grotesque scene. He curiously approached the humanoid crude prototype, sniffing around it inquisitively, circling it as if uncovering some secret, and occasionally pausing as if in deep thought.

Seeing this, Shirley couldn't hide her revulsion: "Dog, what are you doing? Don't you find this thing repulsive... Hey, don't rub your head on it..."

Observing the scene with a grave demeanor, Vanna inquired, "Dog, have you discovered something?"

Dog responded with a hint of uncertainty, "It's not much of a discovery, this is my first encounter with such a thing, though I've heard the captain talk about it before... This thing, it sort of reminds me of home with its scent."

Duncan reacted with a raised eyebrow to Dog's remark: "A bit familiar, like home?"

He recalled the time he found numerous "Primordial Crude Prototypes" in the deep sea beneath Frost. Determined to eradicate the lurking threats and prevent the resurgence of the ancient god's replicas, he destroyed the tentacle of an ancient god, which acted as a "pillar." This action ignited all the "crude prototypes" in that region of the ocean, leaving Duncan without any samples to bring back from that expedition. Consequently, until that moment, Dog had never had the opportunity to directly interact with these "semi-finished replicas" spawned from the mysterious power of the Nether Lord.

At this moment, Dog has detected the distinct aroma of the deep sea emanating from these "semi-finished products."

Duncan sensed that there was something quite troubling about what Dog had discovered.

Noticing her father's concerned expression, Lucretia asked with a hint of anxiety, "Do you sense that something is amiss?"

With a grave demeanor, Duncan pondered aloud, "Why do these 'humanoid crude prototypes' bear the essence of the abyssal deep sea?"

Frustrated, Lucretia questioned, "What's the issue with that? These creatures are born from the Nether Lord's power. It's only natural for them to have the essence of the deep sea..."

Duncan turned to her and countered, "Based on our current knowledge, 'humans' too were fashioned by the Nether Lord. So why hasn't Dog ever detected 'the scent of home' in humans?"

The air grew heavy with silence as Lucretia paused, her eyes widening as she grasped the significance of her father's concern.

Her eyes then settled on the "crude prototype" sprawled on the deck, its form lacking distinct facial and limb features. Her expression grew increasingly grave.

Duncan continued, his voice laden with contemplation, "Every mortal race is an offshoot of the Nether Lord's power, and shadow demons are among the Nether Lord's creations as well. If we position 'humans' and 'shadow demons' at opposing ends of a spectrum, then where do these humanoid 'crude prototypes' fall? Are they closer to 'humans' or to 'shadow demons'?"

He added then added after casting those around with a meaningful glance, "...You recall, I mentioned these mud-like 'crude prototypes' might be the 'semi-finished products' from when the Nether Lord initially endeavored to create the mortal races, or perhaps they are rough drafts based on an original design. The ancient god's tentacle in Frost's waters was merely a fragment of the Nether Lord, capable only of producing these 'crude prototypes.' But, if evolved further, might these 'crude prototypes' develop into actual 'humans'?"

Lucretia, recalling her father's previous accounts of Frost's incident, spoke slowly, her thoughts taking shape, "And now, Dog perceives these 'crude prototypes' as possessing the essence of the deep sea, or in other words, it senses these prototypes... resemble its own kind in some way."

"I never said that!" Dog interjected, lying down with a look of uncertainty, "Well, maybe... they do seem a bit familiar..."

Shirley, who had been quietly observing, looked from Dog to Duncan, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity, "What exactly are we discussing here?"

Duncan directed Shirley's attention to the "crude prototype" on the deck, explaining, "We're trying to understand at what point 'humans' began to diverge from shadow demons, or alternatively, at which juncture these humanoid shadow demons started their transition into becoming 'humans'."

Upon grasping the gravity of the discussion, Shirley's eyes widened in astonishment, and she exclaimed, "Holy shit?!"

Duncan refrained from elaborating further. With a slight nod, he pivoted, making his way back to the ship's stern where the steering platform awaited. Their proximity to the critical boundary of the six-mile limit meant that proceeding required heightened vigilance. His intention was to edge the ship, the Vanished, slightly forward to scout the conditions ahead.

However, as he began to depart, a sequence of soft, rhythmic thuds emanated from outside the hull, halting his steps and disrupting the train of thought for everyone on board.

Soon, these intermittent thuds grew more frequent and insistent.

Something was colliding with the hull, initially a few isolated bumps, but rapidly escalating into a persistent barrage!

Vanna's complexion paled almost instantly. She darted to the deck's edge in swift strides, her eyes scanning the sea below—dozens, possibly hundreds, of black humanoid figures, akin to "crude prototypes" sculpted from dark sludge, were incessantly striking the outer shell of the Vanished. They bobbed on the serene sea surface, propelled as if by unseen currents, creating a persistent, rhythmic thud against the ship's hull.

But that's the least of their worries, for a far more sinister sight awaited in the distance.

Ahead of the Vanished, in a farther stretch of sea shrouded by mist, more indistinct shapes were slowly converging. An army of humanoid "crude prototypes" moved with a driftwood-like motion, swaying and bobbing in the water, all heading in the same direction. They collided against the hull of the Vanished, producing muted thuds before rolling off and altering their course, continuously drifting towards the rear, towards the Bright Star...

On the Resolved's front deck, Commander Polekhine, clad in the black robe of the Death Church and her dark golden curls flowing, stood at the deck's edge with a furrowed brow. Her gaze was fixed on the sea below, where the distant, drifting humanoid prototypes cast a spine-chilling aura.

Beside her, a junior cleric looked on with a markedly uneasy demeanor: "Commander Polekhine, what are these entities?"

"...They are spawned from the Nether Lord's power, likely adrift from that so-called 'holy land'. Don't concern yourself with them. These entities are 'dead.' As long as we avoid direct contact, they pose no threat to our ironclad vessel."

"Yes, Commander," the junior cleric acknowledged, bowing before retreating. However, his return was swift and frantic.

"Commander! There are more beneath the ship!"

"The bottom?!"

Polekhine, with brisk steps, made her way down to the ship's lower decks, a sense of urgency propelling her forward. As she descended into the depths of the Resolved, she was immediately struck by a relentless, pervasive thudding noise. It filled the air, a constant, unyielding sound that seemed to emanate from the very core of the ship's steel foundation. Each thud was a heavy, muffled sound, as though a multitude of solid objects was repeatedly striking the ship's outer hull. This symphony of impacts created a deep, foreboding resonance that filled the cabin, sounding almost as if an unseen horde was methodically pounding on the steel with oversized hammers, their efforts echoing with a sinister intent.

Polekhine's imagination ran wild, painting vivid, unsettling pictures of the chaos unfolding outside the Resolved. In her mind's eye, she saw innumerable, indistinct figures, shapeless yet vaguely humanoid, swarming the vessel. These "crude prototypes" weren't just at the surface; they enveloped the ship completely, pressing in from all sides in the murky depths. Hundreds of these dark, mud-like apparitions seemed to cling desperately to the ship's underbelly, thumping and scraping against it in a disturbing dance as if attempting to penetrate the sturdy steel barrier and pull the intruding vessel into their mysterious, sacrosanct realm.

Shaking off these eerie imaginings, Polekhine refocused on the present and addressed the group of technicians who had accompanied her to the lower quarters. Her voice was firm, tinged with concern: "Is there a risk of the hull being compromised by these constant impacts?"

With a calm yet serious demeanor, one of the engineers quickly reassured her, "Currently, the hull should withstand these impacts. The force they're exerting is comparable to floating logs bumping against the ship at sea. But what's unsettling is the persistent nature of these thuds. Ever since these unidentified entities began their assault near the engine room, our steam engines have been producing an alarming, discordant sound. It's as if they're operating out of sync, struggling against some unseen force..."

Polekhine's expression hardened as a new concern formed in her mind: "Could our machinery be under the influence of some sort of mystical force or enchantment?"

The engineer replied, not quite dismissing the idea, "It's not exactly an enchantment, but there's no denying that the machinery is behaving unusually. We would indeed be grateful if the church could send priests to perform a calming ritual over the steam boiler and differential engine."

"I'll see to it that the church provides assistance without delay," Polekhine assured him with a firm nod, her decision immediate and decisive.

However, just as she finished speaking, a chilling, barely discernible whisper seemed to merge with the relentless knocking, echoing up from the dark, cold depths of the ship as if it were seeping directly from the icy seawater outside the hull into the very core of her being.

"You... will become like them... just like us..." Though barely more than a murmur, the words sent a shiver down her spine, echoing the haunting thoughts she had just tried to dismiss.