Gun of Ashes

Chapter 990 - 40: The Dead

In that soul-seizing vision, bands of gorgeous color streamed between the leaden clouds, twining and spiraling together, spilling down beneath the horizon of the sea to forge a path of light leading to the World’s End.

Bola stared, enthralled, at all of it, until the violent lurching of the deck underfoot dragged him out of his intoxication.

The once-calm Horned Whale began to shudder violently, the roar of the engines shattering the long silence as scalding steam poured forth in surging torrents. Bola staggered a few steps and finally caught hold of the rail to steady himself.

The joy in his chest was still spreading, and yet his sharpened mind still caught a trace of wrongness.

The scene before his eyes warped ever so slightly. Bola thought he must be hallucinating. He ran his hand along the freezing rail—at least, by rights it should have been "freezing"—but now his skin felt nothing at all. If he had not used his eyes to confirm that he was indeed gripping the rail, he would not have been able to say for certain that it even existed.

His elation vanished in an instant. Bola clenched his teeth. He knew very clearly that the corrosion was affecting him now, that his senses were being slowly twisted.

Hallucinations had begun to bloom in his vision; his sense of touch was being stripped away. Bola did not yet know how much his other senses had been compromised, and he had no time to investigate. As soon as he had calmed himself a little, he rushed back into the cabin and returned to his room.

Everyone had their own duty: a Soldier went to war, a general to command, and the recorder had to ensure that everything that happened here would be written down and carried out into the world.

Bola had no idea what would happen next. He stuffed all the documents he had整理ed into a waterproof pouch. Fortunately, he had been simplifying them these past few days, so he did not have much to bring. He pressed the pouch tight against his chest and stowed it there, picked up his firearm, and stepped out of the cabin again.

By now the Horned Whale, for reasons unknown, had surged into full speed. It was as if it had come alive, giving voice to a furious growl as it split the ice and waves ahead, driving forward unstoppably.

The ship smashed into the ice. With its engines at full power, the floes were ground open bit by bit. This also made the Horned Whale shudder continuously. Bola could barely stay upright on the deck; he could only seize whatever protrusion was nearby to keep from sliding off.

It was like a carnival. In the long night of despair, they had finally found a sea lane, and so fell into a frenzy beyond all restraint. Bola could hear those roaring voices, the crew shouting their joy.

This was the great might of industry; nature’s power could no longer halt their advance... and yet Bola felt that something was wrong. Something was off, but he could not put it into words. Perhaps it was the influence of the corrosion—his thoughts were thick, befogged.

Something in the depths of his heart was calling to him, warning him, but Bola could not make out the words. Even when he strained with all his might, he could not hear that voice clearly!

Bola froze. He heard it.

It was a sound of infinite faintness, swallowed beneath the roars, the engine’s thunder, the crunch and crack of ice giving way. It was like a seedling growing in the dark of the soil, slowly descending into this world, prying aside gravel bit by bit until it lay bare in the sun.

The newborn thing let out a baby’s wail.

In an instant, a shriek like needles filled Bola’s hearing. He did not know if anyone else could hear it, but to him it was all too real. The sound raked at his eardrums and sliced along his nerves.

No... this was no mere sharp crying.

Bola’s whole body collapsed to the deck under the agony in his ears. As the Horned Whale jolted its way through the ice, he slid toward the rail at the edge, half his body pitching out over the side.

Fortunately, Bola managed at the last moment to clamp both hands around the rail; only thus did he avoid plunging into the sea. The others were not so lucid. Though his eyes could see nothing, Bola could hear splash after splash as one person after another went overboard.

He tried to find those who had fallen into the water. With the aid of the aurora that night, the dark surface of the sea had become unnaturally clear, like a mirror casting back the star-strewn colors of the vault above.

Bola saw it.

On either side of the Horned Whale, the ice had been shoved aside. Between the shattered floes, black seawater threaded and pooled, yet now the entire surface had begun to boil. The water, churning with broken ice, threw up waves that smashed again and again against the hull.

In the auroral glow, Bola saw the monstrosities hidden in the dark.

They were countless pallid hands, bloated from long immersion, rising in their multitudes. As the Horned Whale split apart the ice and sea, those that had dwelled in the black depths of the seabed were given a chance to see daylight again. They surged up with the spray to batter the hull, their long, tough fingernails scratching with all their might at the surface of the Iron Armor, leaving score after score of shallow and deep gouges.

This was the piercing cry Bola had heard: tens of thousands of nails scraping all at once, striking a shrillness that could drive a man to terror.

"In that twilight hour, the great ship Nagilfah shall tear open the sea, a vessel made from the Dead’s fingernails, laden with the enemies of God..."

A devout whisper sounded at Bola’s side, hauling him back from the madness below. Bola turned his head. Leaning against the rail was a Viking, staring straight at him with eyes that filled him with dread.

"The prophecy has been confirmed..."

The Viking muttered to himself.

The steel ship beneath their feet was being borne up by the Dead’s fingernails. They sailed across the Realm of the Dead, following the path of light toward that mysterious end.

"What is going on!"

Bola roared at the Viking.

What in all this was happening? Whence came the light path overhead? What was this boiling sea below their eyes, and what were these grotesque dead things clawing at them?