Ashes Of Deep Sea
Chapter 659 - Chapter 659 Chapter 656 Yearning for Cotton

Chapter 659: Chapter 656: Yearning for Cotton Chapter 659: Chapter 656: Yearning for Cotton The ship was very quiet, save for the occasional gentle sound of breaking waves heard through the open windows; the only other noise inside the cabin was the faint hum of machinery and pipes from afar–most people seemed to have left the area, and those who remained were likely cautious and silent in their rooms.

This quietude even gave a false sense of “safety,” if not for the faint smell of blood that wafted in occasionally, a reckless and ignorant Visitor would hardly imagine this place as a den occupied by Heretics.

But Lucresia knew that her “visit” had probably been detected by the owner of the ship.

She felt a hostility targeting her spreading throughout the ship, a powerful perception “scanning” every corridor and cabin repeatedly.

She raised the small “command stick” in her hand, tracing several faintly glowing symbols in the air, momentarily blocking the flow of her aura.

Rabi, the rabbit, stood cautiously by her side; the shockingly styled doll was now nervously looking around, observing for a while before hesitatingly whispering, “Did the old master not come with you?”

Lucresia glanced down, “Do you want to see him now?”

The rabbit shuddered, “No, no, no, Rabi is just a bit curious, Rabi doesn’t want…”

“The father will come later, but I need to ‘clean up’ this filthy place for him first,” Lucresia found Rabi’s reaction amusing but did not continue teasing, “He needs some living Annihilation Believers to conduct a certain… communication ritual, but if he came directly, I fear there wouldn’t be any survivors left.”

The doll rabbit seemed to half understand, and after a while suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, oh, Rabi remembered, the demons of ordinary Annihilation Believers would be scared to death by the old master, right?”

“…You do remember some useful things.”

“Rabi is smart!” boasted the doll rabbit proudly, then immediately switched its tone, suggesting in a mysteriously eager tone, “If that’s the case, Rabi has a suggestion…”

“A suggestion?”

“Perhaps we just need to keep that ‘saint’… Rabi has observed that the ‘saint’ has already consumed his Symbiotic Demon, he won’t die upon meeting the old master…”

Lucresia raised her eyebrows.

…

Something came aboard–shadows were spreading throughout the ship, an unsettling presence briefly appeared and then disappeared from perception, some areas deep within the cabins were gradually losing contact, and the condition of some of the devotees moving about… was becoming odd.

In the brightly lit, spacious meeting hall, Annihilation Believers were gathering, more and more people responding to the summon of the saint, these uneasy dark Believers coming from all over, whispering in hushed tones under a repressive atmosphere, cautiously discussing the current situation.

Another dozen or so Believers were isolated and escorted in front of the high platform where the saint was, each bound with ropes soaked in Magic Potion and wearing special collars to suppress their Symbiotic Demons.

Nearby, several fully Armed Priests stood, clearly guarding these dozen isolated devotees.

Unavoidable gazes from the vicinity fell upon these bound “brethren,” and the surrounding whispering began to speculate on what wrongdoings these individuals had committed to warrant being displayed before the saint like this.

Some recognized that these bound ones had previously participated in The Dream of the Nameless operation and, coupling this with the rumor about The Dream of the Nameless and the Scions of the Sun that had just spread on the ship, the low discussions became even more anxious.

Richard could only feel the whispering around him as a noisy disturbance.

The buzzing sounds were like countless files poking in his head, gradually turning into sharp noises and meaningless roars. He could no longer distinguish the words within those sounds or their meanings; the increasingly cold sensation in his veins made him more irritable, and more unnervingly… since a while ago, he could no longer hear that tiny yet comforting voice in his mind.

Where had Rabi gone?

He sluggishly raised his head, looking towards Dumon, who was also raised his head and turned his gaze this way.

Dumon’s gaze carried hesitation and confusion; he opened his mouth towards Richard but said nothing, as if something was stuck in his throat, and between his teeth, one could vaguely see some white, fluffy substance.

“You brought something aboard…”

The voice of the saint finally rose from the high platform, that chilling authority directly targeting Richard, Dumon, and the others.

“Where have you hidden it?”

Among the dozen or so heretics who were tied up, a few of their figures swayed several times, seemingly still instinctively fearful in the face of the saint’s overpowering presence, but the rest remained motionless in their spots, as if they had lost all perception of danger and supremacy–their skins seemed devoid of the nerves and flesh that could react to fear.

The saint’s interwoven black skeleton made cracking sounds, each clack echoing with a force that seemed to strike at the soul–in this succession of crackling, Richard’s wavering sanity seemed to recover slightly; he finally remembered who he was, then immediately wondered–why was he bound?

He hesitatingly lifted his head and looked in the direction of the high platform.

A commanding voice came from the high platform, “What did you see in the Dream of the Nameless? What did you touch? And what did you do after returning?”

Richard’s mind struggled to operate, and in his stupor, the last spark of thought finally burst forth–

“It was the sea witch, that witch and her servant!”

He thought he had shouted so.

But in reality, he merely flung his mouth open, and after several strained, hoarse sounds, he spat out a large clump of cotton in front of everyone.

More cotton was still stuck in his throat, rendering him incapable of uttering any words.

As the last spark faded, Richard lowered his head, dumbfoundedly staring at the clump of white fluff on the floor–cotton, precious cotton!

“My cotton… my cotton… my cotton!”

A string of meaningless mutterings came from his throat stuffed with cotton. Richard hurriedly leaned down, trying to retrieve that precious cotton–his balance was lost due to the ropes binding him, and he almost fell straight down, then twisted and writhed on the floor in a frantic manner, desperately biting at the damp cotton fluff.

Thump, thump.

Other figures also fell down in succession!

Dumon, Weisen, Sulock… those who had once ventured into the Dream of the Nameless with Richard all collapsed to the ground, unable to resist the deadly allure of the cotton. They roared, murmured, and struggled, fiercely fighting for the cotton that Richard had just spat out.

Don’t steal my cotton! Don’t steal my cotton!

Richard sent out a desperate scream in his mind, furiously using his head to push away Dumon, who was squeezing over, only to be bitten on the ear by Weisen–they began to tear at each other to snatch cotton; all semblance of reasoning and emotion had faded, leaving only the primal urge to fight over cotton!

The hall erupted in turmoil, even the cold-hearted dark worshippers were unsettled by this eerie and horrifying scene. They watched as their former “fellows,” bound by ropes, struggling and writhing on the floor, biting each other, emitting confused and garbled roars, while cotton continuously flowed out of their torn wounds–like some life-bearing, fiber-constructed parasitic entity!

“Execute them!” A loud shout came from the high platform.

“Bang, bang, bang–”

Upon the saint’s order, someone finally reacted. Successive gunshots boomed in the hall, the armed priests tasked with guarding began shooting at Richard and others with large-caliber revolvers. Followed by calls to summon the power of the Symbiotic Demon, hurling magic bullets, lightning, and acid fog at those who were clearly no longer human.

The bodies of Richard and Dumon were easily torn apart by these attacks, their frail skin split like aged cloth, emitting ripping sounds, while flurries of cotton burst forth from their bodies without a trace of blood or flesh.

The dozen heretics “infested with cotton” lost their lives in the blink of an eye.

But barely a few seconds of silence passed when the cotton flowing from their bodies suddenly began to move again–cotton cannibalizing each other, tearing apart, as if the fixation of fighting over cotton while alive still surged within these fluffs. Accompanied by the devouring of each other, various fluffy particles floated up from the piles of cotton.

Those were spores akin to dust.

The spores fluttered like a thin fog, beginning to spread throughout the hall.

Even the dullest of individuals felt danger and terror upon seeing those spreading spores.

But the drifting spores had only floated a short distance before seemingly encountering an invisible barrier, forcefully suppressed back into the piles of cotton by a powerful force.

On the high platform, the “saint” opened his black skeleton cage-like crown, tendrils extending from the giant brain, swaying in the air.

The scattered spores were completely captured, followed by a blaze igniting out of nowhere, instantly incinerating the still frantically moving, surging pile of cotton.