boyutpedia Chapter 13 The Storm Arrives
Chapter 13 The Storm Arrives
The moment darkness descends, time seems to stretch out, distort, and then suddenly accelerate.
One second, Karen was kneeling on the cargo hold floor, her hands bracing against the rough planks, trying to steady herself amidst the violent tilting. Xiguang was curled up at his feet, her golden fur bristling, her amber eyes reflecting the glow of the oil lamp flickering wildly in the cargo hold. The next second, all the light—the light from the oil lamp, the daylight seeping in from the vents, even the faint reflections from the cargo surfaces—was completely drained away.
It wasn't extinguished, nor was it blocked; rather, it was "swallowed" by some entity.
The darkness, thick as liquid ink, poured into the cargo hold from all directions, filling every corner. Karen felt a physiological suffocation, as if the surrounding air had been replaced by a cold, heavy, sensory-depriving nothingness. He blinked, but his vision remained unchanged—absolute, lightless blackness.
Then the sound disappeared.
It wasn't silence, but rather a complete "stripping" of sound. The groans of the ship's structure, the noise of cargo sliding and rubbing, the shouts from the distant deck, even his own breathing and heartbeat—all these sounds seemed to be absorbed by a giant sponge, vanishing without a trace. Karen opened his mouth to call out to Xiguang, but he couldn't hear his own voice; only a dull, oppressive pain shot through his eardrums.
Absolute darkness. Absolute silence.
In this environment that deprived him of all his senses, the only clear thing was the burning pain from the silver spirit runes on his wrist, and the fear that surged through the golden connecting lines, a fear that threatened to overwhelm the light.
The cub's thoughts pierced his consciousness like sharp needles: darkness... the darkness that devoured everything... Mother said... he couldn't see... he couldn't hear...
Immediately afterwards, the "Spirit Vein Vision" passive ability of the spirit rune was triggered.
It wasn't activated by Karen on her own initiative, but rather it was the self-protection mechanism of the spirit runes in extreme environments. His vision hadn't returned, but another "image" appeared in his mind: not what he saw with his eyes, but the psionic structure of the surrounding environment perceived by the spirit runes.
The cargo hold was outlined by a translucent gray mesh, like an architectural sketch drawn with luminous threads. The cargo was orbs of light of various colors—mostly dull gray-white, representing inert matter; several cargoes wrapped in runecloth or silver powder arrays emitted a faint blue light, indicating the operation of protective psionic energy; the barrel of whale oil was a restless orange-red, its internal psionic structure churning like boiling water, but firmly bound by deep blue runecloth.
Outside the cargo hold...
Karen's "gaze" penetrated the wooden planks and hull, looking out at the world.
He "saw" the storm.
It wasn't a natural storm, but a catastrophe composed of psionic, pure energy. The Narwhal was enveloped at the center of a massive, slowly rotating vortex. At the vortex's edge flowed deep purple energy, like countless thick, living tentacles, churning and lashing through the void. Inside the vortex was pure darkness—not the absence of light, but a being that "absorbed" psionic energy and light, devouring everything around it like a black hole.
The purple lightning wasn't electricity, but rather the release of energy generated by the intense friction of psionic turbulence. It spread through the darkness like a spiderweb, each flash tearing a brief, pale sliver of light that illuminated something even more indescribable: distorted spatial folds, floating psionic remnants, and the shadow of something...living?
The most terrifying thing is not the sights, but the "feelings".
Through her spiritual senses, Karen directly perceived the storm's "emotions." These weren't the emotions of intelligent beings, but something more primal and chaotic: hunger. An endless hunger, a hunger that wanted to devour all ordered spiritual energy. And pain. The pain of being torn apart, corrupted, and forever unable to find peace. And madness. The madness of losing form, losing boundaries, losing self.
These emotions seeped into the ship like a plague, polluting every inch of space. Karen felt her consciousness beginning to blur, and strange, dark thoughts surged up like silt from the bottom of the water: Give up, just sink into the darkness, why struggle, it's all in vain…
"No!"
He gritted his teeth, his nails digging into his palms, using the pain to anchor his consciousness. The fear of the dawn came through the connection, but it also brought something else—the cub's instinctive longing for light. That small, golden, warm thought, like the only unextinguished lamp in the storm, helped Karen resist the encroachment of darkness.
Then, the sound returned.
It wasn't a gradual recovery, but rather like a dam being suddenly opened, all the sounds rushing back like a flood.
First came the wind—if it could even be called "wind." It was a howling generated by the high-speed movement of psionic turbulence, like billions of souls screaming simultaneously, its pitch so high it almost tore eardrums, yet so low it made your insides resonate. Then came the ship's groans: the groans of planks bending to their limits, the grating of metal reinforcements twisting, the snapping of ropes breaking.
Finally, there were human voices: screams, curses, prayers, and Captain Heinrich's commands, torn apart by the storm, transmitted through a megaphone:
"...Stabilize the helm!...30 degrees to port!...Avoid the main vortex!...
The cargo hold tilted violently, at an angle so steep that Karen had to hold on tightly to the racks fixed to the wall to avoid slipping out. Unsecured cargo began to roll, collide, and crumble from the pile. A wooden crate crashed down where he had just been, shattering and scattering shards of pottery.
"Dawn!" Karen screamed, her voice barely audible amidst the howling storm.
A tiny golden figure flashed in the darkness—Dawn had hooked its claws onto the edge of the hammock, its body dangling in mid-air, swaying like a pendulum as the ship rocked. Karen released the rack and scrambled across the tilting deck, catching Dawn just as it slipped from its grasp.
The cub trembled in his arms, but the resolve it conveyed was stronger than before: Karen...is...not afraid...
"We have to get up there," Karen said to Xiguang, and to herself. "The cargo hold is too dangerous; the cargo could bury us."
He carried Xiguang and scrambled up the stairs, using both hands and feet. Each step felt like climbing a vertical cliff; the ship tilted, rocked, and spun constantly, and he had to use all his strength to avoid being thrown off. His palms were pierced by splinters, and his knees slammed against the edges of the cargo containers, but he paid no heed to the pain.
Climbing the stairs and pushing open the cabin door, the gale-force wind crashed into us like an invisible wall.
Karen was nearly blown back. He clung tightly to the doorframe, squinting as he saw the deck in the psionic storm for the first time.
A hellish scene.
The sky was a churning purplish-black, like a piece of velvet soaked in filthy blood. Purple lightning snaked through it, each strike illuminating the frenzied scene below: the sea of clouds was no longer a smooth, silvery ocean, but had been churned into a boiling, ink-like vortex. Huge surges—not water, but concentrated psionic mist—rose like mountains, crashing heavily onto the ship's hull, each impact sending the entire vessel creaking as if on the verge of disintegration.
The deck was in complete chaos.
The sails had long been furled, but the storm's force was directly impacting the ship. Unsecured tool barrels rolled around, knocking a sailor to the ground, who tumbled, clutching his leg. Ropes lashed the air like wildly beating snakes, whistling sharply. Rain? No, not rain, but a black, viscous liquid that poured down from the sky, leaving a burning sting on the skin.
But the most terrifying thing was the inhuman scream coming from the bow of the ship.
Karen looked in the direction of the sound.
The navigation room door was open, and inside was originally the Narwal's contracted spirit creature—a "Star Orbit Jellyfish." It was an extremely rare navigational spirit creature, its body resembling a translucent blue umbrella, about one meter in diameter, with dozens of faintly glowing tentacles hanging below. It could sense the psychic pulses of stars and distant psychic currents, which was key to the Narwal's precise navigation through the boundless sea of clouds.
Right now, that jellyfish is... going berserk.
Its body swelled to twice its original size, and the interior of its translucent canopy was no longer a pure blue, but stained with purplish-black patches that spread rapidly like ink dripping into water. Its luminous tentacles now danced wildly, no longer swaying gently, but lashing out at everything around them like whips. Each tentacle tip glowed with a blinding, unstable white light—a sign of psionic overload.
"Back off! Don't come any closer!" An old sailor tried to control the jellyfish with a long, hooked pole, but the tentacles suddenly lashed out, knocking the pole away. The old sailor was slashed across the chest with a deep, bone-revealing gash, and he fell to the ground screaming in agony.
Another tentacle gripped the door frame of the wheelhouse and yanked hard—the heavy oak door was torn apart like paper, scattering fragments everywhere. A scream came from inside.
"Its mind has been corrupted!" Grom's voice was almost drowned out by the storm as the dwarf rushed up from the lower deck, clutching a strange tool—like a wrench, but with a glowing crystal embedded at the end. "The madness in the storm has invaded the contractual bond! It's in agony! It's lost!"
Captain Heinrich stood beside the mainmast, one hand gripping the rope for balance, the other holding his longsword. The sword was drawn, but not pointing at the jellyfish, but at the sky. A steady, silvery-white light flowed across the blade, like a thin shield, barely protecting against the black liquid being poured down from the sky.
"Elwin!" the captain roared, "Is there any way to appease him?"
The old navigator knelt on the deck outside the navigation room, his hands gripping the brass weather instrument tightly. The milky white fluid inside the sphere had completely turned purplish-black, spinning wildly, almost about to explode. Elvin's grayish-white eyes stared blankly in the direction of the jellyfish, every wrinkle on his face etched with pain.
"The contract... has been corrupted..." the old man said hoarsely. "It's crying for help... but the sound is distorted... I can't hear it..."
One of the jellyfish tentacles suddenly changed direction and lashed out at Alvin.
"Watch out!" Leah lunged from the side, grabbing the old man and rolling away. Her whiskers lashed out at the deck, leaving a charred, smoky trail.
Leah scrambled to her feet, her green eyes reflecting purple lightning and frenzied jellyfish. "I'll give it a try!" she cried to the captain. "The Wind Whisperers have learned spirit language! Perhaps I can—"
She closed her eyes, her hands forming a complex gesture in front of her chest. The turbulent air around her seemed to be guided, beginning to swirl around her and forming a relatively calm circle of wind. Her lips moved, emitting a strange sound, like wind blowing through a hollow—it was the language of the wind spirits, an ancient language that could establish basic communication with spirits.
The jellyfish paused for a moment.
Is there a chance? Karen's heart leaped into her throat.
But the next second, the purplish-black patches inside the jellyfish's bell suddenly spread, almost covering its entire body. It let out an even sharper, more frantic shriek, and all its tentacles rose simultaneously, then lashed out at Leah like a torrential downpour!
"Leah! Get out of the way!" Grom yelled, rushing over to pull her away, but she was too far away.
Leah opened her eyes, her face instantly turning pale as she saw dozens of glowing tentacles hurtling towards her. Her whispered incantations were interrupted, and the surrounding vortexes dissipated. She had no time to dodge—
Just then, Xiguang in Karen's arms stirred.
The cub let out a low, incongruous roar, not from its throat, but from psychic energy—a burst of pure golden light erupted from its body, like a small sun exploding on the dark deck. The light wasn't intense, but it possessed a "purifying" quality, instantly dispelling the purplish-black pollution within a few meters.
The tentacle that was frantically lashing out at Leah paused for a moment the instant it touched the golden light.
In that instant, Grom rushed over and dragged Lydia behind the cargo container. His whiskers twitched, leaving another scorch mark on the deck.
But Xi Guang paid a price for his actions.
The golden light on the cub quickly dimmed, and it let out a painful whimper, its body collapsing into Karen's arms. That burst of energy had consumed the little spiritual power it had painstakingly accumulated, and it had also attracted... unwanted attention.
The jellyfish's "gaze"—if that chaotic purplish-black patch could be called a gaze—turned toward the dawn.
It sensed the light. Pure, unpolluted light.
In the darkness brought by the storm, which swallowed all light, the faint golden light of dawn was like fresh meat in the eyes of a hungry wolf, or driftwood in the eyes of a drowning person.
The jellyfish emitted a desperate, twisted shriek as its entire body began to move toward Karen and Dawn. It drifted out of the navigation room, its tentacles dragging across the deck, leaving trails of charred flesh. Its goal was clear: to devour the light, to use its pure psychic energy to neutralize its own pain, or… to descend into madness together.
"Karen! Take Dawn back to the cargo hold!" Captain Heinrich roared, the silver-white shield on his longsword expanding in an attempt to stop the jellyfish.
But the jellyfish's tentacles easily tore through its protective shield. Its power now exceeded that of ordinary contracted spirits; the storm's pollution had granted it temporary but ferocious energy.
Karen carried Xiguang backward, but the deck tilted violently, and he slipped and fell to the ground. Xiguang rolled out of his arms and landed a few steps away, struggling to stand up, but was too weak to do anything but lie there panting.
The jellyfish are getting closer.
Its canopy unfurled above Karen, its purplish-black patches writhing like living creatures. Dozens of tentacles rose, their tips glowing from white to an ominous dark red, aimed at Karen and Xiguang below.
Karen looked at the tentacles, at the jellyfish's chaotic and painful core, and suddenly, through the spiritual runes on his wrist, he "heard" something.
It wasn't a sound, but a scream from the jellyfish's soul that directly affected consciousness.
The scream contained too many things: the burning pain of the corrupted contract loop, the disorientation of the distorted navigational instinct, the erosion of the storm's frenzied will, and a trace of the original, gentle spirit's cry for help—
It hurts... Where are the stars... I'm going the wrong way... It's all darkness... Help me... Kill me... Light... Give me light...
These thoughts are fragmented, chaotic, and overlapping, like a pot of boiling poison.
But amidst all the madness, Karen gleaned something clear, something untainted: a coordinate. Not a spatial coordinate, but a "psychic coordinate," like a mark on a nautical chart, pointing in a safe direction. It was the jellyfish's core instinct as a navigational spirit; even in its madness, it was still trying to fulfill its duty—to find a way and lead the ship away.
It simply couldn't find it. The storm had corrupted its senses, and darkness had swallowed all points of reference.
It got lost.
The whiskers fell.
Karen didn't flinch. He knelt on the deck, one hand on the ground, the other outstretched towards the light. The cub used its last strength to crawl over and place its front paws in his palm.
The connection between gold and silver reached unprecedented clarity at this moment.
Karen closed his eyes, no longer looking at the falling tentacles, no longer listening to the howling storm. He focused all his consciousness on the spirit runes on his wrist, on the golden line connecting him to the dawn, and then—
He "opened himself up".
It's not defense, not attack, but rather like opening a door, letting the jellyfish's broken, painful thoughts flood in.
excruciating pain.
A pain deeper than any physical injury. It was the agony of a soul being ravaged by corrupted thoughts. Karen felt her consciousness like a small boat in a storm, on the verge of being torn apart. A purplish-black madness tried to infect him, a dark hunger wanted to devour him.
But he held fast to one thing: the warm, golden thought conveyed by the dawn. It was the anchor, the lighthouse, the only light that would never be extinguished in the dark ocean.
Through this beam of light, he transmitted his thoughts in reverse.
It's not language, not images, but a more fundamental resonance between lives:
I see you.
I hear your pain.
You are not alone.
I'm here.
The whiskers stopped less than half a meter from the top of his head.
The jellyfish's shrieks suddenly changed—from madness and thirst to confusion and struggle. The purplish-black patches on the surface of its bell rippled violently, like two consciousnesses vying for control: one wanting to devour the light, the other… wanting to get closer to the light.
Karen opened his eyes, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth—the backlash from overusing his spirit rune connection. He looked at the jellyfish suspended above him, at its trembling tentacles, and with his last ounce of strength, he conveyed one last clear image:
A safe direction.
That coordinate. That psionic coordinate, still remembered deep within the jellyfish's soul, pointing to a safe zone beyond the storm.
He "painted" it. Using the light energy of the dawn as paint and his own spiritual runes as brushes, he drew a clear, luminous path on the canvas of his consciousness.
The jellyfish's entire body trembled violently.
The purplish-black patches began to fade—no, not disappear, but were compressed and driven to the edge of the canopy. A pure blue reappeared in the center, faint but undeniably present.
One of its tentacles slowly drooped down, not to attack, but like the hand of a blind man, cautiously touching Karen's outstretched hand—the hand that was clasped with Xiguang's forepaw.
It feels cool and soft to the touch, with a subtle, electric-like tingling sensation.
Through contact, the final madness receded like a tide. The jellyfish conveyed a clear, still painful but no longer chaotic, thought:
Thank you... It hurts... but... I remember the way...
Then, all its tentacles drooped down simultaneously, its body shrank back to its normal size, and the blue of its canopy regained dominance, though some stubborn purplish-black stains remained at the edges. It floated in front of Karen, rising and falling slightly, like the panting of someone utterly exhausted.
The storm was still howling, and the ship was still rocking violently, but the navigation jellyfish... calmed down.
There was a deathly silence on the deck for a few seconds.
Everyone watched this scene: Karen kneeling on the ground, Xiguang lying beside him, and the jellyfish floating in front of them with its tentacles drooping.
Captain Heinrich was the first to react. "Elvin! Re-establish the contract guidance! Grom, reinforce the navigation room! The rest of you, continue stabilizing the ship! We're not out of the storm yet!"
The order jolted everyone back to their senses. The sailors returned to their work, but their eyes kept glancing at Karen, their expressions a mixture of shock, awe, and confusion.
Leah came over and helped Karen up. Her green eyes were filled with disbelief. "You... you just talked to it?"
Karen nodded weakly, as if to say something, but a mouthful of blood welled up inside him. He coughed a few times, and dark red blood splattered onto the deck.
"Stop talking." Leah lifted him up. "Grom! Come help!"
The dwarf rushed over, checked Karen's condition, and his expression turned grave. "Psionic backlash, mental exhaustion, and some internal bleeding. She needs to be taken away to rest." He looked at Xiguang, "This little thing needs to go down too; it was too much for it just now."
They lifted Karen, held Xiguang in their arms, and prepared to descend into the cargo hold.
Just then, a heart-wrenching scream came from the lookout tower—not about the storm, but because something else had been spotted:
"Starboard! Something's coming up! From the sea of clouds! So many—so many tentacles!"