Eldritch Guidance-Intermission XXIV

Shin and Han sat slumped within the confines of rusted iron cages, their surroundings creaking ominously with the sway of the decrepit ship. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of salt and rot, and the faint groans of wood against waves underscored their predicament. They had fought valiantly, fending off the undead hordes of the Deadman Fleet to protect the seer. But in their struggle, they had been overwhelmed, captured, and stripped of their magic. The cold bite of Jinsil cuffs on their wrists ensured that their aetheric abilities remained suppressed, leaving them powerless.

Around them, a few other sailors were crammed into nearby cages, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. Some bore fresh bruises, others sat in stunned silence, their eyes hollow.

As Shin peered beyond the confines of his rusted iron cage, his gaze locked onto a lone undead sentinel stationed near the entrance to the upper levels of the ship. The creature was unnervingly still, its glowing blue eyes radiating an icy, unfeeling light that pierced through the dimness of the ship’s hold. It gripped a tarnished saber in its skeletal hand, the blade reflecting faint flickers of light from the swinging lanterns above.

The undead’s posture was unnervingly deliberate, its stance rigid but purposeful. Unlike the mindless, shambling corpses that attacked anything living without thought, this one stood with the discipline of a trained guard.

Shin’s brow furrowed as he studied the creature.

Shin: “A programmed undead,” he muttered to himself, his voice low but tinged with curiosity.

These were a far cry from the normal undead hordes that sought only to consume the living. Programmed undead, like this one, were crafted with a specific intent, imbued with just enough aetheric manipulation to perform tasks.

“They’re like golems,” Shin thought, his analytical mind piecing together the clues. These abominations could follow orders, wield weapons, and stand watch with unyielding patience, but they lacked true intelligence or independent will. Their actions were driven by the commands of their master, nothing more.

The implications were troubling. The presence of a programmed undead suggested a level of sophistication and control behind their capture. It took a skilled necromancer a lot of resources to create undead like this one.

Shin’s attention drifted from the undead guard to the ship’s hull, a sight far more troubling than the sentinel. The wooden planks of the hull were in an appalling state, riddled with gaping holes large enough to see the open ocean through them. Sea spray occasionally splashed through the breaches, creating puddles on the floor of the hold. By all logic, the ship should have been sinking rapidly, its lower levels completely flooded. Yet, to his growing unease, the water never rose, and the vessel sailed on as though nothing was amiss.

His brows knitted together in confusion as he studied the peculiar phenomenon. The ship’s movement was steady, its creaking timbers groaning in rhythm with the waves, but no effort had been made to patch the hull or address the leaks. The ocean itself seemed almost... reluctant to claim the hold, as though some unseen force was keeping the ship afloat and its interior dry enough to remain functional.

Suddenly, the hatch above creaked open, flooding the dim hold with a shaft of pale, eerie light. A figure descended the ladder with deliberate slowness, each step echoing ominously against the wooden rungs. As the figure reached the floor, Shin’s eyes locked on the newcomer—a strange, unsettling woman who exuded an aura of menace.

Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost as if it had never seen sunlight, a stark contrast to the cascading waves of her jet-black hair. She wore scanty, form-fitting leather attire, designed less for practicality and more to reveal as much of her skin as possible. At first, Shin thought this might be vanity, but then he noticed why: her body was a living canvas, covered entirely in intricately inked tattoos of bones, each one placed precisely where the corresponding bone would be in her body. The skeletal markings were disturbingly lifelike, the inkwork so detailed it almost seemed to rise from her flesh.

Her face bore the same macabre artistry. Tattoos of a skull adorned her cheeks, jawline, and brow, framing her piercing blue eyes, which almost seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of the hold. Those eyes were unnerving, ice-cold and unrelenting, as if they could strip away a person’s defenses and peer directly into their soul. Combined with the skeletal patterns on her face, the effect was chilling—she resembled a living specter, caught somewhere between the living and the dead.

The air in the hold seemed to grow heavier with her presence, a suffocating pressure pressing down on Shin and the other prisoners. The woman carried herself with a calm but deliberate confidence, her every movement calculated and commanding, like a predator assessing her prey.

Shin swallowed hard, his instincts screaming that this woman was far more dangerous than the mindless undead or the ship itself. Whoever she was, she didn’t simply belong on this ship—she was integral to it, a master or perhaps a warden of its dark mysteries.

Sailor: “Ah, fuck us,” one of the other captives groaned, his voice trembling with dread. “It’s Admiral Lulu... of the Deadman Fleet. We’re all fucking dead.”

His words sent a ripple of unease through the hold, even among the more stoic prisoners.

The pale woman—Lulu, apparently—turned her head slowly toward the sailor who had spoken. Her blue eyes locked onto him with a piercing intensity, freezing him mid-breath. The corner of her mouth curled upward in what might have been amusement—or malice. The air in the hold felt even heavier, suffused with her quiet menace.

After a tense moment, Lulu’s gaze shifted away from the terrified sailor and settled on Shin and Han. Her steps were deliberate and unhurried as she approached the two bound warriors, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the ship’s creaking wooden planks. The faint hum of the ship's unnatural movement only amplified the suspense.

When she reached them, her smile widened—a slow, sinister expression that revealed teeth that seemed just a little too sharp, too perfect. It wasn’t the grin of someone pleased to see them but rather the kind of smile a predator wore before sinking its teeth into its prey.

Lulu: “Well, well,” Lulu drawled, her voice dripping with mockery as her gaze swept over Shin and Han. “If it isn’t the shadow warriors of the Thousand Eye Order. What a rare and delightful little prize we’ve stumbled upon.” She tilted her head, her piercing blue eyes glinting with a cruel curiosity. “You’re far from home, aren’t you?”

She paced slowly in front of them, her boots clicking against the damp wooden planks, the skeletal tattoos on her exposed skin shifting and twisting with each deliberate step. Her tone was equal parts amusement and disdain as she continued.

Lulu: “You lot put up quite a fight back there. Impressive, really. Cutting down so many of my programmable undead... such a waste of resources.”

Lulu stopped and crossed her arms, giving them an exaggerated sigh of mock frustration.

Lulu: “Do you have any idea how much time and effort it takes to craft those? They’re not your garden-variety shamblers, you know. Programmable undead require precision—imbuing them with just enough functionality to wield weapons, follow commands, and, oh yes, guard ships like this one.”

She gestured around dramatically, as if showing off the eerie, decrepit hold.

Lulu:“And don’t even get me started on the logistics,” she added, her tone sharpening into a sarcastic bite. “You think I can just summon replacements at sea? Normal undead are useless out here. They can’t swim, they can’t crew a ship—they just bumble around like mindless corpses, waiting to bloat and sink.”

She leaned in closer to Shin’s cage, her lips curling into a venomous smirk.

Lulu: “So tell me, shadow warriors, why are you here? Was it heroics? Loyalty? Or perhaps sheer stupidity?” Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

Shin and Han just stared at the crazed woman and refused to answer her.

Lulu: “Oh, the strong, silent types,” she purred, her voice laced with mock admiration. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The Thousand Eye Order trains its dogs well, doesn’t it? So disciplined, so stoic. Refusing to tell the big, bad Rattle Bone cultist why so many of you Thousand Eye Order types have been crawling towards the western continent like moths to a flame?”

She stopped abruptly and spun on her heel to face them, a sinister smirk curling her lips.

Lulu: “Do you think I don’t know what’s going on? You lot don’t make moves without a reason. Every step, every whisper, every shadow you cast—something big is about to happen, isn’t it?” Her piercing blue eyes gleamed with dark amusement as she leaned in closer, her tone becoming almost sing-song. “And yet, here you are, sitting in my hold, pretending to be mute.”

Lulu's laughter erupted, loud and maniacal, echoing off the cold, damp walls of the ship's hold. Her entire body shook with the intensity of it, the gleam in her blue eyes flashing with an unnerving excitement.

Lulu: “Oh, maybe I was wrong,” she taunted, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye as the laughter subsided. “Maybe you’re not afraid of me. Maybe you’re just terrified out of your minds!” she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a dangerously soft whisper. “Terrified of what I could do next.”

With a sudden, sharp motion, Lulu pulled a weapon from a sheath at her side—a sleek, older model firearm, its barrel powered by an aether crystal. The weapon hummed softly as its core activated, its magic-infused aura crackling faintly in the otherwise still air. She casually pointed the muzzle of the gun directly to her own forehead, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The ship’s creaking seemed to slow as everyone in the hold watched her, breath held, unsure of what would come next.

Lulu: “Let’s play a game,” Lulu continued with an eerie calmness, her grin widening.

She slowly pushed the gun toward Shin and Han’s cage, extending the handle just far enough for one of them to grab it. The weapon’s cold metal gleamed ominously in the dim light.

Shin and Han both stared at the gun, momentarily taken aback by the absurdity of the situation. The other captives, who had been resigned to their fate, now looked between them in shocked disbelief. No one knew whether to react, much less what this psychotic woman wanted from them.

Lulu: “I’m not scared to die,” Lulu declared with a twisted calmness. “But are you?” She pushed the handle of the weapon closer, forcing it within their reach. "Are you too scared to pull the trigger?"

Her taunt hung in the air like a dark challenge, a test of their resolve. A cold, silent tension filled the hold as the captives waited for the inevitable choice. Was it fear that held them back? Or was it the sheer absurdity of being offered a weapon for their own execution?

Shin’s eyes locked onto Lulu’s, his gaze unwavering despite the madness surrounding them. Han, too, remained still, as if weighing the consequences of every second that passed.

Lulu’s smile twisted further, sensing their internal struggle. The game, she knew, had only just begun.