初次尝了销魂少妇

“Should we send a team over for a closer look?” First Mate Gus proposed, his voice cutting through the prevalent silence like a sharp blade. His words seemed to shake Lawrence from his deep reverie, pushing the looming uncertainty aside for a moment.

Turning his attention towards Gus, Lawrence was greeted with the sight of a man who had been a reliable ally through countless storms and dangerous voyages for over twenty years. “You noticed it too, didn’t you?”

“Our last encounter with it was near Frost,” Gus recalled, his gaze lost in the undulating sea before them. His voice wavered with a complicated blend of emotions as he continued, “After all these years, we veterans have known about your situation. But no one had the courage to talk about it openly…”

In response, Lawrence fell into brief silence before finally breaking the stillness. His voice came out soft, almost whispered, “Do you remember, not so long ago, when you saw a shadowy figure standing beside me on the deck?”

Caught off guard by the question, Gus stuttered a bit before managing to reply, “That was…”

“Martha,” Lawrence cut him off, his voice just barely louder than the murmur of the sea around them. His words took Gus by surprise, causing his eyes to widen in astonishment. “The same ‘Martha’ that only I could see for all these years. I’ve seen her onboard more frequently of late, and I heard her voice when we were near ‘Dagger Island’. At first, I thought this peculiar region of the sea was amplifying my hallucinations. But now, it seems the reality might be more intricate.”

Slowly, Gus redirected his gaze towards the fog-covered Black Oak. It stood in the midst of the fog, its stillness akin to that of a cemetery. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke, “This isn’t an illusion. It’s here, it’s real.”

Upon hearing Gus’s assertion, Lawrence’s face hardened, a clear sign of him grappling with the gravity of the situation. After a few moments of deliberation, he finally gave an order, “Signal them, let’s see how they react.”

“Aye, Captain,” Gus promptly agreed.

Without delay, a pattern of lights on the flank of the White Oak sprung to life. The ghostly figures of the crew manipulated the shutter in front of the ship’s searchlight, throwing a structured series of bright flashes towards the nearby, cloaked “ghost ship.”

Upon the bridge of the White Oak, Captain Lawrence stood with unwavering resolve, his gaze deeply locked onto the shrouded location of the enigmatic Black Oak. He was suspended in a state of anticipation, eager yet fearful of the sign or response that he sought.

“Martha… are you there…?” Lawrence quietly murmured to himself, his grip on the nearby handrail tightening in anxiety. His whispered words seemed to linger in the air, echoing like a silent plea to either himself or perhaps a phantom from his past.

In the suspense-filled silence that followed, a solitary point of light sprung to life amidst the Black Oak’s foggy deck. Like a defiant beacon, it pierced through the impenetrable hazy veil that cloaked the ship. After steadfastly holding its position for a few seconds, the light abruptly disappeared, only to resurface a moment later. This pattern was repeated three times, evoking the image of a throbbing heartbeat in the midst of the surrounding darkness.

“Our signal has been acknowledged,” the first mate announced, turning his gaze to Lawrence. His face was a complex canvas of mixed emotions, depicting relief, worry, and a hint of trepidation. “You may stay here, Captain. I’ll send a team to investigate.”

“Negative, I’ll go myself,” Lawrence overruled, dismissing the suggestion with a resolute wave of his hand. His stern features softened, revealing a firm sense of determination. He had made up his mind. “If this event is truly a result of my deteriorating mental state, it could prove dangerous to any crew member who recklessly boards that ship… This is my burden to bear, and it’s my sole responsibility to resolve it.”

The first mate seemed ready to protest, but witnessing the unwavering determination in Lawrence’s eyes, he swallowed his words of caution. “Understood,” he reluctantly agreed.

With a nod of gratitude, Lawrence said, “Help me get ready. I’ll need a lantern, rope, weapons, and ammunition, and…”

His voice trailed off, and his attention diverted to a console nearby.

An entity clothed in an old sailor’s uniform appeared to be steeping stealthily towards a rope coil. The figure was trying its best to remain unnoticed, using the shadows cast by the console as a cover.

After a moment’s contemplation, Lawrence declared, “I should bring it along. It’s too risky to leave an unpredictable anomaly aboard the White Oak. There’s something unusual about this one.”

Caught in the act, the entity, known as Anomaly 077, immediately froze in place.

…

Meanwhile, in the icy cityscape of Frost, near the fourth cemetery, guardians cloaked in black maintained vigilant surveillance over a sewage treatment plant. Two soldiers were specifically tasked to protect a visibly distressed manager, who was slumped forlornly next to a pipe by the sewage sedimentation tank. Despite his sickly complexion and his body’s uncontrollable shivering, he showed a stubborn determination to answer each question the guards presented to him.

“I assure you, I’m completely in the dark… I can’t comprehend this…” The manager of the plant, a balding man in his mid-life years, swiped a rivulet of cold sweat from his pallid forehead. His face was a stark canvas portraying the tumultuous terror and confusion seizing him. “Everything here was ordinary… I’ve known these people for over a day, and there wasn’t a hint of odd behavior…”

“Stay calm, you’re just an everyday man. It’s not unusual to be deceived by paranormal entities,” the interrogating guardian attempted to soothe the petrified man, all the while stealing wary glances towards the empty space next to the sedimentation tank. “Leave these anomalies to the gatekeeper. Miss Agatha should be back soon.”

The mention of the vacant space inadvertently drew the manager’s gaze, causing a resurgence of haunting memories from the near past: the horrifying transformation of the seemingly benign “church priests” into intimidating strangers, shadowy demons materializing out of thin air, his coworkers at the treatment center morphing into grotesque, humanoid monstrosities, engaging in a violent clash with the guardians draped in black.

He visibly shivered at the horrifying remembrance, shutting his eyes tightly as if to expel the dreadful visuals. However, the encompassing darkness behind his eyelids only enhanced his fright. He reluctantly reopened his eyes, the traumatic events still casting a dreadful shadow over him.

Seeing the manager’s state, a guardian in black could only provide a sympathetic look.

The manager had inadvertently become entangled in a concealed nightmare inside the walls of his familiar sewage treatment center, a horror-filled stage featuring merciless cultists and monstrous doppelgangers disguised as his coworkers. It was a testament to his mental fortitude that he had not succumbed to insanity amidst the shocking revelations.

It was probable that the imposters, one by one, systematically replaced the treatment center’s employees. The manager was likely the last true human amongst them. Had the guardians not intervened in the nick of time, he might have been the next prey of these imposters. This horrifying notion of his narrowly escaped fate intensified the victim’s fear.

In the aftermath of these events, it seemed implausible that the manager would be able to resume his role at the sewage treatment center. He might even require extensive psychological aid to rebuild his shattered sense of normalcy. But such considerations fell beyond the immediate responsibilities of the guardians.

Currently, their foremost concern was the well-being of their superior. Despite Gatekeeper Agatha’s unquestionable abilities, the vanishing act of three supposedly harmless Annihilation priests and a dozen doppelganger creatures would naturally stir worry. Her continued absence was increasingly disquieting.

Ultimately, even the manager, ensnared in his own vortex of fear and anxiety, noticed the growing tension in the room. Observing the black-clad guardians, each standing in a state of high alert, he mustered the courage to ask, “Excuse me… is the gatekeeper alright?”

“Miss Agatha is currently immersed in the spirit realm. She was apprehensive that the confrontation between these powerful supernatural beings might pose a risk to you, a common individual, or cause extensive harm to the treatment plant,” explained a female guardian. Her voice was resolute and comforting. “Rest assured, no renegade entity can defy the gatekeeper of Bartok in the spirit realm. The delay in her return is likely due to her investigation for more information.”

The manager responded with a quick, hesitant nod, muttering, “Okay… okay…”

In the subsequent moment, an icy gust of wind blew across the premises of the plant. The guardians positioned at the entry points instantaneously redirected their focus towards the vacant area near the sedimentation tank.

However, their tense posture was promptly replaced by a wave of relief after recognizing what had happened, “Ah, it seems Miss Agatha has successfully resolved the issue.”

As her words of reassurance echoed into the silence, ghostly apparitions began to materialize in the barren patch of land adjacent to the sedimentation tank. It was as though a portal to another dimension flickered into existence, with dim, fleeting silhouettes shimmering into being. They hovered for a brief moment before descending to the ground. These ethereal forms solidified in an instant, transforming into tangible beings that landed with a thud on the filth-laden ground.

These beings were the remnants of the deceptive creatures and the three priests, now reduced to an unrecognizable sludge.

Upon contact with the ground, the remains of the monstrous imposters swiftly disintegrated, rotting away into a stagnant, lifeless residue. Meanwhile, the bodies of the Annihilators ignited violently as they reentered the physical world, charring into remnants within seconds under the assault of searing black flames. The parasitic shadow demons, attempting to take physical form, evaporated into the ether before they could fully manifest.

The manager of the sewage treatment plant could do nothing but gawk, astounded at the bizarre spectacle playing out before him. His escalating terror momentarily gave way to stunned disbelief. His attention was then drawn to a tumultuous whirlwind of gray manifesting in the center of the empty space. This whirlwind, a vortex of swirling dust and fog, gave way to a figure within the span of a heartbeat.

Emerging from the whirlwind, clad in a black coat and wielding a staff, was the figure. With her body swaddled in bandages, Agatha raised her head, scanning the familiar realities of the physical world and the concerned expressions on her subordinates’ faces.

“The problem has been resolved,” she softly communicated to her subordinates. Her voice was as reassuring and steadfast as it had always been.