初次尝了销魂少妇

Chapter 718: Plunging into the Profound Depths

Vanna responded without hesitation, “No, the surface seems eerily undisturbed. Amber and her team just finished scouting the entire valley. They found nothing out of the ordinary, just a few abandoned cottages and some human relics that had been consumed by the island over time. A strange sense of calm is hanging over the island right now…”

Deep within the subterranean cave, Duncan listened intently to Vanna’s surface report, nodding subtly in acknowledgment. His thoughtful gaze then shifted to Morris and Alice, who were standing close by.

“It appears that everything on the surface is as usual. The Holy Island hasn’t shown any signs of ‘activating’ or revealing itself. This suggests that what happened to Shirley and Dog is different from the experiences of those Annihilators.”

Alice’s voice trembled with concern as she asked, “Where could they have possibly gone? Captain, didn’t you mention that you could still sense their ‘presence’ in some way? Are they safe?”

“They are alive, but they’re somewhere I can’t pinpoint,” Duncan replied, his voice filled with a mixture of certainty and uncertainty. “I have a theory, but…” He trailed off, not wanting to jump to conclusions too quickly. His mind was obviously racing with possibilities. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he turned his attention towards the deeper, unexplored parts of the cave.

In the shadowy depths, a gigantic, mysterious structure loomed, almost blending into the darkness. With each blink, Duncan could make out the contours of a massive prism entangled in a complex web of cables and pipes. The prism’s surface was adorned with lights that flickered intermittently, sending out a silent, almost hypnotic invitation.

Duncan moved closer, his path illuminated by a ghostly flame that seemed to push the darkness back. In the light, a grand, imposing gate stood quietly as if it had been carved directly into the rock walls on either side.

The area around the gate was cluttered with tools that had been left behind in a hurry, and remnants of human structures, now melted and distorted beyond recognition, were fused into the soil and the walls. They appeared both menacing and fascinating.

Duncan realized this was the “final chamber” Shirley had referred to – the deepest excavation site under the Holy Island, where the Annihilators had supposedly ‘awakened’ the entire island.

Approaching the gate, Duncan carefully examined its structure in the flickering firelight. The dark stone gate was sealed shut, its surface rough and marred, as though it had once been engulfed by wild, overgrown vines, now transformed into a chaos of pits and patterns on its face. Within these nearly indecipherable markings, Duncan recognized something significant.

There, etched into the stone, were the same mysterious symbols he had encountered in the “hall” and seen in his vision of the New Hope’s calamitous crash.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to decipher the meaning hidden within these cryptic patterns. Before he could make any progress, Alice, who had been following closely, uttered in a hushed tone, “Navigator One… interface?”

Duncan spun around abruptly, his gaze fixating on the doll, who had lifted her head to scrutinize the mysterious gate. His voice carried a mix of curiosity and urgency, “You’ve deciphered the message on this gate?”

Alice’s expression was one of perplexity. She gently shook her head, her frown deepening, “No, I didn’t actually see any explicit information on the gate. It was more like a sudden intuition or thought that struck me out of nowhere…”

Observing her closely, Duncan’s mind was awash with thoughts. He turned back towards the mysterious gate. After a brief moment of contemplation, marked by hesitation and thoughtful calculation, he extended his hand and gently placed it against the cold, rough surface of the gate. Closing his eyes slightly, he focused intently, allowing a subtle, greenish light to emanate from his fingertips, tracing a path across the gate’s surface before vanishing into its stony facade.

Meanwhile, in another realm of his consciousness, a place that seemed to exist in a distant, alien dimension shrouded in darkness, a tiny spark of light fluttered as if disturbed by a gentle breeze, flickering weakly in the profound abyss.

Amidst this cluster of dim, wavering lights, Duncan discerned Shirley’s voice. It was clearer than it had been before, yet it still sounded as if it were muffled by a thick, unseen barrier. Her voice conveyed fear and coldness, tinged with the pain of losing something precious. She seemed to be instinctively constructing a protective barrier around herself as something ominous and malevolent lurked nearby.

Duncan’s eyes snapped open abruptly.

In his mind, he called out to Lucy, who was currently on standby aboard the Bright Star. “Lucy,” he projected his thoughts, seeking her assistance.

Almost instantly, Lucy’s voice resonated in his mind, clear and ready, “Do you need me?”

“Bring the ‘saint’ here,” Duncan instructed with a sense of urgency, “I’ve located the ‘connection point.’ Now, we need to open a gateway to retrieve someone from those depths.”

“Understood,” came Lucy’s prompt reply, her voice fading from his mind as quickly as it had appeared.

As the mental connection broke off, Duncan raised his right hand. In his palm, a ball of flame flickered into existence, glowing with an intensity that was almost blinding.

He pressed this luminous orb of fire against the dark, ancient stone gate. The flame seemed to seep slowly into the gate, reaching towards the alien, dark dimension that lay beyond. Just before the last of the flame disappeared into the gate, Duncan murmured softly, imbuing his words with a comforting warmth, “…Shirley, don’t be afraid.”

…

In the suffocating darkness, Shirley felt an overwhelming sense of cold enveloping her, her body heavy as if made of lead. A peculiar, sharp pain originated in her arm, radiating up to her shoulder and spreading across half of her body. This pain gradually transformed into a numb sensation, creating a disturbing disconnect as if her own flesh had transcended her understanding and control, morphing into something alien and uncontrollable.

Around her, the oppressive “mire” that had once engulfed her was now slowly receding. Yet, in its place, a more intense feeling of malevolence and impending danger seemed to be closing in from all directions. In her desperate bid for safety, Shirley found herself hidden deep within a tangled mass of what resembled chaotic, jumbled “bushes” made of bone fragments. She lay there, curled up and utterly still, trying to make herself invisible.

From the distant shadows came the sounds of chaos: the insane roars and murmurs of unseen predators lurking in the darkness. They were on the prowl, relentlessly searching for an intruder. Shirley could sense the predator’s breath drawing nearer, the inevitable discovery of the “prey” looming ever closer.

This time, however, she was alone; her dark hound protector was nowhere to be found.

Clutching her distorted, malformed arm tightly, Shirley drew herself further into the bone bush’s embrace. She had discerned the nature of her surroundings by the distinct scent of the air. This hellish landscape was the Abyssal deep sea, the very birthplace of Dog, her once-protector.

A realm of demons.

The faint, rhythmic ‘thump, thump’ of a heartbeat echoed in her ears, stirring Shirley from her trance-like state. She gazed down, somewhat vacantly, at the two hearts cradled in her arms.

“Dad… Mom…” she whispered softly, her voice a fragile echo of her childhood, when she would lie in bed and share secrets with ‘them’, seeking comfort and reassurance.

‘I’m a little scared… I want to hug you…’

The two hearts continued their slow, steady beating, a tangible and real sound. For years, these hearts had pulsated within the body of an shadow demon, shielded by thick bones and chaotic dust. Never before had their rhythmic beating been so audibly clear to Shirley.

As she tightened her grip on her arm, Shirley noticed something was amiss. Glancing down, she saw her arms encased in a thin layer of bone armor, with blade-like extensions emerging from her elbows, unfolding like some sinister, living creature. Her gaze then shifted to her chest, where she saw a ghastly cavity. Within it, a skeleton wrapped in black smoke cradled a damaged, dark red organ that struggled to beat amidst the smoke and bones, growing weaker with each passing second.

This failing organ, Shirley realized, was her ‘heart’.

‘…So my heart was bitten by Dog back then… No wonder it’s so cold…’ she murmured to herself, slightly shifting her position within the bone bush. Looking down, she saw her legs gradually being encased in grotesque black bone plates, from which smoke indicative of abyssal contamination continuously emanated, disappearing into the surrounding air.

Drowsiness began to overpower her. Would she perish here, transformed into an abyssal shadow demon? Or had she, in fact, become one already, cloaked in human skin ever since her merging with Dog twelve years ago?

This fleeting thought crossed Shirley’s mind, but it too began to fade, lost in the growing heaviness of her drowsiness.

As the world around her seemed to blur and darken, a profound question lingered in Shirley’s weary mind. Was this transformation into a demon her ultimate fate, or had her identity been forever altered since that fateful union with Dog, a creature of the Abyss, all those years ago? The distinction between her human self and the Abyssal entity she might be becoming was blurring, unsettling her very sense of being.

In this strange, twisted state, where her own body felt foreign and her surroundings hostile, Shirley was grappling with an identity crisis of the most literal kind. Her physical metamorphosis seemed to mirror an inner turmoil, a battle between her human essence and the abyssal influence that was manifesting in her flesh and bone.

Her thoughts, clouded by pain and confusion, drifted back to the memories of her parents. The two hearts, still beating rhythmically in her arms, served as a tangible connection to her past, to a time when fear and uncertainty were soothed by their presence. In this moment of vulnerability, she clung to these memories, seeking solace in the midst of her nightmarish reality.

The cold, the darkness, the transformation – all these elements were weaving together, forming a tapestry of fear and despair that threatened to engulf Shirley’s mind. Yet, even as she succumbed to the overwhelming drowsiness, a part of her clung to the hope of rescue, of salvation from this hell.

But for now, as her consciousness waned, the reality of her situation – trapped in a hostile, alien world, her body betraying her – was a heavy burden that pulled her deeper into a state of uneasy slumber. In this vulnerable state, Shirley was at the mercy of the abyssal deep sea, her fate uncertain and her future hanging in the balance.

Shirley was determined not to dwell on the situation, finding it too overwhelming to even consider.

The concept of deep philosophical quandaries was beyond her grasp. They seemed too intricate and profound, far removed from her daily concerns.

Her immediate worries were practical and essential: securing water, food, fuel to keep warm, and appropriate clothing to withstand the cold of winter.

The sounds of danger were drawing nearer. The faint growls and whispers in the darkness signaled the approach of hunters moving stealthily in the outskirts. Their vague shapes cast ominous, shifting shadows in the darkness. Shirley could almost feel their icy presence brushing against her skin.

Exhaustion was overtaking her. The dual rhythm of the heartbeats was no longer enough to fend off the overpowering sleepiness. In her damaged chest, the heart that had once been ravaged by a demon was now faltering, its beats growing weaker and weaker.

But then, in this darkness, a gentle light began to emerge, bathing Shirley in its comforting warmth, reminiscent of a sunbeam caressing her face. She squinted, letting out a contented, relaxed sigh.

It was like a warm winter afternoon.

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the old, peeling paint of the wooden windowsill. The kettle on the stove hissed merrily. In the kitchen, her mother was bustling about, the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies drifting into the living room. It was a rare day off for her father; he was crouched by the dining table, busy fixing its bothersome creaks. Outside, the distinct ring of the postman’s bell and the rumble of carts over cobblestones filled the air.

On the sofa, Shirley began to drift into a light slumber, lulled by the familiar, comforting scene.

Soon, her father would come over, gently lifting her to carry her to bed. Her mother would emerge from the kitchen, playfully chiding him with a long-handled spoon for dirtying her daughter’s dress with his work-stained hands…

As Shirley lay on the sofa, a serene smile spread across her face, reminiscent of that distant, carefree afternoon years ago. She shifted slightly, her arms falling from the back of the sofa to her chest, curling up comfortably.

Her hand came to rest on a heart that had ceased its rhythm.

Suddenly, all the warmth vanished, as if an avalanche had crashed through the idyllic scene, plunging everything back into chilling darkness. Her eyes snapped open in the enveloping blackness. Fear surged through her, but then she noticed the figure by the dining table, which should have vanished with the dissolution of the scene, slowly rising and moving toward her.

As the figure approached, it transformed, engulfed in flames that seemed to consume everything in the surrounding darkness.

‘Shirley, don’t be afraid,’ the figure whispered.