Chapter 6 - Deep Waters

Upon regaining consciousness, Varus found himself grappling against the oppressive weight of debris, his vision obscured by encroaching dirt. His body throbbed with pain, gradually drawing his attention to the aftermath of the chaos. Struggling with painstaking effort, he attempted to shift his body back and forth. Gradually, he discerned that he was ensnared beneath a mound of rubble, entangled with the remnants of a once-sturdy pillar.

Summoning a surge of renewed determination, he pushed himself up, unleashing his tentacles with renewed vigour. With their sinewy strength, he thrust through the debris, casting aside the heavy remnants of the fallen pillar.

With his body gradually liberated from the oppressive weight, and clarity returning to his vision, he managed to pull himself upright, taking stock of the space around him. What met his gaze was a scene of utter carnage — Mangled bones and charred flesh lay strewn across the area, with some grimly adhering to the walls. The remnants of furniture lay in smouldering ruins, shattered window panes casting a fractured pattern of light, and a conspicuous hole in the floor hinted at the violent disturbance that had just occurred. Amidst the wreckage, the lifeless forms of magisters sprawled on the ground, yet there was no sign of that bloody witch, Windego.

"Now, this is certainly pushing the limits of my pay grade," he remarked with a rueful glance at his scar-covered body, blood oozing from fresh wounds. His back throbbed with pain, and the mobility of his joints was now restricted. Wrenching apart his already torn shirt, he fashioned makeshift bandages for his bloodied arm and waist. With a sudden, determined pop, Varus forcefully realigned his other dislocated arm.

Drawing upon his resilience, he reached for his rucksack and began to sift through its contents. He quickly extracted a strategic assortment of supplies—medicines, water, potion bottles, alchemy herbs, sustenance, and a handful of citrus fruits. From there Varus downed them all - one by one as if partaking in a ritual to restore vitality to his battered form.

Infusing another surge of healing spells to hasten the closure of his wounds, he moved and ruffled through the Magister's remains. It was fruitless as he didn't find much beyond a few shrapnels of metal.

Picking up the nearby sword to arm himself with a basic weapon yet again, he gave the thing a few swings and tucked it on his back.

The pain, though present, was bearable. Things hadn't gone as planned thus far, but he knew he had to face the facts.

"It could have been far worse," he muttered to himself, taking a moment to assess the situation. Despite the heavy usage of healing magic during the recent battle, he still had some reserves left, which was one less thing to worry about

Meanwhile, the ship lurched violently, tossed about as if at the mercy of a tempest's fury. Peering through a damaged window, one could witness the ominous arrival of a storm, accompanied by thunderous rumbles and flashes of lightning. Incessant torrents of water breached the vessel from multiple creases, threatening to inundate its interior. Amid the disarray, an unfamiliar sound echoed intermittently, so alien that it sent a shiver down his spine.

Checking back at the main hold, he confronted sights of more massacre. Whoever did this was particularly ruthless with the magisters, None of their bodies were spared intact - all of their bodies were mangled or worse, torn apart completely. Sights of sorcerers also fielded his view. All of them were unconscious - many killed but most were just badly injured. For now, in the eerie silence, Varus found himself the sole living presence walking the desolate deck.

Going further, Varus discovered Ifan lying in a motionless heap, curled on the ground like a wounded animal. Beneath his shaggy hair, Varus noticed Ifan's green eyes fluttering, caught in the grip of what seemed like a troubling nightmare. A low whine escaped Ifan's lips, as though he was grappling with some unseen adversary.

Varus attempted to rouse him, shaking Ifan gently, but all his efforts proved futile. Ifan's eyes flickered open briefly, but there was no recognition in them. "Lucian, Lucian," Ifan murmured incoherently, his plea echoing before his eyes closed again. Despite Varus's persistent attempts, whether through shaking or injecting magic, Ifan remained unresponsive, trapped in an unyielding slumber. After carefully bandaging Ifan's wounds and administering healing potions, Varus repositioned him for stability before pressing forward.

In the most gruesome section of the hold, amidst a grim tableau of magisters and sorcerers strewn about, Lohse's body lay slammed against a wall. While her breathing appeared normal, her wide-open eyes resembled those of a lifeless corpse, filled with swirling dark, greyish-black clouds.

"Time to wake up, Lohse! We can't afford to daydream right now," he urgently nudged her, but she remained unresponsive. Trying to infuse magical energy into her, he noticed a brief dilation of her pupils as the ominous clouds momentarily cleared, only to return again.

The stench of darkness, he remembered her call. Persisting in his efforts, he intensified his efforts, doubling down on the use of healing magic, especially the one taught to him by that hag on Lohse. Much like Ifan, she appeared to be trapped in a nightmarish state, murmuring incoherent phrases — "Ngh...hmm? No, not this one...No, no, no...", Bandaging her wounds, Varus was certain she would recover in a while. So he turned his attention to salvaging whatever items he could find. The circumstances, grim as they were, made looting both easier and more perfunctory, although reality dampened any enjoyment he might have derived from the act.

Drawing nearer to a secluded corner, he suddenly remembered another someone he needed to check up on. As he approached though, the severity of the situation became apparent – Sebille lay on the ground, unmoving, her eyes fixed on the void, reminiscent of death itself. Blood seeped from a deep gash on her head, and a lantern lay nearby, its oil trickling out. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand, attempting to help her up and coax her into movement...

Her hand hung limp in his grasp, revealing her frailty. "No use. The dice roll darkly... They're rolling for me," Sebille murmured, her pupils drifting upwards. He immediately infused magic into her while administering healing potions. Noticing an intricate scar on her right cheek that appeared unnatural, he proceeded.

"Not that fast, Kaleran," Varus muttered, adhering to the usual procedures but going the extra mile to account for her fragile state. On her forehead, amidst the blood, he inscribed a protective sigil. Employing other techniques learned from a certain someone – perhaps still watching him – Varus transferred parts of his soul to Sebille, fortifying her consciousness. "This should enhance your resilience and ability to cling to your body for a while, even when all else fails," he explained to her not knowing if she still could listen.

Merely a temporary reprieve, it wouldn't do much but merely delay the inevitable. In essence, he observed, things will have to get better. The helmsman needed checking and for that, he had to get to the top. So he retrieved her body and secured her in a restful position. Varus then swiftly retraced his steps to the VIP cabin and took the stairs up.

[Location: Merryweather, Upper Deck.]

Upon reaching the upper deck, the unmistakable barking of a dog caught his attention. As he attempted to open the adjacent door, a sudden tremor reverberated through the entire ship, causing him to lose his footing. It felt as if an external force was relentlessly battering the vessel. If that was the case Varus thought, the situation was hurtling towards a level of 'worstness' he hadn't deemed possible.

"Not much time before this thing shatters into splinters then," he muttered, his concern deepening with each seismic jolt. Passed the door, a dog guarded a large chest.

He gazed at the source hound desperately pawing at its snout, wincing as it drew blood from its wet, black nose. Despite the pain, it continued to scratch, and upon noticing him, it winced and snarled, "Sourcerer!". The hair on its back bristled as it prepared to lunge, but an unexpected sneeze interrupted its aggression.

The hound whined, "Can't smell anything! Can't breathe! Too much source in the air! Too much! Please. Make it stop." Recognizing the lack of hostility, Varus moved towards the chest and tried to unlock it.

"I am not the one responsible for this. I would have helped if I could, doggo," Varus reassured but he himself wasn't so sure. As he proceeded to open the chest, it revealed a worn-out poison wand, its potential usefulness evident. He securely strapped it to his belt and moved on.

Bottoms down, there was a wooden door - stubbornly locked and he had no more keys. Having no time for more bullshit, he unleashed his seven tentacles. Morphing them seamlessly into a single, giant formidable appendage, he directed its forceful momentum toward the door. On the first attempt, the massive tentacle crashed into the door, demolishing it and clearing the way forward.

Varus barely had a chance to savour the breath of fresh air before the ship trembled once more, forcing him to stagger and clutch onto the door. "Damn, that doesn't bode well at all," he muttered.

Entering the space, he surveyed the surroundings, only to find two magisters huddled in the corner. One trembled with fear, while the other attempted to console and rouse him. Upon noticing his approach, the attentive magister expressed relief, "Thank the Gods! By Divine grace, who was that howling..."

However, as the magister's gaze descended to the collar encircling Varus's neck, his initial gratitude transformed into rage. Swiftly reaching for his blade, he barked, "Another Sourcerer!"

"What's happening here? What have you witnessed?" Varus attempted to calm the agitated magister.

"Like you don't know. A mutiny! Curdled my blood when she appeared. The ship shook like a typhoon had struck, and then she was gone again. Look around. You see how that story ends. Nothing but Source can do this...My comrades are gone. And so you must die too!" the magister turned, his rage transforming into resolve.

Time slowed, it almost seemed to freeze. The Magister gripped his blade with both hands as heat coursed through it. He jumped and charged for a strike from above his head. To him, the hit was supposed to be perfect. And deadly.

But—

"Almighty Pull", Varus had other plans. As thousands of chains locked onto the Magister, he was yanked towards Varus like a magnetic force. Even then, he attempted to persevere, pointing his blade horizontally at Varus's chest. Like a relentless juggernaut, a monstrous tentacle collided with his body. The impact was brutal; bones cracked audibly, and a primal growl echoed from deep within him.

Meanwhile, Varus, with a swift and deliberate motion of his hand, hurled a large cupboard towards the shivering Magister. His eyes widened as he watched the events unfold in front of him.

Pinned down by the combined forces of the tentacle and the imposing cupboard, the Magisters found no respite. Varus, showing no hesitation, swiftly raised his knee and struck the solar plexus of the Magister nearby. A howl of agony pierced the air until, with a decisive swish of Varus' blade across his neck, blood began to seep out. The Magister turned silent, his demise sealed with a final stroke, his story none for listen to - leaving only an ominous stillness in the aftermath.

Varus took out his knife and a burst of hot molten essence began to course through it, transforming it into a fiery blade, he threw it towards the other man. The Magister raised his shield but that was no more a knife. Upon contact with the surface of the shield, magic turned volatile, exploding into shrapnel that scattered in all directions. The shield cracked, the Magister's hand blew up, and his face burned from the explosive impact.

"Pulse detonation—a concept plucked from the subjects of Pyromancy, blended with the tricks of Polymorph and Warfare schools," Varus mused, retracting his great tentacle slightly. "But you're not getting back the knife, though."

Surveying the surroundings, he noticed a plethora of books strewn about, and his attention was immediately drawn to an imposing bust of Bishop Alexander. As he observed the sculpted likeness, memories flooded back from Ifan's accounts of Alexander being the 'ringmaster' and the tales his father had shared back then.

"Hmm, Bishop Alexander, son of Lucian, the Divine himself. I can't help but wonder how would Lucian have viewed his son's role in the Divine Order," he pondered, lifting the books and recognizing them by their titles. They appeared to be related to Braccus Rex, the tyrant king who once held dominion over the island that is now the formidable Fort Joy.

At that moment, another tremor reverberated through the ship. However, this time, Varus held his ground. "Gods damn it, at this rate, the ship is really going down."

Rounding a corner, he encountered yet another door. Employing the same unholy method as before, a forceful strike from his tentacle swiftly reduced the obstacle to splinters.

Navigating the corridor, he found the path ahead engulfed in flames. Focusing his mind, he systematically hurled a variety of objects into the inferno, trying and succeeding to diminish the intensity enough to safely proceed.

A jump here and there, he stumbled upon yet another scene of chaos. As he inspected the lifeless form of a woman, he discovered a pair of enchanted leather shoes adorning her feet. Naturally, the intrigue didn't end there. Delving further, he uncovered a letter. "How sweet," Varus mused, his curiosity piqued.

Securing both the enchanted shoes and the letter, Varus eagerly began to unfold the contents of the missive. While passing through another passage, his attention abruptly shifted as he found himself face-to-face with an undead. The skeletal figure had an oddly angular skull, and a splendid jewel adorned the centre of its forehead. Seated comfortably in a chair, the undead was engrossed in perusing a volume of Cranley Huwbert's renowned encyclopedia, all the while muttering disdainfully to himself.

"No, no, no! What damn fools record knowledge on a pulped tree?" the skeleton exclaimed with a hint of frustration. "It catches fire, it turns to mush when wet; it cannot even resist acid! No wonder they're so bloody ignorant." Just as Varus processed the eccentric tirade, the skeleton looked up, finally noticing his presence. "Oh. Yes? Shouldn't you be at this point...running around or screaming or some such?"