Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 14 Appeasement

The screams from the lookout tower were like an icicle, piercing the roar of the storm and the brief silence on the deck.

"Starboard! Something's coming up! From the sea of ​​clouds! So many—so many tentacles!"

Everyone's eyes instantly turned to the starboard side.

The sea of ​​clouds, churned by the psionic storm, had become a boiling pool of ink, but at this moment, in the depths of that churning darkness, something was rising to the surface. At first, there were only a few blurry bulges, like underwater behemoths about to break through the water. Then, thick tentacles covered with slippery black skin emerged from the clouds, each as thick as an adult's waist and over ten meters long, their surfaces covered with suckers, each edge of which was edged with a ring of tiny, purple-glowing spikes.

Not one. Not ten.

Dozens, even hundreds, of tentacles rose simultaneously from different parts of the sea of ​​clouds, like a suddenly sprouting, living forest. They danced wildly in the storm, whipping the air and producing a dull, nauseating slapping sound. Some of their tentacles were as sharp as spears, while others split into chrysanthemum-shaped mouthparts covered with sharp teeth, constantly opening and closing, dripping a viscous black liquid.

"The Cloudsea Stalkers... are corrupted!" Grom's voice held a rare look of horror. "The storm shook them out of their deep psionic lairs! These wretches usually dwell in the depths of the Cloudsea, preying on lost psionic creatures and crashed ships, but now—"

A tentacle slammed onto the starboard side of the ship.

boom!

The entire ship trembled violently, as if struck by a giant's fist. The sturdy oak hull caved inward, the planks groaning under the weight. Suckers on the tentacles clung tightly to the hull, spikes piercing the wood, and then began to pull backward—trying to drag the ship into the sea of ​​clouds!

"Cut it off!" Captain Heinrich roared, swinging his longsword, the silvery blade drawing an arc in the darkness.

The blade sliced ​​into the tentacle with a wet, dull thud, like cutting through rubber. Black blood spurted out, hissing and corroding as it landed on the deck. The tentacle, in pain, released its suckers, but more tentacles had already climbed up, wrapping around the hull from all sides.

Like an insect caught in a spider web, the Narwal was entangled and dragged by more and more black tentacles, causing the ship to tilt at an increasingly steep angle, almost capsizing.

The sailors grabbed their weapons—harpoons, machetes, axes—and charged at the tentacles, but with little effect. The creatures' skin was incredibly tough; ordinary weapons could only leave shallow wounds, which only enraged them. One sailor was grabbed by the waist by a tentacle and dragged overboard. His screams were abruptly cut short as he was swallowed whole by the mouthparts that split open at the end of another tentacle.

Chaos. Utter chaos.

The storm is howling, tentacles are attacking, and the ship is on the verge of disintegration.

At the heart of it all, Karen, supported by Lydia and Grom, was struggling to move towards the cargo hold. The blood he coughed up had stained his chest, and each breath carried the metallic taste of metal and the dull pain of his internal organs. The psychic backlash felt like countless needles churning in his brain and psychic veins, blurring his vision and filling his ears with a constant buzzing.

But even stronger was the fear of the ultimate light transmitted through the golden connecting lines.

The cub nestled in his arms, its body trembling violently from weakness and terror. The burst of purifying golden light had nearly exhausted all its recovered spiritual energy; it no longer had the strength to stand. But its amber eyes were fixed on the waving tentacles, conveying an instinctive warning etched into its genetic memory:

The Deep Ones...ate it all...Mom said...if you encounter one, you must run...you can't escape...

Can't escape.

The ship was entangled and they were sinking—not into the ocean, but into the depths of a sea of ​​clouds, where there was no light, no air, only endless darkness and lurking predators.

Karen felt a chilling despair creep up from the soles of her feet.

Just then, he felt a sharp pain in his wrist.

It wasn't the burning pain from overusing the spirit runes, but a different sensation—like tiny electric currents coursing along the runes' paths, stimulating certain dormant nodes. At the same time, he sensed the navigation jellyfish's intent approaching again.

The translucent blue canopy floated over, its tentacles drooping, the edges still bearing traces of purplish-black contamination, but its core had returned to its pure blue. It stopped in front of Karen, one of its tentacles cautiously rising, its tip gently touching Karen's bleeding hand.

A cool, soft touch.

Then, a clear but weak thought entered Karen's consciousness:

It hurts... but thank you... for showing me the way... I remember it...

The jellyfish's "gaze"—or rather, the focus of its psychic perception—turned toward the tentacles that were entangled around the hull.

The storm distorted the direction... but these guys... I can feel their nest... down there... deep down... they're disturbed by the storm... in fear... in anger...

Fear? Angry? Are these frantically attacking tentacles also afraid?

Karen paused for a moment, but immediately understood. The storm was a disaster for the Cloud Whales as well, forcing them to leave their nests and expose themselves to the raging surface, instinctively attacking anything that moved—including the Cloud Whale. Not predatory, but a defensive frenzy.

If they are also afraid...

Karen struggled to stand up, breaking free from Lydia and Grom's support. His legs were trembling, but the stinging pain from the spirit runes on his wrists was intensifying, like some kind of urging.

"Karen? What are you doing?" Leah tried to stop him.

"The jellyfish..." Karen gasped, her gaze fixed on the flailing tentacles. "It said... these creatures are afraid too... the storm has driven them mad... if we could calm them down..."

"Calm them down?" Grom roared. "Kid, are you crazy? Those are Cloudsea Stalkers! Mindless predators! You almost died trying to calm the jellyfish, and now you want to—"

“If we don’t try,” Karen interrupted him, her voice hoarse but firm, “the ship will be dragged down, and everyone will die.”

He looked at Xiguang in his arms. The cub raised its amber eyes, fearful but not flinching. It conveyed a simple thought: together.

Karen took a deep breath—a movement that triggered a violent coughing fit, and more blood welled up, but he forced it back. Holding Dawn, he walked step by step toward the starboard side of the violently rocking, tilting deck, toward the place where the tentacles were most concentrated.

"Cover him!" Captain Heinrich's order came through. Although he didn't understand what Karen was going to do, the scene of him calming the jellyfish earlier had already proven a possibility.

Several sailors immediately surrounded Karen, using their weapons to parry the lashing tentacles and clear a narrow passage for him.

Karen stopped at the side of the ship.

Below lay a sea of ​​clouds—or rather, the place that once was a sea of ​​clouds. Now it was a churning, purplish-black vortex of energy, from which countless black tentacles extended, coiling around the ship's hull like plant roots entwining prey. The nearest tentacle was less than two meters beneath his feet, its surface slippery and reflective, its suckers opening and closing, its spikes writhing.

Upon closer inspection, Karen noticed some details: the black color on the surface of the tentacles was not uniform, with some areas being lighter in color, like newly formed skin after an injury; the purple light flashing at the edges of the suckers was unstable, like an energy disorder; and when the tentacles lashed out, although the movements were violent, there was an uncoordinated, twitching stiffness.

These organisms are indeed not in a normal state.

Karen closed her eyes.

He stopped looking at the tentacles, stopped listening to the clamor of the storm and the battle. He sank his consciousness into the spiritual runes on his wrist, into the golden connection with the dawn.

This time, he didn't "open" himself up to receive the thoughts—his mind was already on the verge of collapse, and another impact from polluted thoughts might drive him insane. Instead, he tried to "extend."

He channeled the spiritual runes' perception abilities along the golden connecting lines into Xi Guang's body.

Although the cubs' light psionic energy is weak, it is pure in nature and has a natural affinity for psionic energy. Through the light of dawn as an "amplifier" and "filter," Karen's psychic vision can extend further and become clearer, while avoiding direct contamination by dark thoughts.

He "saw" it.

No longer concrete images, but deeper, psionic structures. The black tentacles were no longer mere flesh, but restless, purplish-red clumps of psionic energy. Within each clump was a smaller, trembling core—the stalker's primal consciousness, cowering like a frightened beast, enveloped in layers of the pain and madness brought by the storm.

Beneath all the clumps, deep within the sea of ​​clouds, lies an unimaginably massive, dark purple psionic aggregate—the lair, the shared home of these strays, now convulsing painfully amidst the churning of the storm.

The nest is "crying".

It wasn't a sound, but a psychic lament: their homeland was destroyed, their offspring were terrified, and their instincts screamed for self-defense and attack.

Karen focused his senses on the nearest tentacle. Through the purplish-red, frenzied outer layer, he touched the trembling core.

In an instant, shattered thoughts surged forth:

Darkness surged in… The nest ached… The children screamed… Something was approaching… Danger… Attack… Tear apart…

These thoughts are simple and primal, but the pain is real.

Karen did not attempt "conversation"—these creatures lacked complex intelligence and could not comprehend human language or complex imagery. He could only convey the most basic, instinctive messages.

He recalled the image that Xi Guang had just transmitted: a dark vortex swallowing light.

That is the source of fear.

Conversely...

Karen concentrated all her energy, drawing upon the last remaining bit of light spiritual energy within Xi Guang's body, mixing it with the faint silver energy from her own spiritual runes, and constructing a simple image in her consciousness:

Safety.

It's not a specific image, but a "feeling." Like finding a dry, warm cave in a storm, like a lost child seeing smoke rising in the distance, like a wounded animal finding a hidden den.

He amplified this image through the light of dawn and, following the connection of spiritual energy, gently "pushed" it toward the core of the tentacle.

At first there was no reaction. The tentacles continued to thrash about, even tightening their grip more forcefully, and the ship groaned.

Karen didn't give up. He repeated the image over and over, not by force, but like water dripping on a stone, like gently stroking a frightened animal. At the same time, he let the dawn release its faintest, non-aggressive golden light—not an explosion, but like a firefly, a small, warm halo.

The halo is insignificant in the darkness, but for those creatures shrouded in the storm's darkness...

The tentacles were a beat too slow.

Karen caught that moment of hesitation. He immediately reinforced the imagery: safety. Peace. Home.

The dawn light also cooperated, its radiance brightening slightly, no longer a warning or purifying force, but a pure, comforting warmth.

The purplish-red psionic mass of the tentacle began to change. The outer layer of madness gradually faded, revealing a more peaceful deep blue inner layer. The trembling core no longer curled up, but instead stretched slightly.

The tentacles loosened.

It wasn't severed, nor did it flinch in pain; rather, it was like someone waking from a nightmare loosening their clenched fist, naturally releasing its grip. It slid off the ship's side, retreated into the sea of ​​clouds, and disappeared into the darkness below.

efficient!

But one tentacle wasn't enough. There were dozens, even hundreds, wrapped around the hull.

Karen felt her consciousness fading. Each transmission of imagery felt like a drain on her soul; blood welled up from her nose again, warm liquid dripping down her chin. Xiguang was also breathing weakly, the cub's light growing dimmer.

"Karen!" Leah's voice rang in his ears, her hand on his shoulder. "Enough! You'll die!"

Karen shook his head, trying to speak, but no sound came out. He looked at the tentacles that were still attacking, at the sinking ship, and at the sailors fighting on the deck—a young sailor was being dragged overboard with a tentacle wrapped around his ankle.

no choice.

He gritted his teeth and pushed his consciousness to its limit.

Instead of targeting a single tentacle, he attempted to simultaneously contact the core of all tentacles. This wasn't a delicate maneuver, but a brutal, all-encompassing broadcast. He spread the image of "safety," mixed with the last rays of dawn, like a stone thrown into water.

Ripples spread out.

Ripples of psionic energy pierced through the turbulent currents of the storm, reaching the core of every tentacle.

The immediate backlash is devastating.

Karen felt as if his brain had been struck by a hammer; everything went black, and all he could hear was a sharp buzzing in his ears. He collapsed to his knees, the Dawn in his arms rolled away, the cub let out a weak, mournful cry, and the light went out completely.

But the ripples worked.

On the deck, all the tentacles froze simultaneously.

The frenzied movements ceased, and the tightening force loosened. The split mouthparts slowly closed, and the suckers detached from the hull. One, two, three… more and more tentacles loosened, retracting into the sea of ​​clouds, disappearing into the darkness below like the receding tide.

As the last tentacle departed, it gently touched Karen's hand, which was dangling by the ship's side—not an attack, but more like a farewell or a gesture of gratitude. Then it too vanished.

The boat suddenly felt lighter, righting itself from a near capsizing state. After a few violent rocking moments, it finally regained a relatively stable float.

The storm is still howling, but the deadliest threat—those tentacles—has temporarily receded.

An eerie silence fell on the deck. Only the wind, the rain, and the groaning of the ship could be heard. The sailors, gripping their weapons, panting heavily, covered in blood and black corrosive liquid, stared blankly out onto the empty ship's side.

Karen lay sprawled on the floor, his face pressed against the cold, slippery deck. His consciousness sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, his last sensations being someone lifting him up, the faint touch of dawn light, and Leah's tearful cries:

"He's still breathing! Grom! Quick!"

Then, he sank into the abyss of dreamslessness.

---

Before she completely lost consciousness, the silver spirit rune on Karen's wrist, that complex and mysterious pattern, flickered slightly one last time.

It recorded everything that had just happened: the fluctuations of psychic energy, the transmission of thoughts, the edge of life and death, and... some deeper change.

The structure of the pattern itself underwent extremely subtle adjustments on a level imperceptible to anyone. Some previously blurry nodes became clear, some connecting paths were strengthened, and some entirely new, never-before-seen tiny branches quietly sprouted, like tender buds in early spring.

In the last corner of Karen's consciousness, a vague voice, not his own, softly rang out:

"...Understanding pain...Soothing madness...The seed has been planted...Grow, Resonant Being..."

The sound vanished, as if it had never existed.

On deck, the storm began to subside. The purple lightning became sparse, the darkness gradually faded, and the deep blue of the sky was revealed once more. Although battered and bruised, the Narwhale still floated on the sea of ​​clouds, its course intact.

The navigation jellyfish drifted slowly back to the navigation room, its tentacles swaying gently as it began to sense the pulse of the stars once more. Old Man Erwin sat by the door, his greyish-white eyes "gazing" in the direction of the jellyfish, his withered fingers sliding across the weather instrument as he murmured to himself:

"The eye of the storm...it's over...we survived..."

Captain Heinrich stood before the wheelhouse, his long sword sheathed. His deep gray eyes swept over the carnage on the deck, finally settling on Karen, who was being carried away. His face was expressionless, but his fingers tapped lightly twice on the hilt of his sword.

That was his habitual action when he was thinking.

"Lia, Grom," he said, his voice clear in the weakening storm, "take care of the boy, and his lion. When they wake up..."

He paused.

"I have something to ask."