In the mysterious depths of eons, even death itself may fade. That which is not dead can eternal lie, and in the strange aeons, even death may die in the immortal residence of R'lyeh, where the dreaming master waits to draw you into his dreams.
The Lord of R'lyeh, an evil god who usurped the authority over the deep sea, darkness, dreams, and the air.
Its true form was sealed somewhere within the Dreamlands for unknown reasons, trapped in an eternal slumber, waking only at the most coincidental of moments.
Its kin and cults have been active on islands deep in the ocean since the Second Age, establishing the ancient and immortal residence of R'lyeh in the deepest, nameless parts of the ocean to worship their eternally sleeping master.
During the great catastrophe at the end of the Second Age, the immortal residence sank to the ocean floor along with the island, becoming yet another ancient memory hidden in the long river of history. Only the cults and kin who worshiped it remained, wandering the depths of the ocean for ten thousand years, searching for the residence in their dreams.
The cults are human, or more precisely, they are cultists, but the kin are not. Like most aliens, these monsters known as Deep Ones are creatures originally born of flesh and blood, twisted and transformed by the information disturbances emanating from the Lord of R'lyeh.
Before reaching adulthood, they are remarkably similar to humans, the only difference being that their appearance is more refined and beautiful than the average person. Once they reach adulthood and awaken their ancient bloodlines, they rapidly become hideously ugly, growing gills on their necks. They are amphibious, fish headed with human bodies, swift in movement, and possess infinite strength.
They originated from a small fishing village called Innsmouth, where they would always kill unsuspecting intruders and offer them as sacrifices to their sleeping master.
No one knows where Innsmouth is, and it is difficult to even determine if this fishing village exists only as a concept. Nowadays, the Deep One fish people occasionally seen usually roam the deep sea in tribal forms and rarely venture deep inland.
Mr. Lynch.
Miss Valente's soft, soothing voice interrupted Lynch's train of thought, bringing him back from Manager West's introduction. By now, the two had temporarily left the luxurious theater and were sitting in the Valente family carriage.
Outside the window flowed the Lande River, its clear waters reflecting the crimson moon in the sky. Further away lay the vast ocean, with the brightly lit White Bird Port visible at the edge of the horizon.
Even though it was already night, the port remained busy. The noisy human voices, the clashing of metal, the shouting of workers, the singing and laughter of women, and the lively music all merged into a melody unique to the docks.
Compared to the bright lights of the port and the main streets, the coastline was shrouded in deep night. Only the crimson moonlight shone quietly upon the shore, casting a haze over the dark beach, within which eerie figures seemed to be moving.
You are right. This is indeed the best opportunity to peek at these mysterious aliens and gain leverage for our transaction. I know this is dangerous, but I also know that nothing is gained for free; there is always a price to pay for what we obtain. So I will not stop your adventure, but please, be extremely careful, Mr. Lynch. Please remember that your friends are hoping for your safe return.
Miss Valente's deep blue eyes sparkled under the flickering kerosene light. Her gaze was full of worry, yet she only helped Lynch check the bullets in his gun, tucked the pistol back into its holster, and whispered:
I do not have your abilities and cannot accompany you to lurk alongside the Deep Ones to investigate, but I will not leave either. I will stay here to receive you and serve as your final safety measure.
Lynch felt a wave of emotion. Just as he was about to say something, he saw Miss Valente suddenly lean over and wrap her arms around his neck.
Huh? Is this girl crazy?
Lynch's body stiffened, but he immediately realized that Miss Valente was only hanging a necklace around his neck. Then, he felt a sharp sting in the center of his forehead, followed by a splitting headache.
【Nolan's Phase Fortress, the absolute defensive barrier of the Great Arcanist Nolan, capable of isolating oneself from space for three seconds. Nolan survived countless crises with this, until he was mistakenly sent to the place of the blind, idiot god by a Byakhee.】
This is a disaster grade mystery relic that can only be used once a day. It is the final life saving measure my father gave me. You... please be careful.
Miss Valente bit her lip gently and began stuffing a pile of things into Lynch's hands one by one:
Soul returning grass; I saw you bought a pipe, so I packed a few grams specifically for you. The Torch of Light, which you can use tonight. Flame oil, the kind used in Zur Baha Sahr that caused the explosion; I made it myself. And these bullets, enchanted rounds specially prepared for your pistol, six fire and six acid, and also...
Alright, alright.
Lynch stopped Miss Valente's actions with a wry smile. He figured that if he let her continue, she would empty out her entire storage relic. He had to jump off the carriage in a hurry, "Rest assured, I have my own ways of saving my life, as you know."
Yes, I know. I only hope you always remember that someone here is waiting for your triumphant return.
Miss Valente smiled faintly and shoved a telepathic conch, which looked like an intercom, into Lynch's hand. Only then did she wave the 'Parchment of Max' in her hand, "Notify me whenever you need help. This time, it stores a wide range gravity spell from the earth authority, and I can support you at any time."
Lynch tipped his hat with his back turned. Bathed in moonlight, he stepped onto the bluestone slabs of the main road and walked toward the beach not far to the side. With one step, then two, his figure vanished into the vast night amidst the interplay of light and shadow.
His feet soon touched the soft, fine sand. The briny sea breeze blew from the depths of the ocean, and the sound of the crashing waves was monotonous and soothing, like a melodic serenade.
This is a bit troublesome. A trail of shallow footprints was left on the beach, which would easily ruin his attempt at lurking. Fortunately, the moonlight was dim, and the footprints were not obvious.
During their earlier scouting, the two had noticed that several figures were indeed skulking around the coastline, only to disappear in the blink of an eye. That was why Lynch had come over quietly, fully armed.
However, the beach was empty now, save for the sound of waves hitting the sand. In the silent darkness, countless eerie and terrifying things seemed to be hiding, sharpening their claws and fangs in places Lynch could not see.
He sniffed. There was only the scent of the sea, with none of the strong fishy odor unique to the Deep Ones. This made Lynch frown. Did we misjudge them before?
Hmm? No.
Lynch's heart skipped a beat. If he could leave footprints on the sand, those figures from earlier should have as well.
Thinking of this, Lynch immediately crouched down, checking the sand beneath his feet while listening for movement around him.
The beach was not very flat, and there were indeed many footprints left behind that had not yet been smoothed away by the tide. These footprints were left by at least five or six people, leaving the beach a mess.
Lynch thought for a moment, then took off his glove and touched the footprints with his fingers.
The sand was wet, meaning the tide had just washed over it. The footprints must have been left just moments ago, perhaps by the figures they had seen earlier, but...
His mystery intuition activated, but the result was disappointing. There was almost no residual mystery filth.
Could these just be bored fishermen? But fishermen wouldn't be fishing on the beach like this.
No matter who they are, I will follow them and see.
Gritting his teeth, Lynch maintained his lurking state and followed the footprints.
The trail was messy, winding and twisting, with the individuals turning their heads back from time to time, and sometimes circling in place as if searching for something.
The further Lynch followed, the stranger he felt. He began to suspect that he had misjudged the situation and was chasing unrelated people. Just as he began to lose confidence, the creaking sound of footsteps on sand erupted abruptly from the darkness.
Someone is here!
Lynch's heart tightened and his hair stood on end. He instantly stopped all movement, activated his ability to silence his own sounds, and crept toward the source of the noise.
Where are you?
Who are you?
Rate on N.U.
