Green flames roared over Duncan's body, engulfing him in spectral brilliance. Flesh and bone melted away into translucency, reshaping him into a phantom vessel of ethereal fire. His grip tightened instinctively on the wheel of the Forsaken, his perception rapidly expanding outward through the flames until it encompassed every plank and rope of the great ship.
In that moment, a profound realization struck him—this immense ship required no crew at all.
The Forsaken sailed by supernatural means. As long as the captain guided the helm, the ship itself obeyed. The blazing emerald flames surged upward in translucent sails, drawing strength from invisible currents. Duncan, who had initially panicked at the sudden inferno engulfing him, now felt strangely calm. The flames had proven harmless, even beneficial, offering him total control of the ghostly vessel.
His mind cleared as the roaring voices subsided. The ship responded naturally, as if it had always been a part of him, and the previously unsettling sensation was now comforting, almost exhilarating. Duncan cautiously turned the wheel, feeling an immediate reaction from the vast vessel beneath his feet. He felt an intense, tangible feedback, as the Forsaken slowly but surely began shifting its enormous mass away from the towering wall of encroaching mist.
Yet the maneuver wasn't fast enough. The thick, white mist loomed ever closer, silently devouring the horizon. From the brass speaking tube beside the wheel, the goat head's panicked voice shouted sharply, breaking Duncan's concentration.
"We're approaching the boundary! Reality is collapsing! We're slipping into the spirit realm! Captain, we must—"
"I'm doing my best!" Duncan shouted, cutting off the goat's frantic tirade. Frustration surged in his voice. "If you want to be useful, tell me how!"
The goat's voice momentarily fell silent. Duncan hoped briefly that it had finally stopped its incessant rambling, only for it to erupt once more in a voice so bizarrely enthusiastic that Duncan nearly lost his grip in shock:
"Go! Go! You can do it!"
Duncan blinked in disbelief. The absurdity of the moment momentarily shattered his grip on reality more effectively than the blazing flames or the encroaching mist ever could. He had accepted the surreal circumstances, the supernatural occurrences aboard this ghost ship—even the eerie flames themselves—but the goat head's sudden transformation into an enthusiastic cheerleader was too much.
Yet, he had no time for disbelief or complaint. Despite the ship's abrupt turn—nearly drifting at an impossible angle for a vessel of its massive size—the mist surged toward him as if consciously pursuing the Forsaken. Thin tendrils of fog stretched outward rapidly, shrouding the ship entirely in a heartbeat.
Instantly, Duncan sensed an unsettling shift. The skies darkened abruptly, and the ocean around him changed, ominously stained with countless thin, black filaments that spread rapidly, tainting the water pitch-black. Within this rising mist, shadowy shapes stirred.
"We've entered the spirit realm!" The goat head's previously enthusiastic cheering became distant, echoing ominously as though from another world, accompanied by sinister whispers. "But the Forsaken is not yet lost! Captain, keep the helm steady! We still have time!"
"I'd steer if I knew where to go!" Duncan growled, his voice distorted by the fire crackling around him. "I've completely lost my bearings!"
"Trust your instincts, Captain!" the goat head shouted urgently. "Your intuition is stronger than any compass!"
Duncan nearly cursed aloud, feeling utterly helpless. Yet, with no alternative, he gripped the wheel even tighter and followed the faintest lingering impression of direction he had left before the mist had engulfed him. With a desperate, powerful turn, he pushed the wheel with all his strength, praying his intuition wouldn't betray him.
The Forsaken responded with a ghastly wail, its massive hull carving a dramatic arc through the blackened sea, churning mist and sea spray into a chaotic storm. Duncan glimpsed movement at the corner of his eye—something emerging from the mist ahead. A ship, smaller and sleeker than the Forsaken, suddenly materialized. Its hull was painted stark white, a black smokestack protruding sharply from the deck.
It was headed straight for him—or rather, he was about to crash straight into it.
Duncan barely had time for a single, frustrated thought:
"Of all the damn places for traffic, why is there another ship here?!"
The sea roared violently, waves towering into mountainous peaks, crashing fiercely against the sides of the steamship White Oak. Captain Lawrence Creed stood firm inside the wheelhouse, gripping the wheel tightly, feeling the ship's shuddering protests reverberating through his hands.
Through reinforced windows, Lawrence saw the monstrous waves rising, a dark mist rapidly approaching, seething with ominous black lightning. The White Oak—once a proud, cutting-edge steamship—was now a helpless toy trapped by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The boundary of reality itself was collapsing, and the chilling whispers from an otherworldly abyss crept ever closer.
"Captain! The priest can't hold on much longer!" the first officer shouted desperately.
Lawrence's eyes flicked anxiously toward the prayer altar. Purple-black flames now burned ominously from the censer, and the ship's priest, clad in deep blue robes, sat trembling violently, blood seeping from his nose and mouth. Madness flickered dangerously in the clergyman's eyes, threatening to overcome him at any moment.
Lawrence's heart sank. The priest was their last defense, holding back the creeping corruption. If he fell, every living mind aboard risked becoming a gateway to the abyss.
"Captain!" the first officer shouted again.
Lawrence's face hardened with resolve. "Deactivate the sacred wards. We're descending into the spirit realm!"
The officer stared, aghast. "Captain?!"
"We have no choice," Lawrence snapped, voice fierce and unwavering. "We must avoid the worst of this storm. It'll give the priest time to recover."
The officer hesitated, then nodded grimly. "Aye, Captain."
Orders echoed swiftly through the crew. Lawrence steadied himself as he felt the protective barrier fade, the ship slipping into the eerie, uncertain space between worlds. Mist rose quickly, blackening the seas ominously.
It was a gamble—dangerous but not unprecedented. Ships had survived brief descents into the spirit realm before. Lawrence was an experienced captain and had studied countless survival guides meticulously. He could do this—he must do this—to protect his crew.
It couldn't get worse, he told himself grimly. Just wait out the storm, execute a risky maneuver back to reality, deliver the cursed anomaly in his cargo hold, and never set sail again.
Then, through the spreading black mist, he watched helplessly as a massive, three-masted ghost ship appeared from nowhere, slicing straight through the waves toward him.
Lawrence's mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then, finally, as collision became inevitable, he managed a single heartfelt curse:
"Damn."
High above the turbulent waves, Duncan watched in frozen horror. The two ships sped inexorably toward each other, no room or time to turn aside. The White Oak's captain stared back, equally horrified.
In the brief, frozen moment before collision, Duncan's heart surged with regret, confusion, and disbelief. He'd spent days alone aboard this ghost ship without encountering a single living soul—how had another vessel appeared here, of all places, at precisely this catastrophic moment?
Then the Forsaken crashed headlong into the White Oak.
Emerald fire met polished steel, and reality itself seemed to shatter around them. Duncan felt the flames engulf both ships, green tendrils spreading rapidly, binding metal, wood, flesh, and spirit together. Screams echoed as darkness overwhelmed his senses, his consciousness slipping away into chaos.
Yet even as darkness consumed him, one thought echoed clearly in his mind—a bitter reflection on this most absurdly impossible disaster:
"What a ridiculous way to finally find someone else."