Morgan jolted awake and sat up on the edge of the bed, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword.
"Who's there?"
His voice echoed in the cramped cabin, only to be swallowed by the roaring storm outside.
The moment his words fell, the massive shadow vanished with a swoosh, as if it had never been there at all. Only the rain lashed against the porthole, blurring the darkness beyond.
Morgan took a deep breath and rose to don his armor.
He picked up Archeus, grabbed the oil lamp from the table, and slowly opened the door.
The corridor was empty.
Rain poured in through the open hatch, and as Morgan held up the lamp, its light flickered wildly in the storm, illuminating nothing but dense streaks of rain.
He stepped onto the deck—no one.
The sailors' posts were deserted. Ropes lashed wildly in the wind, and the sails snapped loudly.
He leaned over to look down.
Every cabin on the ship was dark.
One porthole after another stared back at him like the eyes of the dead—hollow and black.
Only his own cabin still emitted a faint glow.
Morgan's heartbeat quickened. Tightening his grip on his sword, he decided to find Mr. Prestor.
He crossed the slick deck, pushed open the hatch, and descended the stairs.
The oil lamp illuminated only a few steps ahead. Beyond that—endless darkness.
He arrived at Allen's door.
Just as his hand touched the wood—
The reflection on his blade made his pupils shrink.
A hideous fin was slowly swaying behind him.
Morgan twisted sharply.
A shadow brushed past his armor and lunged forward.
In that brief flash of light, Morgan saw it clearly—
A naga.
Its upper body vaguely retained a humanoid shape, but was covered in dark green scales.
Its head was a twisted fusion of snake and human, with vertical pupils glowing faintly in the darkness.
Its lower body was a long serpentine tail, writhing across the floor. A dorsal fin ran from its spine all the way to the tip of its tail, now flaring up in anger.
Morgan didn't give it a second chance.
With a low roar, he raised his left hand, golden light gathering in his palm.
Hammer of Justice!
The light struck like an invisible hammer, slamming into the naga. It let out a shrill hiss and fell into a stunned daze.
Immediately after, Archeus swept across from Morgan's right hand, the blade wreathed in holy light as it cleaved through the creature's grotesque head.
Splurt!
Holy light and flesh burst apart at once. The naga's head fell cleanly, while its tail continued to twitch and thrash, splattering foul-smelling fluid everywhere.
Morgan didn't linger. He turned and pounded on Allen's door.
"Mr. Prestor!"
No response.
He knocked again—still nothing.
Gritting his teeth, Morgan stepped back and slammed his shoulder into the wooden door—bang!
The door flew open.
Allen lay on the bed, brow tightly furrowed, his face pale. He looked as though he were trapped in some nightmare.
Morgan rushed forward and shook his shoulder.
"Mr. Prestor! Wake up!"
No response.
Taking a deep breath, Morgan placed his right hand on Allen's forehead and closed his eyes, beginning to chant. Golden holy light flowed from his palm, slowly enveloping Allen's entire body.
But the instant the light touched him, black smoke began to rise from Allen's body.
"Ahhh—!"
Allen screamed as he jolted upright, gasping for air.
Startled, Morgan quickly pulled his hand back.
"Mr. Prestor! Are you alright?"
Allen didn't answer. He panted heavily, staring at some point in the void, his pupils not yet fully focused.
He had just had a dream.
A dream so real it felt tangible.
An orc shaman, hunched over, stood in a dim underground bunker.
Rough stone walls surrounded him, and flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows.
Bones and feathers hung all over his body. His murky eyes were filled with madness and terror.
His lips moved constantly, muttering to himself.
"We're going to be too late…"
"We're already out of time…"
"We must immediately…"
The rest—Allen couldn't make out.
Every time the orc was about to say something crucial, the sound was swallowed by something, leaving only a droning buzz.
Who was that orc?
Ner'zhul?
What did they have to do immediately? What was the Horde plotting?
"Mr. Prestor!" Morgan's voice pulled him back to reality. "Can you hear me?"
Allen blinked, finally regaining focus.
"Morgan?" His voice was hoarse. "What happened?"
Morgan quickly recounted everything that had just occurred.
After listening, Allen sat up abruptly, grabbed Xal'atath from beside his pillow, and threw on his black cloak.
"Naga attacked this ship?" His gaze sharpened. "Check Stella first."
The two hurried out of the room.
In the corridor, Morgan froze.
The naga corpse he had just killed—was gone.
Morgan opened his mouth, trying to explain.
Allen patted his shoulder.
"No need," he said calmly. "I believe you."
Morgan swallowed and nodded firmly.
They quickly reached Stella's door. Without hesitation, Allen kicked it open—
Bang!
The door slammed against the wall with a loud crash.
The room was dim. By the flickering light of the oil lamp, they could see—the bed was empty.
Morgan's heart sank.
"Where's Stella?" His voice was full of urgency. "She's gone!"
Allen's chest tightened.
In that instant, the vision he had seen in Duskwood surged back—Stella's small body twisted into something grotesque, crawling toward him mechanically, her sapphire-blue eyes turned into hollow voids…
He gripped Xal'atath tightly, about to speak—
"Mmm? Who is it?"
The bathroom door opened.
Stella stepped out leisurely, wrapped in an oversized bath towel.
The towel was far too big for her, wrapping her from head to toe like a white cocoon, leaving only a small, wet blue head exposed.
Her cheeks were flushed red from the steam. Her large sapphire eyes were half-lidded, full of laziness and comfort.
She saw the two at the door.
Paused for a second.
Then—
"AAAAAAAH—!!!"
She screamed.
"Morgan, turn around!" she shrieked. "Benefactor, you're not allowed to look either!"
Morgan immediately turned his back. Allen, meanwhile, looked utterly speechless.
"I say… you didn't just soak in the bath from afternoon until now, did you?"
Stella hopped in place, raising her hands to block his view. Hearing this, she cupped her flushed cheeks, speaking blissfully: "Yes! The bathtub was just too comfortable! So I thought—before we leave this ship, I should use it as much as possible!"
Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction, her face full of delight.
Suddenly, a trace of confusion flashed in her eyes.
"Wait." She tilted her head. "How did you know I've been soaking since the afternoon?"
"Because you've been missing since the afternoon," Allen said expressionlessly.
Stella nodded vigorously, her face lighting up with realization.
"Benefactor is so smart!"
Allen didn't bother continuing the conversation.
"Get dressed. No time."
The three rushed out, randomly kicking open a nearby cabin door.
Inside, a sailor lay on the bed, motionless, breathing steadily as if in deep sleep.
Morgan stepped forward—shaking him, pushing him, even slapping his face. No reaction.
"It's magic. They're all under some kind of sleep spell. Just like I was."
Morgan clenched his teeth. "I can use Purify—"
"No time," Allen cut him off. "Check Jaina first."
...
In Jaina's room, she was trapped in a nightmare.
A nightmare she had had countless times.
The battlefield of the Second War.
Flames soared, smoke filled the air, and the roars of orcs shook the sky.
She saw her brother, Derek Proudmoore, from behind—the young man who always smiled and patted her head—leaping toward an enemy ship with his sword raised.
"Derek!" She wanted to shout, but no sound came out.
She saw him fall.
She saw his body sink into the sea—deeper and deeper—until it disappeared into endless darkness.
The scene shifted.
In the depths of the ocean, a rotting corpse opened its eyes.
It wore the uniform of Kul Tiras. Its skin was gray and decayed, its eye sockets empty, yet it stared straight at her.
Its rotting mouth slowly opened, uttering a hoarse, inhuman whisper: "Run… quickly…"
Jaina tried to flee, but she couldn't move.
"Jaina… run…"
The voice grew closer, a decayed hand reaching toward her—
"Ahhh—!!!"
Jaina jolted awake, sitting upright and gasping for breath.
Cold sweat soaked through her nightclothes.
Outside, thunder exploded.
Boom—!!!
Lightning flashed, illuminating the entire room in stark white.
And in that instant—it illuminated the door and the porthole.
Behind the door. Outside the window.
Countless massive, inhuman figures stood silently.
Their outlines blurred by the rain, yet clear enough to be unmistakable.
They were not human. Absolutely not.
They had surrounded her.
Jaina's pupils shrank as a scream burst from her throat: "Help—!!!"
...
Allen and the others rushed up the stairs toward the luxurious cabin at the top deck.
The rain still poured relentlessly.
Why was it so dark? They couldn't even see the rain—only hear its relentless pounding.
Better put up a shield first.
Allen raised his hand and chanted softly.
Shield.
An invisible magical barrier unfolded around him, a transparent glow shimmering.
The moment the shield formed, his left wrist suddenly grew hot.
Allen looked down.
The three wave-like markings were glowing faintly in the darkness.
Silver light pulsed beneath his skin like something alive.
Bzzzzzzzzzz—
The light began to pulse faster, flickering rapidly, as if it were about to burst out at any moment.
[Wild Magic Surge triggered!]
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