Chapter Six: The Symbiosis Ritual

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Suddenly, Hughes heard a faint voice whispering in his ear, “Is this true?” The voice was sharp and weak. “Of course it’s true, you...” Hughes instinctively replied, turning toward the source of the voice, only to be stunned. Before his eyes lay that grotesque, repulsive creature. It was it? It was speaking to him!? Hughes froze, his body stiffening as his hand instinctively reached for the gun holster, but he stopped just before grabbing it. His pistol could only fire once, and besides, it wasn’t time to shoot yet. It was daytime, surrounded by his villagers and soldiers. The creature before him was as feeble as a piece of rotten flesh, hardly threatening. There was no need for an overreaction. Calm down, calm down, take a deep breath. Trying to steady his nerves, Hughes glanced at the people around him, surprised to find no one else reacting. Had they not heard it? No, that couldn’t be—out of so many people, only he heard it? That was impossible. Then the voice came again. “What you mentioned earlier, about water, water pressure, and the deep sea... is it true?” Hughes stared at the lump of “monster fish” sprawled on the ground. He was now certain—it was the creature speaking to him, and only he could hear the voice; no one else noticed. Supernatural! This was definitely some kind of supernatural power—beyond the Church’s teachings! Hughes felt a dry throat. He had a loaded pistol in his arms; a single shout would have soldiers ready to die for him. Yet the creature before him was barely clinging to life. Perhaps this was a rare chance to encounter the supernatural. Fixing his gaze on the flesh mass, Hughes tried to respond mentally: “Are you the one speaking to me?” “Yes,” the voice replied quickly, tinged with urgency. “So, it’s true?” Hughes hesitated, carefully weighing his words before answering mentally, “I don’t know your specific circumstances, but these are conclusions I’ve drawn based on my understanding. I can only promise I’m not lying to you.” The monster fish remained silent for a long time. When it spoke again, Hughes sensed a trembling in its tone: “I see... I see... so that is the truth...” What was it saying? Why did it sound so burdened and sorrowful? Before Hughes could think of a tactful response, the creature’s voice came again.

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“I have a... request.” “I want to bring this knowledge back to my people, so that my kin... will no longer suffer this curse... the torment of water pressure.” “But... as you can see, my time is short.” “So... could we form... a symbiotic pact...” The monster’s voice grew faint and intermittent, its visible weakness and decay apparent. Hughes frowned. The creature’s words sounded like a scam. It was supposed to be a denizen of the deep sea, yet it claimed ignorance of its own condition. It could communicate, yet only now had it spoken to him. And this so-called symbiotic pact sounded more like parasitism—it would gain vitality, but what would Hughes lose? On reflection, the timing was suspicious. Not a moment earlier or later, but right after a few words, it was suddenly near death. This was a classic con artist’s tactic: creating urgency, leaving no time to think, forcing an irrational choice. So the decision was clear. “Very well. How do we perform this ritual?” “Touch... me... and then...” Hughes didn’t hesitate, reaching out his hand. Ridiculous—so what if it was a con? This was genuine supernatural power. “Lord Hughes” was but a shell; he had used several bodies before without touching the supernatural realm. If it was a con or a trap, even ‘Hell’s Hughes’ would take a chance. Besides, the worst outcome of any pact would be death and a new vessel. Hughes could bear that. As for whether the pact might have deeper consequences, binding him beyond death... Hughes smiled inwardly. He didn’t believe the pact could be so potent as to drag his soul from that golden throne. Although he didn’t know what exactly the golden throne was, it was surely some transcendent existence beyond death, a rank not to be underestimated. So he hesitated not at all. Whatever the pact entailed, he accepted it; at worst, a mere thought would send his soul back to the golden throne. Still, instinctively, Hughes slid his left hand to the belt of his outer garment, where a concealed pouch held his flintlock. He carefully cocked the hammer, ready to fire with a finger’s twitch. Contrary to expectation, the monster’s flesh was not slimy or disgusting; it was cold and smooth, an oddly peculiar sensation. The creature’s voice echoed in his mind: “Thank you for... your trust. I will now tell you about...” “What!? How is this possible!!!” The creature’s voice suddenly rose, filled with shock.

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Hughes was startled. What had happened? He felt the cold, slippery touch on his hand instantly turn scorching hot. At that moment, their senses seemed linked; he could read the emotions flooding the creature’s mind. Hughes’ face drained of color, while the monster’s wounds began to heal, its cracked skin regaining luster. A wave of dizziness washed over him. Ah, so this ritual was drawing my life force to heal it—does that mean I’m going to die? Hughes gripped his pistol beneath his clothes. It was but a layer of fabric—if he pulled the trigger, the bullet would tear through the creature’s frail flesh without fail at such close range. Should he shoot? Perhaps due to the ritual’s influence, he faintly sensed the creature’s thoughts. From that corrupted, swollen flesh came an emotion devoid of malice. Hughes sighed internally, released the cocked hammer, and withdrew his hand. The flintlock slipped back into his pocket. Since he had made this gamble, he would see it through. At worst, death awaited. Hughes looked at the people rushing toward him, his vision blurring. In the final moment before losing consciousness, he strained to look once more at the creature on the ground. If this monster was to be his end, he ought to remember its face. The creature’s condition had visibly improved. Though still pale and swollen, it appeared more spirited than before. On its ugly visage was an expression of shock. Shock? What could it possibly be shocked about? It had proposed the ritual—had something gone wrong? Perhaps it never intended to kill him; maybe it was all a tragic accident. “Am I really this unlucky...” Hughes thought bitterly. His vision finally darkened completely.