The storm had passed, leaving The Abyss drifting through unnervingly calm waters. The sun now shone brightly, casting long shadows across the deck. The only evidence of the chaos from hours earlier was the faint remnants of the storm, now far on the horizon, seemingly pulled along by the direction of the ghost ship that had haunted them. The sudden peace felt unnatural, almost mocking.
Jacob stood at the helm, his mind still swirling with the events of the night. The ship was steady, and his crew worked quietly, though every so often, one of the men would cast a nervous glance toward the now-distant storm. The encounter with the ghost ship weighed heavily on them all, but none more so than Jacob. He could still feel it—an eerie pulse in his chest, cold and foreign, as if a part of him had been claimed by that ship.
"Captain," Garrett's voice interrupted his thoughts. The first mate stood nearby, his weathered face drawn tight with concern. "The men are back to their tasks, but they're still shaken. That... thing we saw—it's sticking with them."
Jacob nodded, barely meeting Garrett's eyes. "Keep them busy. They'll be fine once we're at port."
"You should rest," Garrett continued, eyeing Jacob's pale face. "You've been at the helm through all of it—the storm, that... whatever that was. Let me take the wheel."
Jacob hesitated, his instincts telling him to stay alert. But the pressure in his chest was growing, the cold tendrils of necrotic energy curling through him, making it hard to think clearly. He needed answers—and perhaps some rest.
"You have the helm, Garrett," Jacob said, stepping back from the wheel. "Keep us on course. I'll be in my quarters."
Garrett took the wheel without hesitation, giving Jacob a firm nod. As Jacob made his way across the deck, he could feel the weight of the crew's eyes on him. They trusted him, but they were looking for assurance—something Jacob wasn't sure he could give, not while this mark clung to him.
Inside his quarters, the air was still, the familiar scent of wood and salt hanging heavy. Jacob closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as the pressure in his chest tightened. He crossed the room and sank into the chair at his desk, his head in his hands.
"System," he muttered, barely audible in the quiet of the cabin, "what is this mark? What did that captain do to me?"
A cold, mechanical voice answered him after a brief pause.
[System Notification: A high concentration of necrotic energy has been detected. This energy is not native to the user.]
Jacob's hand tightened into a fist. "Can I absorb it?" he asked through clenched teeth, feeling the pulse of the foreign energy thrumming within him.
[Negative. User's current level is insufficient to absorb this necrotic energy.]
His frustration mounted. "What level do I need to be?"
[System Response: User must reach Level 6 to absorb the detected necrotic energy and its associated power signature.]
Level 6? He was only at Level 4. The weight of that gap felt like a noose tightening around his neck. "What's the power signature?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer.
[Insufficient system level to provide detailed information on the power signature.]
Jacob let out a long, slow breath, leaning back in his chair. The system wasn't going to help him, not yet. The mark, the energy, the captain—all of it was far beyond his current understanding. He needed power, more souls, and more control. Until then, this dark weight inside him would remain a mystery.
Feeling the exhaustion from the storm and the stress of the mark pressing down on him, Jacob's eyelids grew heavy. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, intending only to rest for a moment. But sleep claimed him quickly, dragging him deep into its embrace.
Jacob found himself standing on the deck of a ship, but it was not The Abyss. This ship was old, its sails tattered and torn, flapping weakly in a wind that Jacob couldn't feel. A thick fog surrounded him, swirling like a living thing, clinging to the decaying wood beneath his boots. The sky was a sickly greenish-gray, and no sun or moon hung in the heavens.
Everything was silent—eerily so. The only sound was the faint creaking of the ship's timbers, like a ship long abandoned, drifting through a sea that no longer cared for the living.
Jacob's breath caught in his throat. He knew, without a doubt, that he was on the ghost ship—the one that had passed The Abyss just hours ago. His heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to move forward, his steps slow and cautious.
He walked along the deck, the fog parting just enough to reveal a path before him. Skeletons, their bones slick with rot and decay, stood motionless at their posts, their empty eye sockets staring into nothingness. They didn't move, didn't react to Jacob's presence, but he could feel them—feel the necrotic energy pulsing through them like a heartbeat.
Ahead, through the fog, loomed the captain's quarters. The door, heavy and warped with age, stood ajar, beckoning him forward.
With a deep breath, Jacob pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was dark, lit only by the faint green glow of the fog outside. At the far end of the cabin sat the captain, his back to Jacob. His figure was hunched over, his tattered coat hanging loosely from his skeletal frame. As Jacob stepped closer, the captain slowly turned to face him.
His face was half-decayed, the flesh barely clinging to the bone. His eyes burned with dark green embers, glowing faintly in the dim light, and his breath came in shallow, wheezing rasps, as though the act of breathing was more out of habit than necessity. He raised one bony hand and gestured for Jacob to sit.
Jacob hesitated, every instinct telling him to turn and run, but his legs moved on their own. He sat in the chair opposite the captain, the oppressive weight of necrotic energy pressing down on him.
For a long moment, the captain said nothing, his glowing eyes studying Jacob with unsettling curiosity. Then, finally, in a deep, gravelly voice, the captain spoke. "You've been marked."
The voice was barely more than a rasp, wheezing with each word, as if the captain's lungs had long since decayed. Jacob swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but the terror gnawed at him. "Why?" he asked, his voice low, though his heart raced in his chest. "Why did you mark me?"
The captain's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through Jacob like a blade. "I sensed… a power… similar to my own," he wheezed, each word heavy with an ancient weight. "I wanted to examine… to see… what you are."
Jacob's heart pounded in his ears. His own necromantic powers? Was that what had drawn the captain's attention? The thought chilled him to the bone.
The captain leaned closer, his skeletal face illuminated by the faint glow of his eyes. His gaze lingered on Jacob, as though studying him, assessing him. "Interesting," he rasped after a long pause.
Jacob's breath caught in his throat, and he felt the cold tendrils of fear tightening around him. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The captain didn't answer. Instead, he raised his hand, and with a slow, deliberate motion, waved it dismissively. The cabin dissolved into mist, the fog swallowing Jacob whole.
Jacob jolted upright in his chair, gasping for breath. His heart raced, his body drenched in sweat, and his head throbbed with a sharp, pulsing pain. He was back in his quarters, the faint light of the sun filtering through the porthole. But the oppressive weight of the necrotic energy still clung to him, heavier now, like a dark presence coiled inside his chest.
His hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The dream—or whatever it had been—was still vivid in his mind. The captain, the way he'd studied Jacob, that one word: interesting.
The headache throbbed painfully, and Jacob leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know what the captain had meant, but one thing was clear: this mark, this connection to the ghost ship, was only the beginning.
And whatever the captain had seen in him—it was something far darker than Jacob had ever imagined.