Surviving as the Captain of a Mad Cthulhu Deep Sea - Chapter 1

chapter 1

Captain’s Log

Chapter 1: The Captain’s Log

Chapter 1: The Captain’s Log

June 14th, Clear Weather – Eighth Year of Adrift

Lately, I’ve been hearing those faint whispers in my ears again. Sounds that aren’t quite sounds, chaotic and sinister. This godforsaken place is no place for humans to stay.

My First Mate, Old John, suggested I try his way and visit the fragrant ladies at the Red Lips Inn.

To be honest, my heart wavered, but I held back. I can’t waste the hard-earned Echo Notes on such things. Every moment counts if I’m to get home.

Humanity is a surface-dwelling species. The fact that we’ve appeared in these abyssal waters is undeniable proof that a path back to the surface exists. I will find that path!

I dreamt of my family again last night. I miss them so much. But their faces are fading more and more…

The sudden lurch of the Old Rat interrupted Charles Reed’s writing.

The old oil lamp beside his journal illuminated his face. He had the dark eyes and black hair of a very ordinary Asian man, yet his skin was as pale as a vampire’s in a movie, almost transparent.

By modern standards, Charles was quite handsome, but his expression was heavy with exhaustion, making him look gaunt and worn.

After listening to the sound of the waves outside for a moment and confirming there was no immediate danger, Charles picked up his pen and began writing again.

There’s no need for those special service workers. Simply writing in my diary has improved my auditory hallucinations. I’ve been able to sleep soundly for five hours every night recently—I can’t remember the last time I slept so peacefully.

Of course, to avoid following in the footsteps of the seniors who kept diaries, I’m using Earth’s script, which only I can understand, to record my entries.

Screeeech~

A ear-splitting metallic screech pierced the night outside. It sounded as if something was relentlessly scratching the hull with sharp claws.

Thud.

The diary snapped shut. Charles, his brow furrowed, walked to the circular porthole.

He leaned out to peer outside. Just as he had seen eight years ago, a sky devoid of light and a dark blue sea surface stretched into the distance, forming a vast black curtain.

Darkness reigned over the Subterranean Sea, and within that darkness, something monstrous seemed to be gestating, filling the surroundings with an eerie strangeness.

Yet here, there were no stars or moon. Had someone looked upward through night-vision goggles, they would have seen only the rugged, uneven rock strata of the subterranean ceiling.

This was the Subterranean Sea, the ocean beneath the earth. Endless darkness was its dominant melody, and paradoxically, this very darkness proved that everything was normal.

As Charles gazed at the familiar view outside the window, his brow furrowed even deeper. His years of sailing experience told him something was wrong. He decided to investigate himself.

Charles opened the nightstand beside his bed. Hundreds of yellow bullets rolled back and forth within, their movement swaying with the rhythm of the waves.

Drawing the revolver at his waist, he expertly loaded it before striding toward the helm.

“Captain, why are you here so early today? It’s not even time for the shift change.”

The man at the helm was a stout, bearded old man. In the chair to his left, a boy of about seventeen or eighteen was slumped over, fast asleep. His sailor’s uniform clearly marked his status. Both men had pale faces, reminiscent of Eastern Europeans, just like Charles.

“First Mate, the Old Rat is rocking a bit. Is the course normal?” Charles asked John, who was at the helm.

As soon as he finished speaking, he walked over and kicked the leg of the boy’s chair, waking him.

The moment the boy saw the captain, he hastily wiped the spit from his mouth and scrambled to his feet.

“Haha, it seems the things in the water have caught the scent of our fish. As you know, the Subterranean Sea is teeming with those disgusting creatures—more numerous than the fish themselves. Don’t worry, the [ Old Rat ] is an ironclad vessel; they won’t be able to breach it.”

The Fat Old Man said this, stepping back and handing the helm to the Captain.

Though he’d heard the First Mate’s report, Charles remained on high alert.

In such a bizarre place, humanity was no longer at the top of the food chain. The only thing they could rely on for survival was vigilance.

Charles pressed the button on the old equipment. The forward searchlight blazed brightly, and his eyes ceaselessly scanned the pitch-black sea surface beyond the transparent glass window.

The ship didn’t appear large. It was about thirty meters long, and the deck between the sea and the Captain’s Cabin was piled high with cargo.

The Old Rat was a small steamship painted gray, its hull pitted and stained with reddish rust, clear signs of its age.

“The route to the Coral Archipelago is safe, used by countless cargo ships. There’s no reason for something like that to come and bother us. Something’s wrong.”

Charles frowned, his fingers gripping the worn, gleaming helm.

Old John exclaimed in surprise, “Could we have strayed from the route? Impossible! Don’t you see the Sea Mark in the distance?”

He pointed a finger at a faint, distant light.

In the starless depths of the Subterranean Sea, the only guides besides the compass were the bright Sea Marks placed along the route. The presence of a Sea Mark proved that the path was a safe route pioneered by the Exploration Ships.

Just then, Charles’s pupils contracted to the smallest possible size as he stared at the Sea Mark. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“How… how long has it been since we last saw that Sea Mark?”

“A few minutes, I think. We’ve been keeping a close eye on it, and it hasn’t moved.”

Old John’s voice trailed off, and the expression on his plump face began to twist with terror.

The fact that they hadn’t passed the Sea Mark after sailing for so long meant it was moving at the same speed as their steamship. This was no ordinary object!

Suddenly, Charles spun the helm with both hands like a wound-up toy, twisting it hard to the left.

With a creaking of metal, the steamship they were on began to change course. Fortunately, the small vessel turned swiftly, and the Old Rat started to pull away from the bizarre Sea Mark.

Before Charles could even exhale in relief, the boy beside him pointed at the rear window, his eyes wide and his face pale, as if he had seen a ghost.

“C-Captain! It’s coming after us! It’s too fast! It’ll catch us!”

“Damn it!”

Charles shouted into the communication pipe beside him.

“Chief Engineer! Max out the boiler! Something’s chasing us!”

“Aye, Captain!”

A deep, gruff voice boomed from the iron pipe.

Black, thick smoke billowed endlessly from the chimney, and the steamship began to pick up speed.

“It’s still coming! It’s too fast! It’ll catch us soon! Oh my god! What kind of monster is that?!”

The boy’s voice rose several octaves in sheer terror, his body trembling like a leaf, on the verge of collapsing from shock.

“Dip! Close your eyes!!”

Charles, his mind stretched to its breaking point, kicked the boy’s shin, sending him sprawling to the floor.

John, beside them, pressed the boy’s head to the floor, his face flushed red as he screamed wildly.

“Don’t look! Don’t listen! Don’t think! The Captain will save us!”

The moment the words left his mouth, a massive “CRASH!” shook the Captain’s Cabin violently. The two men on the floor were sent tumbling, and Charles barely clung to the helm, preventing himself from being thrown overboard.

“Captain! We’ve collided!”

At that moment, Charles’s face turned from pale to a deathly blue. He clenched his teeth so hard that his cheeks bulged slightly.

He pressed the pipe to his lips and screamed hoarsely, “Chief Engineer! Overload the boiler for thirty seconds!”

“Captain! Don’t! This ship is too old! It’ll explode!”

“Do as I say! I know my ship better than anyone!”

After shouting into the engine room, Charles looked down at the First Mate, who was still sprawled on the floor.

“John! Go throw half the cargo overboard!”

He knew this was no time for hesitation. The survival of his crew was paramount.

“Understood!”

The Fat Old Man kicked open the door to the wheelhouse and rushed out.

As Charles heard the splash of cargo falling into the water, his heart felt like it was being torn apart.

Fortunately, the series of measures proved effective. After a few more collisions, the Old Rat, now lighter, began to pick up speed, gradually widening the distance between itself and the pursuing object.

Only when he confirmed that the real Sea Mark was visible at the bow of the ship did Charles, drenched in cold sweat, slowly release the wheel in his hands.

The boy, who had been lying prostrate on the floor, crawled with trembling body to Charles’s feet and desperately clung to his thigh.

“C-Captain… I just… I just saw…”

Charles immediately grabbed his cheek, silencing him. “Before we boarded the ship, what was the fourth thing I told you?”

“Don’t look at or even think about the monsters in the water. As long as they don’t come near our ship, don’t mention them even if you see them…”

“Good. Now get up, lower the anchor, and tell all hands to gather on deck. I need to take a headcount.”

Charles released his grip and left the cabin. The deck was in chaos, water pooling everywhere, and the ropes that had secured the cargo bobbed and swayed on the surface.

Pushing through the seawater that reached his shins, Charles made his way to the stern. The spindle-shaped stern was deeply indented, as if struck by a massive hammer, and covered in a foul-smelling, black ooze that continuously emitted a stench.

The state of the ship made it easy to estimate the size of the creature that had collided with it, but eight years at sea had dulled Charles’s curiosity. His mind was occupied with a more pressing problem.

“This is going to cost a fortune to repair…”

Charles grew anxious. He was one step further from returning home.

Just then, a whispering voice returned to his ears, as if seeping from the surrounding darkness.

Ph… nglui mglw… nafh…

“Damn it!”

Frowning, Charles clenched his fist and repeatedly struck his forehead with the back of his hand. The pain helped to alleviate the irritation caused by the whispers.

Seeing the other sailors gathering on deck, Charles lowered his hand and approached them.

As the captain drew near, several men of varying heights quickly fell into line. Regardless of their features, their complexions were all deathly pale, just like Charles’s.

“John, First Mate. He assists the captain, organizes work plans, oversees cargo loading, and serves as helmsman from noon to midnight,” the Fat Old Man said first.

Beside Old John stood a tall, burly man whose blue work clothes were stained with oil. As soon as the First Mate finished speaking, he quickly added,

“James, you’re the First Assistant Engineer. Your duties include maintaining the boiler’s proper operation and managing the propulsion system, auxiliary equipment, lubrication, cooling, and fuel.”

Beside the tall man stood a thin one, so lanky and gaunt he looked like a telephone pole.

“Fred, you’re the Cook. You’re responsible for the crew’s meals.”

Behind the Cook stood Dip, his face pale and sickly. He swayed slightly, still seemingly dazed by the shock.

“D… Dip, you’re the First Deckhand. You’re responsible for deck cleaning, and for managing and maintaining the anchor, ropes, and loading equipment.”

Charles quickly scanned the four men before him and immediately noticed one was missing.

“Where’s the Boatswain?”

The four men exchanged glances, but none answered.

“Aaaargh!!”

A horrific scream suddenly echoed from below deck.

“Something’s boarded the ship! Grab your weapons!”

Charles quickly led his crew toward the source of the noise.

When they reached the dimly lit crew quarters, a chill that pierced from their coccyxes to their brains swept through them.

Only two figures stood in the gloom. One was the Boatswain of the Old Rat, his face contorted in terror.

The other lay prostrate on the floor, his identity obscured. His skin had been stripped away. Without its protection, the blood-soaked figure writhed and shuddered violently with each movement, the floor pressing against his exposed flesh.

The unidentified man screamed and thrashed desperately, his breathing growing increasingly faint.

“Jim! Find out who he is!”

Charles swiftly drew the revolver from his hip.

The Boatswain, trembling with fear, crawled forward and pressed his ear against the bloody, formless head, listening intently.

After a few seconds, he turned back with a terrified expression, pointing a trembling finger at Charles.

“Captain… he claims to be you!”

“Me?”

Hearing the crew behind him shuffling their feet in confusion, Charles didn’t hesitate to aim the gun at the Boatswain.

“Charles, your title is Captain. You are responsible for the safe operation, production, and administrative management of this vessel, as well as the maximum protection of the lives and property of the ship and crew. In emergencies, you must handle all affairs with bold decisiveness and careful judgment. You are the helmsman from midnight to noon! Boatswain! Report your duties immediately!”

“Kill him! He’s no longer your captain!”

The Boatswain, terror-stricken, pointed a trembling finger at Charles.

Bang!

As Charles pulled the trigger, a bloody hole appeared in the Boatswain’s forehead. What flowed out wasn’t blood, but a thick, semi-coagulated yellow liquid.

As the situation was exposed, the Boatswain’s bullet-ridden body began to twist and contort. His mouth split open all the way to the back of his head, his limbs rapidly swelling as he lunged at Charles with a grotesque scream.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets rained down on the Boatswain’s body. The human skin tore like a ripped sack, revealing a twisted torso underneath—blackish, rotting, and covered in warty, toad-like skin.

Despite being hit by all six bullets, the monster was still alive. It spread its limbs and lunged at the man before him.

Charles showed no sign of panic, as if he had experienced such things many times before. He rolled sideways, evading the creature’s attack.

Even as he dodged, his hands didn’t stop. He quickly reloaded his revolver and fired six more shots at the monster.

After taking twelve bullets, the monster’s backward-jointed legs gave out, and it collapsed helplessly to the floor.

Charles gasped for breath, glanced at the repulsive corpse before him, and turned to the terrified sailors behind him.

“Don’t just stand there spacing out. Throw that damn thing overboard.”

Charles finished speaking and walked toward the motionless, blood-soaked corpse.

Ignoring the overwhelming stench of blood that pierced the sky, he grabbed the corpse’s head and straightened it. Only then, after noticing a missing front tooth among the exposed teeth, did Charles realize this was the real Boatswain—the man whose skin this sea monster had been wearing.

A flicker of pain crossed Charles’s face, but he quickly suppressed it. He retrieved his revolver, reloaded it, and began patrolling the ship, searching for any monsters he might have missed.

Dip, along with First Mate John, was struggling to move the corpse.

The boy, barely escaping his terror, turned to his companion. “Captain, you’re truly amazing.”

“Haha, of course. That’s why he’s the captain and you’re just a deckhand. In truth, he was just like you when he first boarded a ship.”

“Really? What was Captain Charles like when he first boarded?”

“It’s a long story. About seven or eight years ago. I was a Third Mate on another ship then, and Charles washed ashore, adrift at sea. When we first found him, he couldn’t even speak properly.”

“No way! Then how did he become captain?”

“The old captain of that ship took pity on him and let him follow at a distance behind the stern. When we returned to port and confirmed he wasn’t a monster, he was allowed to stay on our ship. As he learned to speak, he also learned the ropes as a deckhand. Not long after mastering the language, he declared he would buy his own ship and lead all of humanity to the ‘Land of Light.’ We all laughed at him, thinking he was crazy.”

“And then?”

“Well, he went from deckhand to boatswain, and then from boatswain to Third Mate. Just when we thought he’d be promoted to Second Mate, he actually saved enough money to buy a small, used cargo ship. The very same one beneath our feet—the Old Rat.”