The massive steel ships before them, while not made of conventional matter, clearly demonstrated that the creatures commanding them possessed intelligence, technology, and even an advanced civilization.
This realization sent chills down Nyachi's spine.
In the human world, monsters and malevolent spirits certainly caused widespread destruction, but humanity always managed to retain the upper hand. Even when powerful spirits capable of leveling cities emerged, humanity would rally, driving them back or eradicating them outright.
This dominance was not due to individual might but the collective strength of human civilization—its ability to innovate, organize, and wield knowledge.
Monsters and spirits, despite their immense strength and cunning, were fundamentally primal predators, relying on instinct and inherent abilities to fight. But if monsters such as these ghostly fleet's commanders had truly developed a civilization, humanity's advantage would vanish.
"If these monsters invade the human world, how could we possibly stop them?"
The chilling thought consumed Nyachi. He lowered his head in despair, unable to conceive of anything in humanity's arsenal capable of countering such a foe.
While Nyachi and his fellow exorcist Ingar wrestled with their grim thoughts, one of the towering ghost ships, nearly 100 meters long, adjusted its course and began heading toward their desolate island.
The ship's movement disrupted their thoughts, forcing them to focus on the ominous vessel steadily approaching.
Upon the ship's glowing green deck, a skeletal figure emerged, cloaked in gray and clutching a staff of bone. Its crystalline bones gleamed faintly, and in the sockets of its skull, pale blue soul flames flickered with what seemed like amusement.
"Stragglers caught in the clash of chaotic rules… lucky—or unlucky—survivors," the skeletal mage mused aloud.
To the undead captain of this spectral warship, the two half-living, half-dead exorcists were of no intrinsic interest. However, they were significant because the fleet's supreme commander had expressed an interest in beings touched by the collision of two worlds' laws.
Such creatures were deemed "walking merit points" by the fleet's undead.
"Two fortunate—or unfortunate—souls. Do not resist."
The mage's ethereal voice echoed directly into their minds, bypassing speech entirely.
Before either exorcist could respond, the skeletal mage raised a finger, and gray winds surged toward them. The winds coalesced into two enormous magical hands, which seized them and pulled them aboard the ghost ship.
Neither Nyachi nor Ingar resisted. They could sense no direct malice from the skeletal figure, but more importantly, they understood the vast power disparity between them and their captor. Resistance would be futile.
"What are you?" Ingar asked cautiously once they were dropped onto the deck. "And what are these ships?"
The skeletal mage ignored his question entirely. Its blue soul flames flickered briefly, and then it spoke with imperious authority:
"Stay here. Don't move. Don't make me waste my energy. A knight will arrive shortly to take you to where you need to go."
Without waiting for their response, the mage sank into the deck as if melting into it, leaving the two exorcists standing alone.
"That arrogance!" Ingar fumed. "Does it really think it can treat us like this?"
"It can," Nyachi replied dryly. "Do you think we stand a chance against it? Even if we had the strength to resist, what would be the point? This is no time for pride. Besides, if I were in its position, I'd act the same."
"That doesn't make it less infuriating," Ingar grumbled. "I haven't been treated like this since I became an exorcist."
"Get used to it. Let's just do as it said and wait for this so-called knight."
As the exorcists speculated about their fate, a sudden gale swept across the deck. Descending from the murky skies came a black-armored death knight, wreathed in spectral fire and astride a massive skeletal steed.
The knight's immense size was staggering; it towered over the exorcists, its steed's mere hoof capable of crushing them like insects.
Without a word, the knight extended its lance, skewering the two exorcists like parcels, and then took to the skies.
"Is this their idea of transportation?!" Ingar shouted over the howling wind, his voice tinged with outrage. "Do they not understand the concept of gentleness?!"
His indignation was lost in the deafening rush of air as the death knight's incredible speed sent gale-force winds tearing at their withered bodies. Yet, despite the turbulence, the knight's control over its lance was absolute, ensuring they remained secure.
When the wind finally ceased, the exorcists found themselves deposited unceremoniously onto another deck—this one even larger than the first.
As they regained their bearings, both men were stunned by their surroundings.
"Are we on a ship or an island?" Nyachi asked, his voice tinged with awe.
"Look around," Ingar replied, equally dumbfounded. "What kind of island moves across the ocean? This has to be a ship."
"But how could something this massive even exist?"
The ship—if it could even be called that—stretched out like a vast city. Towering spires and intricate structures dotted its surface, and countless undead moved purposefully about. Most ignored the two exorcists entirely, their presence seemingly unimportant amid the ship's bustling activity.
"What should we do now?" Nyachi asked, his voice uncertain.
"Wait," Ingar said. "They'll deal with us when they're ready."
As they waited, a thunderous roar shattered the eerie calm. Explosions echoed across the horizon, accompanied by faint, blood-curdling screams.
"Look! Over there!" Ingar cried, pointing excitedly.
Nyachi followed his friend's gaze to see a titanic spectral entity, its dark gray aura clashing violently with streaks of fiery cannon fire. The creature was a legendary evil spirit, its colossal form towering between the ocean and the stormy sky.
The ghostly fleet's weapons bombarded the spirit relentlessly. Each impact tore away chunks of its incorporeal body, though the monstrous entity fought back with all its might. Its otherworldly roars of rage carried a faint undercurrent of despair.
"What… what is this?" Nyachi whispered, his voice trembling as the reality of the battle sank in.
"It's an execution," Ingar muttered, his voice hollow.
The legendary spirit, so powerful that it could have destroyed entire cities, was being systematically obliterated. To witness such overwhelming might only deepened their unease.
How could humanity possibly contend with a force like this?
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