Elohims wrath

Chapter 8: Descent into the Unknown pt3



As Arne and Bjorn began to shine their flashlights around the gigantic engine room, they realized they were standing on a platform that stretched toward the center of the room. The vast space was shrouded in an oppressive darkness, the air thick with the stench of death and blood. The ceiling was a grotesque tapestry of yellowed papers, aged and brittle from prolonged exposure to the air. Thousands of these papers clung to the ceiling, each inscribed with cryptic symbols and words in a language unknown to Arne and Bjorn.

Cables hung like serpents from the ceiling, swaying gently in the stale air, while metal scraps littered the floor, creating a hazardous landscape. The room felt like a mausoleum, a place where time had stopped and decay had taken over.

After a moment of silent observation, Arne decided to approach the center of the room. As he moved closer, his flashlight revealed a gigantic hole in the floor. Above the hole, a massive metal sphere floated eerily in the air, defying gravity. Arne stood stunned, his mind struggling to comprehend the sight before him. The foul odor emanating from the hole snapped him back to reality.

Meanwhile, Bjorn was questioning Old Man Lars, the enigmatic figure who knew more about the ship than he let on. "What is this room?" Bjorn asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. Before Lars could respond, Arne's scream pierced the silence.

"Bjooorn!" his voice was frantic, filled with a mix of fear and urgency. Bjorn rushed to his side, and together they shone their flashlights down the hole.

As Arne and Bjorn's flashlights illuminated the bottom of the gaping hole, the sight that met their eyes was nothing short of nightmarish. The corpses were piled haphazardly, a grotesque mountain of bones and decaying flesh. Skulls grinned up at them with empty eye sockets, and skeletal hands reached out as if in a final, desperate plea for salvation. The air was thick with the sickly sweet stench of rot, mingling with the metallic tang of old blood.

The questions flooded their minds, each one more horrifying than the last. How many had died here? Who were these people? What had happened to them? The sheer number of bodies suggested a massacre, a catastrophic event that had claimed countless lives. But why? And how?

Arne's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of a story that seemed too terrible to comprehend. Were these people prisoners? Victims of some unspeakable experiment? Or had they been sacrificed to some unknown entity? The possibilities were endless and each one more chilling than the last.

Arne's body tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring ready to unleash its pent-up energy. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, each inhalation filling his lungs with the acrid stench of decay that permeated the engine room. His eyes, wide and wild, locked onto Lars with a predatory intensity, pupils dilated in the dim light.

His hands, calloused and strong from years of survival, clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. The veins on his forearms bulged, pulsing with the adrenaline that surged through his veins. His legs, powerful and sturdy, bent slightly at the knees, preparing for the explosive leap.

Arne, his temper flaring, lunged at Lars, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "What is this, old man? Explain!" Arne's voice was a growl, his teeth bared in a primal snarl.

"Arne, stop!" Bjorn's voice was shaky, his stomach churning at the sight of so many bodies. For these two men, human life was sacred, and the sheer number of corpses was a heart-wrenching sight.

Lars trembled, struggling to pick himself up. "I said… many died here," he mumbled, his words disjointed and incoherent. "There… monster… danger…" His eyes were wild, his mind seemingly fractured by the horrors he had witnessed.

Bjorn, much calmer, knelt beside Lars. "Tell us what you know, or Arne will make you speak," he said, his voice low and threatening. It felt strange and unsettling for Bjorn to threaten another human being, but the situation demanded it.

Lars tried to explain, his voice trembling. "A big creature… a monster… it ate them all."

"Don't give me that shit," Bjorn snapped, quick to catch the lie. "No creature could have entered here, and even if there was one, it would have attacked us by now."

"It died of hunger," Lars argued weakly.

"Arne, look for its corpse. If you don't find one, Lars is dead," Bjorn ordered, his voice cold and unyielding.

Arne smirked, his hatred for Lars evident. "Sure," he replied, his voice dripping with contempt.

Lars's mind drifted back through the fog of years, memories surfacing like ghosts from the depths of his soul. As he sat there, trembling and broken, he saw Arne and Bjorn not as the fierce men they had become, but as the innocent babies they once were. He remembered their tiny hands grasping at the air, their wide eyes filled with wonder and curiosity. They had grown so fast, adapting to the harsh realities of their world with a resilience that both amazed and saddened him.

He recalled the countless nights spent watching over them, the sleepless vigils as he tried to protect them from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. They had become hunters, the most important members of their makeshift community, yet Lars realized with a pang of regret that he knew so little about them. They were his charges, his responsibility, but they had also become strangers to him.

Regret gnawed at his heart, a relentless beast that would not be silenced. He had made so many mistakes, taken so many wrong turns. His life had been a series of compromises and half-truths, all in the name of protecting the secrets of the ship. But now, faced with the raw fury of Arne and the cold determination of Bjorn, he wondered if those secrets were worth the cost.

The ship's secrets had been his burden, a weight he had carried for so long that it had become a part of him. He had believed, with a fervor that bordered on madness, that those secrets needed to stay hidden. But now, as he looked into the eyes of the men he had raised, he felt that belief waver. The truth clawed at him, demanding to be set free

Finally, Lars broke down, tears streaming down his face. "I am scum," he sobbed. "And I will tell you everything."


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