Damon's Ascension-Chapter 76: Damon’s Message To The Universe Will 1

The stench was unbearable.

A nauseating mixture of sweat, urine, vomit, and rot filled the damp air of the ship’s cargo hold. The cold was also oppressive, the kind that stung the skin and seeped into the lungs with every inhalation.

Creaking wooden beams and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull were the only sounds, save for the occasional whimper of those too weak to suppress their misery.

Damon took in his surroundings, his enhanced senses quickly adjusting to the dim, flickering light filtering through cracks in the hull.

Shackled men and women sat hunched together in tight, suffocating rows, their bodies wasted by hunger and dehydration. Some stared blankly into the darkness, their spirits already broken. Others clung to each other, whispering in hushed voices, praying to the Land Gods who would not answer.

The ship itself seemed old, its wooden planks stained with the residue of previous voyages. Rusted iron rings lined the walls, securing heavy chains that connected to the captives’ ankles and wrists.

The ceiling was low, forcing most to crouch or sit hunched over. The only form of ventilation came from the grates above, where the occasional burst of fresh air reminded them of the world beyond their prison.

A heavy thud echoed through the hold as a hatch above was shoved open, allowing a beam of light to pierce the darkness. The shift in air pressure carried with it the scent of salt water, a stark contrast to the foulness below.

Boots clattered against the wooden steps as a man descended slowly, the light revealing him to be a British sailor with a uniform that was stained and unkempt, the man carrying a wooden bucket in one hand.

The dim light from the grates revealed his features that were not at all handsome, his visage one of a thick scruffy beard atop a square jaw, a permanent sneer on his pudgy lips, and eyes filled with contempt.

"Wake up, ye worthless filth!" He barked, his voice carrying the rough accent of a seasoned sailor.

He slapped a spoon against the side of the bucket loudly, causing everyone to focus on him whether they intended to or not. "It’s meal time, if ye can call this slop food!"

The fellow moved through the narrow aisle between the shackled prisoners, sloshing out meager rations of watery porridge into wooden bowls, his movements careless.

Much of the slop splattered onto the dirty floor, mixing with the filth beneath them. He laughed to himself, clearly enjoying the suffering of the ’cargo’, using this to relieve his boredom.

"Oi, look at ye," he sneered, stopping in front of a particularly frail man who had barely the strength to lift his head.

"Ain’t gonna last the week, are ye? Might as well save us the trouble and throw yerself overboard."

He kicked at the man’s leg, but the prisoner barely reacted. The sailor spat on the ground in disdain and moved on.

"Ye lot should count yerselves lucky. Ye might be worth a pretty penny across the ocean, but that’s only if you survive until then. If it were up to me, I’d toss half of ye overboard to make more room for the rum," he muttered, pouring another helping of the foul-smelling gruel.

He smiled at the group, but it was one full of mocking. "But business is business, eh? Just make sure ye don’t die before we get there. Or do. Either way, I get paid."

Damon calmly watched the fellow even as he came up to his position, glancing at him casually at first before he was about to pour the slop, but he paused and did a double take.

Squinting his eyes at Damon, the sailor was confused. "Why are ye so clean? And why do ye have such a..."

Damon snapped his chains and moved faster than the sailor could follow, grasping him by the neck tightly as he stood up. The sailor, who had volunteered to be the one on feeding duty to get a rile of the slaves, was shocked not only to find one of them resisting, but also for one of them to surpass any human norm.

Damon squeezed, feeling the panicked pulse of the sailor’s heartbeat against his fingers. The man barely had time to choke out a strangled gasp before he got yanked off the ground, his boots kicking uselessly in the air.

There was no space for mercy.

With a burst of power, Damon’s body shimmered under the faint moonlight filtering through the grates above. His strength surged, muscles coiling like a predator poised to strike, as the sailor’s eyes bulged while Damon spun and slammed him headfirst into the wooden floorboards, a sickening crack sound emitting from the point of impact as his skull split like an overripe fruit.

The naturally horrified ’cargo’ stared in silence, some barely comprehending what had just happened. Damon dropped the limp corpse, its blood pooling beneath him, staining the filth-ridden floor.

Then he vanished.

A sudden chill swept through the hold as Damon invoked the awareness suppression of Silver Eclipse, dampening all sound centered 10 meters around him, always moving with him as the center.

Moving like a shadow, Damon shot toward the narrow stairwell at full speed, his form blurring with the darkness of the night as Silver Eclipse enjoyed a buff due to the time of day, turning him into a fleeting wisp in the dimly lit space.

The upper deck was his next target, his speed ensuring that he arrived there in the shortest possible time.

The deck was sparsely lit by lanterns swaying gently with the ship’s movement as the waves gently lapped against the hull. The night sky stretched above, an endless abyss of stars casting eerie reflections upon the rippling ocean that was so dark as to be black.

A handful of sailors stood watch, some chatting idly, others lazily scanning the dark waters for anything interesting like mermaids or monsters. They were relaxed, unaware that death had already come aboard their vessel.

Damon struck immediately, no hesitation in his movements.

Emerging from the shadows, he lunged at the closest sentry, the Energy Flintlock flashing into his grasp as he fired a single shot.

The special weapon didn’t make the kind of noise one would expect from a traditional pistol. Apart from the short flash of greenish light, there was nothing else to indicate the shot.

A concentrated beam of energy punched cleanly through the sailor’s temple, leaving a headless body in which the skull was vaporized on contact, leaving the body to slump against the railing without a sound.

Before the others could react, Damon was already upon them.

With his enhanced Mobility, he closed the distance on two more men in the span of a heartbeat. He reached the first, who barely had time to draw his cutlass before Damon ducked beneath his swing, the blade whistling harmlessly over his head.

In one fluid motion, Damon’s palm shot up, his fingers curling under the man’s jaw... and then he drove the sailor’s own head backward into the deck with inhuman force, causing his skull to be crushed under the force and Damon’s superior strength.

The second man turned, mouth open in a scream to alert the others, but Damon silenced the fellow with a spinning back kick that was like a whirlwind to a normal human, sending him tumbling toward the mast.

Before the fellow could regain his footing, Damon snatched a nearby rope and used it to swing around the mast, his body twisting through the air.

The sailor barely had time to gasp before Damon’s boots crashed into his chest, sending him flying backward and crashing through some crates. The fellow landed on his back, stunned and in agony, with just enough clarity to see Damon descending upon him, the glint of a cutlass reflecting in his wide eyes.

The blade plunged down, sliding between the sailor’s ribs, piercing his heart with exact precision as Damon twisted the blade cruelly. The unfortunate man’s body arched once before going limp forever, his eyes wide with fear and regret.

Another sailor bolted toward the alarm bell, his entire body shaking with fear.

Damon flicked his wrist.

A beam of condensed moonlight formed instantly in his palm, creating a small ice spear the size of half a javelin. With near supernatural precision, Damon hurled it through the air using his own physical strength, sending it flying at terrifying speeds.

The small spear of ice cleanly pierced through the sailor’s chest, pinning him to the wooden mast like an insect on display as his arms hung limp beside him.

Damon exhaled slowly, surveying the carnage on the top deck of what looked to be a British Brig, with six dead in mere moments from when he arrived till now, a span of only a few seconds.

However, there were many more sailors aboard the ship. Typically, the crew would number between fifty to a hundred, given the ship’s size. However, due to the nature of its cargo, Damon estimated the crew to be smaller, with space being prioritized for the ’cargo’.

A panicked yell erupted from the far side of the deck as a group of soldiers spilled from the captain’s quarters, drawn by the sudden commotion.

Their eyes widened at the sight of bodies littering the deck, and they scrambled to unsheathe their weapons while others also reached for the nearby matchlocks to take down the foe before them.

Damon was neither excited nor hesitant, his expression calm as he burst forward like an arrow from a bow, charging towards the new group of enemies before him.