Deep Sea Embers
chapter-334

A new servant had made his arrival.

This proclamation seemed to set off a mechanical chain of reactions. Accompanied by a throaty, muted reverberation, a multitude of obscure forms began to coalesce from the surrounding murkiness before the figure known as the Annihilator. An indeterminable, flickering light bathed the expansive, time-worn, and grandiose hall, revealing its stately elegance.

His eyes widened in awe, taking in the spectacle of the hall that seemed to boast the opulence of a palace, yet it also exuded an air of prolonged desertion as if untouched for decades on end. He observed a curved staircase gracefully spiraling skyward at the far end, bridging the elevated walkway and platform above. Enormous pillars stood like silent sentinels, their vague outlines just perceivable in the gloomy light. Plush draperies cascaded from the pinnacle of these pillars, dancing ever so gently in the phantom breeze. The walls of the hall were flanked by dark, desolate windows, firmly sealed behind crisscrossed steel bars. Between these windows, colossal, indistinct paintings hung, brimming with unsettling, vibrant patches, void of any identifiable figures or scenery.

The Annihilator stood entranced by the scene. Abruptly, he realized that the restrictive feeling that had gripped his limbs had dissipated. Taking two tentative steps forward, he reveled in the regained control of his body, then instinctively sent a call for the demon sharing his soul.

Yet, all that echoed back from the depths of his soul was a hollow, mournful wail, as if the shadow demon had been a figment of his imagination. There was no response to his summoning call.

“Servant, proceed to the end of the carpet,” instructed the deep, muffled voice, this time originating directly within his mind.

“Who’s there?!” The Annihilator’s eyes widened in terror, his gaze sweeping across the grandiose yet unsettlingly vacant mansion hall, yet he encountered no living soul.

He cast his gaze towards the end of the hall, where a dark red carpet unfurled from beneath his feet, disappearing into the distance, ending at the staircase that curved like wings connecting to the second level.

Somehow, his legs began to move involuntarily as his gaze landed there, almost as if heeding the command from the disembodied voice he had just heard. He proceeded towards the end of the carpet, halting a few paces from the staircase.

Suddenly, an apparition appeared before him – a body garbed in a svelte black suit devoid of a head.

This decapitated figure stood ramrod straight before the staircase, impeccably dressed. A meticulously folded handkerchief peeked out from the breast pocket, and a gold watch chain gleamed from another. One hand cradled a brass bell, while the other stretched forward as if extending a welcoming gesture to a newcomer. It was an image akin to a trusted steward dutifully overseeing the mansion’s affairs.

But he was devoid of a head. Where a head should have rested atop the black-clad body, there was only an exposed neck, resembling the joint of a puppet.

“What… what is this place?!” The man could not recollect why he had been drawn to this sealed mansion or even his identity or origins. All he was aware of was an instinctual fear, a creeping sense of unfamiliarity gradually gnawing at his heart. He stared at the headless steward before him and summoned the courage to query. Concurrently, he heard whispering voices and sensed unseen eyes observing him from all corners.

“Welcome, new servant,” came a voice as the reply.

Stunned, he pivoted his gaze to take in the spectacle within the hall.

Silhouettes, garbed as stewards and maids, scurried around, evident servants attending to the mansion’s immense size. These headless figures flitted by the staircase, seemingly sizing up the newcomer with curious interest.

Subdued discussions emanated from their decapitated necks.

Where their heads should have been, there were only smooth, bulbous appendages, akin to doll joints, with a texture hovering between wood and porcelain.

The new servant stared in bafflement at the busy stewards and maids populating the hall, momentarily disoriented.

Had there been so many people here before? Had the hall been buzzing with activity when he had first arrived?

“This is Alice’s Mansion, and you are the new servant here,” the voice of the steward boomed out suddenly, disrupting the new servant’s reverie. “Follow me, your next assignment lies upstairs.”

Automatically, the new servant nodded and trailed behind the headless steward. Unconsciously, he glanced down and realized that he was now dressed as a servant, identical to the male stewards in the hall.

His mind spiraled into further confusion, and he felt as if his memories were being slowly stripped away from him, deemed unnecessary and impurities hindering his service in the mansion.

With each stride up the staircase, his hesitation dwindled. Initially, he faintly remembered that he didn’t belong here. Then, he only remembered being trapped in an enigmatic mansion. By the time he reached the final steps leading to the second floor, all he remembered were the steward’s orders.

Stepping onto the last stair, he lifted his gaze to the platform and the corridor within.

Several stewards passed through the corridor, and despite lacking sight, the new servant couldn’t shake off the sensation of being scrutinized.

“Why is everyone observing me?”

“Because you are the first servant with a head,” the steward paused and turned around, his voice tinged with amusement. “And it’s been many years since we’ve had a fresh face.”

“What should I do?” the new servant queried cautiously.

“Serve our mistress and assimilate among us. You will instinctively learn your duties. But first, you must pay your respects to the mistress…”

The steward slowly elevated his arm, gesturing towards a black door at the end of the corridor.

“Proceed, open that door, and greet the mistress.”

The new servant nodded and advanced towards the door.

His steps were firm, and his countenance gradually steadied while his limbs moved, slowly becoming as stiff and mechanical as those of the stewards in the hall. He reached the door, extended both hands, and calmly observed his wrist, which had transformed into a spherical joint. With minimal exertion, he pushed open the door.

The puppet ventured forward.

In the opulent bedroom that bordered on monumental, a magnificent bed stood as the centerpiece, encircled by drapes adorned with intricate patterns and tassels. A silver-haired doll lay tranquilly on the bed, in deep slumber.

Beyond the bed, where a wall should have been, was a boundless expanse of darkness, seemingly leading to an unfathomable space. The floor, walls, and ceiling seemed fractured and disintegrated, and the chaotic darkness, dotted with innumerable twinkling lights in the distance, undulated slowly, generating surreal light and shadow illusions. They swirled silently at the end of the bedroom, whispering and wandering within the darkness.

The oscillating darkness and lights seemed to mirror the doll’s dreams, as if an unseen force sought to breach the mansion but was held at bay by the doll’s sleep.

The new servant, now metamorphosed into a puppet, stood at the entrance of the bedroom, blankly gazing at the enchanting doll ensconced on the bed and the undulating darkness behind her. Assisted by threads extending from his limbs, he bowed deferentially towards the lady of the house. The threads floated momentarily before vanishing into thin air.

Once done, the new servant slowly retreated until he exited the room. The door to the sleeping Alice slammed shut with a resonant, commanding bang. But the transformation was complete; the man’s visage would never return to its original form. He had become a puppet, devoid of emotions or volition, forever destined to serve his mistress.

…

A thud succeeded by a crash reverberated from the entrance of the alleyway. The Annihilator, in an attempt to escape, suddenly plummeted from mid-air. Upon hitting the ground, he made a loud noise, his body splintering like porcelain into numerous shards, clothes included.

No blood stained the shattered ceramic pieces, as if he had always been a kiln-baked clay puppet – his flesh and blood existence nothing more than a transient illusion.

Alice was taken aback, “Ah!”

A howl akin to a whirlwind emanated from behind her, and Vanna hurried to the alley’s entrance. She stared incredulously at the spectacle and hesitated for a long time before turning to the puppet beside her, “Is this… your doing?”

“…I don’t know,” Alice blinked, her response lagging, “Um… probably?”

“What do you mean, probably?!”

“I caught his thread and then yanked it hard – he assaulted first, and I was scared…” Alice’s explanation was disjointed and replete with gestures. Her account was so efficient that Vanna grew more perplexed with each word, “Do you understand?”

“…No,” Vanna shook her head, then glanced back at the scorched wreckage at the depth of the alley, from where a faint black smoke was rising, “Damn it, the priest I was dealing with remained silent until the end, and the one you were dealing with shattered completely, leaving no information behind.”

“Does that mean the captain will be unhappy?”

“We don’t have time to think about that; we need to leave,” Vanna spoke hastily, “There was too much ruckus. Even if we’re not in the central city area, the night patrol should be on their way.”

As she spoke, she cast a glance at the house not far away.