The gray, hazy stretch of sea was still ahead of them, like a sheet of thin ice floating on the water. The sound of the bow cutting through the waves had grown muffled, as though they had sailed into a place with no echo.
Chen Wuya's hand was still pressed to the deck. Just as Misaligned Force was about to seep through his palm into the hull, a long cry rose from the seabed.
The sound had not entered through their ears. It was more like it had slammed directly into their bones. The whole ship gave a faint shudder, and the iron rings on the railing let out tiny cracking sounds.
Bai Zhi abruptly gripped the rail, her body swaying once. She made no sound, but her left hand was already on her sword hilt. A sapphire hung from the tassel of that slender sword, and it was now giving off a dim crimson glow, as if something had set it alight.
Mo Feng immediately turned around and took a bronze mirror from his mechanism case. Its surface was engraved with dense patterns, its rim inlaid with a ring of silver threads. Without another word, he raised his hand and flung the mirror toward the sea.
The instant the mirror fell, it did not splash. Instead, it hovered half an inch above the water, slowly rotating.
The image within the mirror changed.
Where there should have been only the darkness of the deep sea, an enormous skeleton appeared. Its frame was longer than the entire ship, its spine curved like a bow, its ribs spread like withered branches. Its skull faced the sky, empty eye sockets staring toward the surface, jaws agape as though it had been screaming at the moment of death.
Black chains were wrapped around the