In the vast Sea of Souls, the tides rose and fell. All things drifted within that highest heaven, becoming ripples of psychic energy that twisted freely into warped forms.
Here, the fates of all living beings intersected amid endless change. They were intangible strands drifting through the boundless immaterial void.
The threads of fate wove together there in infinite variation.
Though their pattern was difficult to discern, if there existed a being capable of grasping the measure of destiny, then by plucking certain threads, it could guide them toward their ordained course.
But such power belonged only to the great Lord of Fate and the Weavers beneath Him.
For ordinary beings to meddle with the trajectory of fate, vast amounts of groundwork were required.
Only when every factor aligned perfectly beneath circumstances that appeared to be mere coincidence would the light of destiny that bloomed from it delight the great god of wisdom, allowing Him to focus most of His attention upon a single point and thus completely alter the fate of all things.
In a dark, rotting corner of the ship, a shadow wandered.
It was laughing wildly in soul-tones no mortal could hear, waiting for this vessel carrying special offerings to arrive at the end it had prepared for them.
If some part of Gaia's memories had been released from that gray fog, she might have recognized the identity of the shadow now quietly tugging at the helm.
It was a daemon beneath the god of schemes, the Lord who knew all things and ruled change and fate.
The moment this ship entered this region of the Warp, it sensed that certain beings aboard carried unique marks.
Its god desired them, but was currently restrained by several other existences and could not directly descend again in the short term with divine power.
As a loyal servant, it swore to offer its master the most perfect performance imaginable.
And the Path of Fate was the destined conclusion it had prepared for the sacrifices it meant to offer up.
Yet the more meticulous a plan was, the more likely it was to encounter unforeseen resistance.
The slightest change could turn its sacrifice into a farce.
So it had to make sure that before this ignorant ship reached the final destination of fate, no mishap occurred halfway through the journey.
Unfortunately, that proved to be a difficult challenge...
...
Inside the engine room at the stern of the Spear of Destiny, a machine venting tremendous heat roared like thunder.
This giant transformer was a crucial node in the main engine system, something that could be called one of the ship's great arteries.
Perhaps because the Spear of Destiny had fallen into disrepair from age. Perhaps because the tremors from the earlier pirate battle had spread here.
In any case, on this massive machine linked to the ship's power core, a rivet that should have been permanently pressure-welded in place had developed fractured edges and begun to loosen.
At first, it had only been a tiny crack.
But under such terrifying pressure, even the finest split would expand beyond control.
That crack had now spread all around the rivet. If the pressure on it grew too great, it would inevitably burst apart, triggering a disaster beyond imagination.
Regularly checking the machinery was the responsibility of the engineering crew, and those responsible for the engine room had indeed done their duty.
Unfortunately, the crack had appeared in the interval between two inspection cycles.
If no miracle occurred, then the danger created by the transformer's mutation would inevitably descend upon this ship.
Just when the engine room stood as precarious as an egg on the verge of shattering, the sound of forceful footsteps came from outside the pressure chamber door.
The sound emerged from the darkness of the corridor.
In the pitch-black gloom, after an almost unnoticeable liquid-like squirming, a repairman wearing a high-temperature technical suit stepped out from within.
His nose twitched, and his sharp blue eyes narrowed as he looked toward the engine room.
He, or rather it, could sense a knot of disastrous fate taking shape inside.
For some reason, uncontrollable misfortune clung to this ship like a parasite on bone, always entwined around it.
These misfortunes kept gathering, taking shape as one solid crisis after another, making it possible for this ship to sink before it ever reached the end of the Path of Fate.
And to ensure its plan succeeded, it had to eliminate all such possible dangers in time.
With that thought, it picked up a toolbox from the floor and walked into the engine room, which felt like a giant steam boiler.
After a considerable amount of time, it wiped the sweat from its forehead and looked with satisfaction at the rivet it had reinforced.
But just as it thought it could finally relax, another knot of ill fate began to form on the opposite side of the ship.
The daemon immediately merged back into the darkness in alarm and hurried to the place where that new danger was brewing.
Before its master received the sacrifices, it had to stop every possible disaster from occurring.
And so it ran tirelessly through every corner of the Spear of Destiny.
Before long, the daemon's mentality began to change in subtle ways.
"Damn you humans. Do none of you have any sense of precaution at all? Why are there so many safety hazards?"
Disguised as a laborer, it cursed inwardly while adjusting and venting a pressure-imbalanced pipeline.
It had originally intended to earn praise from the god of wisdom and, by presenting flawless sacrifices, receive the ninefold divine blessing from Him.
But now it was doing free contract work for humanity.
The sheer level of bad luck surrounding this ship made it suspect that perhaps one of the daemon princes serving the Lord of Fate had laid a vicious curse upon it.
Yet apart from the special sacrificial mark, it had detected no other power tied to the god it served.
Perhaps another supreme deity had placed its influence upon this vessel instead?
Whatever the cause, doing outsourcing work for a promotion felt terrible, especially when under certain circumstances it was effectively serving the very humans it despised most.
If after doing all this it still failed to carry out its plan, then that would be far too humiliating.
If news of this ever spread, it would never be able to show its face in the Crystal Palace again.
"My plan is flawless. This endurance now is all for the revelry of the sacrifice later."
It took nine deep breaths, then resumed its thankless labor, darting back and forth through the Spear of Destiny.
...
Gaia frowned, her powerful footsteps striking the floor of the corridor with thunderous force.
Anyone with eyes could tell she was irritable and unsettled.
Recently, the ship had been sailing extremely smoothly. Even the small internal accidents that had once popped up every so often had disappeared.
And yet she still felt a sense of unease, as though a blade were hanging above her head.
Perhaps she should go ask Mitchell.
He ought to be quite free these days. After all, she had hardly heard anyone coming from his side lately to relay his navigator remarks, which always sounded like angry cursing.
There was a maintenance worker standing on a ladder beside the corridor, using a welding torch to patch an oxygen pipe.
She glanced at him but did not pay much attention.
Then, a moment later, she suddenly remembered that she did not know how Horne and Nia had been doing down on the lower deck.
So she prepared to ask the repairman.
But when she turned her head back, the scene reflected in her constricting pupils was nothing more than an empty corridor with a ladder left standing by itself.
(End of Chapter)
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