The Ghost Ship, a symbol of death, rarely spares those entangled in its karma. Yet, Shi Hao had no choice. Behind him, a monstrous creature the size of a mountain struck out. Without the ship’s terrifying aura to suppress it, he stood no chance.
**Boom!**
A colossal wave surged as a massive tentacle, glinting with cold, jagged edges, slammed into the ocean. The impact sent towering waves into the sky, scattering the clouds. The Ghost Ship swayed violently but did not capsize. Shi Hao landed on its deck, shivering from the bone-chilling cold, yet relieved to have escaped death.
The monstrous black creature did not attack the ancient vessel. Instead, it retracted its tentacle, churning the waters as it lunged toward a distant horn glowing with silver ripples. Now revealing its true form—a gargantuan octopus—each of its eight tentacles was as vast as a mountain ridge. Its sheer size created whirlpools in the sea as it moved.
**”Woo—”**
A horn blast echoed, its silver ripples crashing against the tentacles. The octopus roared in fury, one limb now bloodied, staining the ocean crimson. Yet, its power only intensified. All eight tentacles lashed out, attempting to seize and refine the horn.
The divine servants trembled. *How could such a creature exist? Even a treasure bestowed by a Venerable might be stolen!* Desperate, they channeled all their strength. Finally, the horn flared brighter, its ripples slicing through the tentacles, severing their tips. The monstrous beast recoiled in pain, releasing its grip.
With a dazzling burst of light, the horn soared into the sky, fleeing the terrifying sea. The toll was immense—several divine servants were drained, their cultivation suppressed and unsealed erratically in this cursed sea.
Below, the black leviathan struck at the sky, its tentacles piercing the clouds and slamming into the horn. The collision erupted in blinding radiance.
**”Ah—!”**
Screams filled the air as some were flung from the horn, their bodies ensnared by the tentacles. In moments, flesh dissolved, bones digested—a horrifying sight. The horn, now missing over a dozen passengers, ascended higher until the beast finally retreated into the abyss.
Exhausted and shaken, the survivors exchanged fearful glances. Their journey had been plagued by misfortune.
**”We survived… but the Ten Apertures prodigy boarded the Ghost Ship. What now?”** a divine servant muttered grimly.
Shi Hao, their key, had been abandoned in the chaos.
**”Nothing can be done. Those who board the Ghost Ship rarely survive,”** another sighed.
Despair loomed—had their quest failed before reaching its destination?
**”He’s alive,”** the purple-robed maiden declared, her gaze piercing the mist. Below, Shi Hao waved from the Ghost Ship’s deck.
**”We can’t go down! That beast may still lurk, and the Ghost Ship will claim him eventually,”** the green-haired youth argued coldly.
Yet, the maiden insisted. **”He’s signaling us. Without him, how will we enter the Kun Peng’s Nest?”**
Reluctantly, the horn descended slightly. Through the haze, they saw Shi Hao—trapped by dark tendrils, struggling against the ship’s malevolent force.
The Ghost Ship, ancient and decaying, pulsed with a sinister energy. Its hold on Shi Hao tightened, draining his vitality.
**”He’s doomed. The ship has marked him as prey,”** the green-haired youth sneered.
**”Then let him serve one last purpose.”**
With a flick of his wrist, a glowing beast bone hurtled toward the Ghost Ship.
**”What are you doing?!”** the maiden shouted.
**”If he’s dead anyway, let’s see what chaos this stirs,”** he replied callously.
The bone struck, detonating in a storm of light. The ship shuddered violently.
Enraged, Shi Hao glared skyward—*betrayed even in death?*
The dark tendrils coiled tighter, sapping his blood and essence. The cabin resonated with a demonic presence, as if an ancient devil awakened.
**”Squeak!”**
The golden-furred ball on his shoulder—Little Rascal—jerked awake, its fur bristling. It too was ensnared.
**”What hellish thing is this? Show yourself!”** Shi Hao roared.
The ship groaned in response, its dark energy intensifying.
In desperation, he summoned the broken sword. To his shock, its rusted blade gleamed crimson, *drinking* the dark energy. The ship’s power inverted—its essence siphoned into the blade.
The Ghost Ship *melted*, shrinking rapidly. The colossal vessel dissolved into… a *paper boat*.
A single line was inscribed:
**”Only I remain.”**
A woman’s delicate fingerprint, stained in blood, marked the edge.
Shi Hao’s blood ran cold.
*This was no ship. It was a message in a bottle—folded by a woman of unimaginable power, drifting since antiquity.*
Had her sorrow birthed these cursed vessels?
The broken sword and the paper boat shared a sinister kinship.
With the ship’s power subdued, Shi Hao stood on the tiny paper vessel, now his shelter.
**”You abandoned me, then attacked me? Fine. I’ll find my own path to the Kun Peng’s Nest.”**
Days passed. He navigated the haunted sea, evading monstrous sea creatures and rival factions. All converged toward one place—a gargantuan desolate cliff, dwarfing even primordial peaks.
At its summit sat a nest.
No carvings. No glow.
Only strands of *primordial chaos* cascading like a veil.
The Kun Peng’s lair.
And the bloodiest battleground of the era.
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