Chapter 120: The Drowner
“What are you on about? There’s nothing here,” the peeler called back, his voice echoing in the damp air as he turned to shout at Jared. “Oi! Where did you see these water marks?”
“Officer, you should get away from there! Something doesn’t feel right!” Jared’s warning was sharp with a genuine urgency. He felt no goodwill towards the peelers, but the chilling, unnatural aura creeping up his spine was a sensation he couldn’t ignore, a primal instinct screaming of imminent danger.
“What are you saying? That it’s dangerous here?” The peeler looked at Jared, his expression a mask of confusion. The boy’s warning was bizarre, nonsensical, but his hand still instinctively went to the truncheon at his waist.
He scanned his surroundings with a sharp, practiced eye, then looked down at the murky river. He saw nothing but the slow, greasy churn of the black water.
“Where’s the danger? Are you trying to trick me?” the peeler demanded, his voice laced with annoyance. Everything Jared had said felt too outlandish, like a desperate attempt to stall for time, to divert his attention from the real secret hiding just a few feet away. With years of experience on the force, he could see the flicker of tension hidden beneath Jared’s eager expression. The boy was being far too proactive, too enthusiastic.
The peeler sniffed the air. A cloying, sweetish scent hung in the gloom, a smell that was deeply unnatural. At the same time, he noticed that behind the ragged cloth covering the alcove, something was hidden.
“What’s in there?!” the peeler asked, his voice now a stern command as he pointed towards the curtain behind me. My heart leaped into my throat. Damn it, he’s noticed.
But at that moment, even I felt it—a foul, preternatural wrongness descending upon us. The mana in the air was churning, a chaotic and unnatural current. The red mist from the potion, which I had thought was invisible to others, was now being drawn into the river, absorbed by the black water like blood into a thirsty sponge.
And then I saw it. The water, thick with black, hair-like tendrils, began to creep up from the canal, flowing over the edge of the stone bank in defiance of gravity. And with the water came a hand—a sodden, ghastly white hand, half-rotted away.
“Officer! Look out! Behind you!” Jared screamed. The ruffians who were watching let out cries of pure terror. The other peelers fumbled for the pistols at their waists.
“What?!” The peeler spun around, and came face to face with a pale, bloated visage that leaped from the river, its stench a foul, choking wave. It was a thing that had been dead for a long, long time. The rotting hand shot out and clamped down on his leg.
“What is this monster?! Get off!” The peeler’s reaction was swift. He brought his truncheon down hard on the bloated face, shattering it in a spray of pulped flesh, then swung the club back to smash the hand that held him.
But his glance towards our hovel had cost him that one critical second. The dead thing’s grip was absolute. Even as the truncheon pulped its face and shattered its arm, the walking corpse did not release its hold.
The peeler felt a monstrous, inhuman strength pulling at him, a force that even his trained body could not resist. He was dragged, screaming, towards the canal.
“Help! Help me…!” He was pulled under the surface. A half-dozen more of those same ghastly white hands erupted from the water, dragging him down into the black depths. The sight was a perfect, horrifying echo of my nightmare. My face went pale, my body ice-cold, as if I were back in that dark, dream-water. This is all real!
The other peelers immediately drew their weapons and began firing wildly into the water. Most of them carried revolvers, their muzzles spitting fire. Only one, the officer with the two gold bars on his shoulders, had the strange air-canister gun I had seen before. They fired directly into the churning water, showing no concern for their comrade who was still struggling beneath the surface.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The water erupted in a series of violent splashes. A few crimson blossoms bloomed on the chest of the struggling peeler. His screams were cut short, and his body went limp, allowing the rotten hands to drag him down into the silent, black depths.
I felt no pity for their cruelty. I remembered the agony of drowning in my dream. A quick death by gunfire was a mercy.
The peelers emptied their cylinders before they stopped. The officer with the air gun cursed, “Damn it all! What are these things? Go report to the captain!”
“No! They’re coming again!” one of the peelers shouted. Everyone stared in horror at the riverbank. The foul water was creeping up again, and this time, several hands reached up from the canal, clawing at the stone edge.
The officer’s face changed. He immediately raised his air gun and fired at one of the hands. The weapon hissed, spitting a cloud of white vapor. The shot struck the hand with incredible speed.
The riverbank itself exploded in a shower of stone and mud, and the hand was obliterated, a mess of shredded flesh and splintered bone. The half-climbed corpse immediately fell back into the river.
But that was only one of them. Several other walking corpses were now pulling themselves onto the bank. They stood with a strange, lurching gait, their eyes glowing with a cold, blue light. Water streamed from their rotting, tattered bodies, some of which were missing limbs.
Watching the dripping, swaying dead, a memory surfaced in my mind. Drowners. The corpses of the drowned, soaked for a long time in water, corrupted by the mana within it and turned into undead. Why did I know such things?
“You… you’re… Werner?!” one of the ruffians cried out in disbelief, pointing at one of the walking corpses. Another shouted, “That’s… that’s Kate!”
I understood at once. They were the ruffians who had mysteriously disappeared the other night. They had been taken by the drowners, and had become drowners themselves. How terrible.
“Fire! Kill them all!” the officer roared. The peelers opened fire in unison. Bullets tore through the drowners’ rotting bodies, and foul water streamed from the holes, but they continued their lurching advance. Even a shot to the head didn’t stop them.
Only the officer’s air gun was effective. A single shot could shatter a drowner’s head, the force of the blast tearing a great hole through its neck and chest, sending the entire corpse flying back into the river.
“Run!” the ruffians screamed in panic, scrambling towards the stairs. But then they saw, to their horror, that two more drowners were already standing there, blocking their only escape.
Drowners were now climbing up all along the waterway. And the peelers had blocked the staircase from the beginning, meaning no one could reach the only escape route.
“Yade, we’re friends, right?! No, don’t, urgh-aaaaahhh!” A ruffian’s plea was cut short as his former friend tackled him to the ground and tore out his throat.
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