Charles slowly regained consciousness, unsure of how much time had passed. The first thing he did was to cautiously scan his surroundings.

  The humanoid monster was gone, and his position had changed; he found himself confined in a small cell that appeared to be only about ten square meters. Apart from a heavy iron door in the distance, there was nothing else in the room.

  Everything on him had been taken—his wallet, belongings, and clothes were all gone, leaving Charles completely naked.

  He could see that the connection point between his prosthetic limb and body was slightly oozing blood, suggesting that someone had tried to remove the prosthetic while he was unconscious but had failed.

  From this information, Charles quickly understood his current situation: he had been captured by those strange creatures.

  Though he didn't want to admit it, this was somewhat good news. The fact that they had imprisoned him and not killed him indicated that they could be reasoned with.

  Having come to this realization, Charles stood up and called out to the empty room, “Is anyone there? What do you want? Where are my crew members?”

  However, the only sound in the room was his own breathing; no one responded.

  He approached the iron door and peered through the bars, trying to glimpse outside. He noticed that directly opposite him seemed to be another cell.

  Just as he was about to ask who was in that cell, a deformed face blocked his view, yellow cross-shaped pupils staring back at him.

  The cramped space between the bars made it difficult for Charles to discern the creature's exact appearance, but he felt that this one was part of the same group as the monster that had disguised itself as a doctor.

  “Perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding. I mean no harm; I just want to talk,” Charles said slowly, trying to explain to those eyes.

  “Clang!” A metal plate suddenly obscured his view, and whatever it was had no intention of communicating with him.

  Looking at the not-so-thick iron door before him, Charles raised his prosthetic limb but then lowered it again. If he truly wanted to escape, he could, but in this uncertain situation, acting recklessly would only alert the enemy.

  Charles leaned against the wall and slowly sat down. All he could do now was wait.

  Six hours later, a window at the bottom of the iron door opened, and a half-meter-wide metal disk was pushed in, containing a pile of bloody, indistinguishable matter.

  Charles was confused about whether this was meant to be food or something else, but looking at the appearance of the substance, he preferred to starve rather than eat it.

  An hour later, another metal plate was sent in, this time containing a dead fish. Judging by the brightness of its eyes, the fish had only recently died.

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  Charles concluded that the monsters had noticed he hadn’t eaten the previous offering and had switched to a different type of food.

  From this detail, he gathered more information: since they were aware that he hadn’t eaten, there must be surveillance in the cell.

  Faced with the dead fish, Charles remained still, and soon another dish was brought in.

  However, this time, when Charles saw what was on the plate, his heart sank. It contained half a human face attached to a lung connected by a trachea.

  He rushed over and picked up the face; he recognized it—it was the assistant of Chef Frey, one of his crew members.

  Charles’s anger burned within him. Not only had they killed his crew member, but they were also sending the remains to him as food!

  He couldn't help but want to rush out and kill all the deformed monsters waiting outside the door.

  But he knew he couldn’t do that; such an action would be a foolish suicide. He had to learn to endure. Only by surviving could he find a chance to rescue the others and escape this hellish place.

  Grinding his teeth, Charles picked up the dead fish beside him and bit into it fiercely, his gaze filled with hatred as he stared at the door.

  Once he finished eating the fish, no other strange offerings were sent in.

  Soon, a hand resembling that of a mummified corpse came to collect the plates. While they were busy taking the dishes away, Charles attempted to communicate with the creatures outside, but it was futile; they still showed no willingness to converse.

  The first day of imprisonment passed like this. Throughout the day, Charles noted other details. His keen hearing allowed him to easily distinguish the shifts of the monsters outside; they changed every half day.

  This indicated that the monsters were highly social creatures. However, this was not good news; if these creatures were communal, who knew how many more were outside his cell? Escaping from this place would be nearly impossible.

  Yet, no matter how difficult it was, Charles did not give up on the idea of escape.

  On the second day, hearing footsteps quickly fade away, he picked up a fishbone that he had prepared earlier and flicked it towards the opposite cell.

  “Hey, I’m Charles! Respond quickly if you can hear me. Who’s in there?”

  Soon, there was a reaction from the other cell. A translucent tentacle, filled with green slime and resembling a jellyfish, extended towards Charles, crossing a wide gap to reach his cell.

  Charles hesitated for a moment before placing his prosthetic limb on the tentacle.

  However, at the moment of contact, the tentacle split in two, transforming into a large, transparent mouth filled with sharp teeth, biting down on Charles’s prosthetic and pulling forcefully.

  The strength of the tentacle was immense, almost equivalent to that of several adult men, pulling Charles’s entire body against the door.

  The chains of his prosthetic activated instantly, slicing through the translucent tentacle. A beastly roar echoed from the opposite cell as the severed tentacle desperately retreated.

  Charles looked at the writhing tentacle in his hand, deep in thought. This place didn’t just imprison them.

  Before long, the watchful deformed monsters returned, and Charles dared not act recklessly; he had to wait for the right moment.

  On the third day, the iron door opened, and this time, instead of food, several deformed monsters entered. Charles could clearly sense that they were of the same kind as those who had previously imprisoned him.

  Having not looked closely before, Charles finally got a good look at the appearance of the creatures holding him captive.

  Their fish-like eyes had yellow cross-shaped pupils, and their melted faces were adorned with long, soft lips measuring at least twenty centimeters. Their bodies were a grotesque mix of flesh and blood, as if they had forcibly peeled off their own skin and were trying to put it back on.

  Despite their terrifying appearance, each was draped in a filthy leather robe.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Charles asked cautiously.

  The monsters before him began to shake their long lips rapidly, producing a noise reminiscent of a radio tuning in and out. They seemed to be trying to communicate with Charles, but unfortunately, the language barrier was too great.