The hush before the storm was a tangible thing; Roy felt it in the silent, efficient movements of his Presidroids and in the steeled, grim gazes of his friends. There would be no warning shots this time, no offer of retreat. Lady Brinevein's fleet was not a target of opportunity; it was a blight to be purged.
On the bridge, Roy and Lutrian studied the drone feeds flickering across a cluster of monitors. Even with enhanced night-vision, the images were surreal. A mass of ships that looked more like living, twisted trees crudely shaped into naval hulls drifted on the dark water. Their tall, leafless masts rustled as if in some phantom breeze, and faint, sickly greenish veins of light pulsed just beneath their bark-like planks.
"The recon is complete, Captain," Lutrian said, his voice low and steady. "Sorrowclaw was right about the ships being grown from Virusian Trees. But the drones are picking up something else." He zoomed in on one of the larger vessels, the image sharpening to reveal the faint, ghostly forms of sprites clinging to the rigging. They were not dancing; they were chained with what looked like ethereal, glowing vines. "The drones are detecting faint, sounds from them. Cries."
Roy's fists clenched on the railing, his knuckles white. "So, it's true, she enslaves them. Should we rescue them?"
"No need, only special magic can even touch them, destroying the ships will free them to return to the deep," Lutrian explained. He paused, then placed a gentle hand on Roy's shoulder, his expression turning serious. "Captain. I don't mean to alarm you, but I feel I must mention it. The Dreamer's Grace… it is almost entirely gone. Do not be reckless. Your cosmic luck has run its course."
Roy met his gaze, a new, hard resolve settling onto his features. "Thanks for the heads-up, Lutrian, but I'm not worried in the slightest."
His voice crackled with a cold, clear authority across the ship-wide intercom. "All stations, stand by. Main battery cannons to full arcane load. We will strike from range, then close the distance. Cripple their fleet, but leave the flagship intact. We will board her personally. No survivors, except Lady Brinevein herself. Acknowledge."
A chorus of determined "Aye, Captains" rang back from the crew and the Presidroids.
The Nightshatter advanced through the dark, silent waters, its deck lights extinguished to keep its silhouette a mere shadow against the horizon. Inside, however, its consoles and monitors glowed with the cold, hard promise of overwhelming, calculated force.
Serenity's calm tone was a whisper in the quiet bridge. "Targets have been locked on to, Captain."
Roy took a deep, steadying breath. "Open fire."
The main battery cannons boomed first, the muzzle flashes strobing bright and violent across the night sea. They were not simple steel shells that arced through the sky, but hybrid shells, modern, but runically inscribed for extra impact. They tore through the watery darkness in blazing, incandescent streaks of light.
Seconds later, the explosions ripped through the outer edges of Brinevein's unsuspecting formation. Wooden prows, ancient and living, exploded under the direct hits. Splinters the size of small trees and the ethereal, shrieking forms of freed sprites erupted into the night sky. The living wood of the elven ships tried to heal, bark hulls pulsing with a desperate, regenerative energy, but each new shell from the Nightshatter hammered them faster than they could possibly recover.
On the bridge, Roy watched the thermal feed with a cold, detached satisfaction. "Reload," he ordered. The cannons roared again, and again, the red-tinted arcs of the enhanced shells lighting the horizon.
Brinevein's fleet, now fully alerted, belched a wave of greenish counter-fire. Magical ballista bolts, crackling with raw, chaotic forest energy, streaked towards the Nightshatter, but they impacted harmlessly against its hull, the impacts little more than angry, spitting sparks. A few smaller hits left glowing, magical embers on the deck, which were quickly and efficiently stomped out by alert base-model Presidroids.
The Close-In Weapon Systems kicked into gear next, rows of rotary cannons spitting a lethal, unending barrage of smaller, rune-etched shells. They shredded half a dozen of the smaller elven ships that were attempting a desperate, flanking maneuver to starboard.
Now, only Brinevein's monolithic flagship remained truly operational, a dark, monstrous silhouette ringed by the broken, burning hulks of its companion vessels.
"Weaken the ship," Roy ordered.
The living wood of its hull shimmered with potent, defensive runes, refusing to yield despite the intense, relentless bombardment.
"Helm, full speed ahead," Roy commanded. "We're boarding them."
The Nightshatter surged forward. Just as they closed the distance, the elven flagship launched its own assault. Sections of its bark-like hull peeled open, revealing launch tubes that spat out a wave of heavily armored, magic-hardened boarding pods. They soared through the air, their surfaces glowing with defensive runes that deflected the incoming CIWS rounds. They crashed into the deck of the Nightshatter with a series of thunderous, metal-rending impacts, their hatches opened to unleash groups of ten to twenty elven warriors per pod, each led by an elf in ornate golden armor.
They were tall, elegant, and their faces were twisted in masks of pure, fanatical hatred.
"Cleanse this filth from the world!" one of them shrieked, their voice high and shrill. "For the purity of the line! For Lady Brinevein!" They charged, their own runic weapons glowing with a malevolent green light.
Warrex and Takara were the first to meet them. They stood back-to-back, a seamless whirlwind of brutal efficiency. Warrex's axes were a blur of motion, cleaving through elven shields and armor with contemptuous ease, while Takara covered his blind spots, her runic gauntlets unleashing powerful, concussive blasts that sent elves flying.
"Filthy beastfolk!" an elven warrior snarled, lunging at Warrex. "Your mongrel blood defiles the very air we breathe!" Warrex simply laughed, a low, dangerous sound, before his axe separated the elf's head from his shoulders.
The three elven squad captains moved as one, a blur of shining gold armor and deadly intent. They fanned out the moment they breached the bridge, their curved blades held at the ready, their expressions masks of cold, aristocratic contempt.
The lead captain, a tall elf with silver hair braided with what looked like human bone, sneered at Lutrian "I know you...the little lost prince has found himself a new master. How pathetic. Stand aside, human-pet. Our business is with the filthy creature in charge."
Lutrian's grip on his light-blade tightened, his usual gentle demeanor evaporating, replaced by an icy calm. "You will not touch the Captain," he stated simply, his voice devoid of any warmth.
The lead captain just laughed, a high, mocking sound. "Brave words for a traitor."
They attacked simultaneously. The captain came in high, his blade a shimmering arc aimed at Lutrian's head. The other two flanked, one low and fast, the other aiming a vicious thrust at his side. It was a classic, perfectly executed pincer attack, designed to overwhelm and kill in seconds.
Lutrian met the storm. He didn't retreat; he advanced into it. His light-blade was a whirlwind of motion, a radiant dance of parries. He deflected the captain's overhead strike, the impact ringing with a sound like shattering crystal. With a fluid pivot, Lutrian spun, the flat of his blade slapping away the low strike from his left. He then dropped his center of gravity, letting the thrust from the right skim harmlessly over his shoulder, so close he could feel the stir of its passage.
But they were good. Incredibly good. They pressed their assault, their movements a seamless, coordinated dance of death. Lutrian found himself giving ground, his single blade struggling to keep up with their three-front attack. The lead captain's blade slipped past his guard, leaving a shallow, searing cut across his cheek. One of the others managed to land a powerful kick to his ribs, forcing a pained grunt from his lips and sending him stumbling back towards Roy's command chair.
Roy's hand tapped Lutrian gently. "Lutrian, do you want JFK to assist?"
Lutrian, breathing heavily, his face now grim with concentration, shook his head. A new, more intense light began to glow from his free hand. "I appreciate the offer, Captain. But, even a dozen of these golden 'squad captains' would not beat me." He regained his footing, a confident, almost dangerous smile touching his lips. "But I believe I have it handled. Now seems like a fine time to reveal what I've been practicing."
Lutrian didn't even glance back. A second blade of pure, brilliant light materialized in his other hand, and two small, glowing orbs of energy began to orbit his head like miniature suns.
Roy stared, stunned at the sudden appearance of the second sword and the orbiting orbs.
"I have finally achieved a stable mastery of Arcane Light Magic," Lutrian explained, his voice taking on a new, confident resonance. "Which allowed me to create this ability. Arcane Light Magic: Form Three, All-Range Attack Mode." He blurred into motion, his speed far exceeding anything Roy had seen from him before. He easily overwhelmed two of the squad captains, his twin light-blades a dizzying, beautiful web of destruction. The third, seeing his comrades fall, attempted to strike Lutrian from behind. Without even turning, Lutrian's eyes located him, and the two glowing orbs rained a torrent of searing light-bullets into the elf, stopping him dead in his tracks before he fell, landing with a wet plop.
The two remaining squad captains seethed, their elegant faces contorted in rage. "Inferior humans should be nothing but slaves! Lady Brinevein will string your corpses up where they belong! Especially you," one of them spat, pointing a trembling, blood-soaked finger at Roy. "Your blood smells especially filthy. Lady Brinevein will take her time with you."
The insult seemed to ignite something cold and terrible within Lutrian. He moved faster than their eyes could follow, cleaving them both in two with a single, silent, cross-body slash. His orbiting orbs then unleashed a powerful shockwave of light that blasted their remains through the shattered bridge door and over the railing into the dark, churning ocean below.
They screamed "Elar Thuun!" with their dying breaths as they cascaded into the sea.
"What the hell does that mean?" Roy asked, his voice a hushed whisper.
Lutrian, his light-blades dissipating, turned, his face a stoic mask. "'Rise the Line,'" he said, his voice cold. "The creed of the Elven Supremacists. It refers to the ancient Elven King who began their movement of racial purity. It is a vow to continue his bloodline, and his vision, at any cost."
On the deck below, the battle raged. A larger boarding pod, reinforced with what looked like dragon bone, judging by the color, crashed into the deck with enough force to crack the reinforced plating. Fifteen more of the golden-armored squad captains charged out, followed by three extraordinarily tall, slim elves whose defined musculature was visible beneath their dark red, form-fitting armor.
One of the larger elves, whose outfit Lutrian did not recognize from any criminal registries, moved with blinding speed, appearing in the midst of the brawling base-model Presidroids. It ripped the arm off one of them with a contemptuous, almost lazy gesture.
Roy screamed out in a mixture of rage and recognition, "HUBERT HUMPHREY! NOOO! Damn it, what the hell are these guys?!"
Just then, the bridge door behind them was slammed open with enough force to tear it from its hinges. Maelara stood there, her massive frame filling the doorway, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
"One of the three elite guard squads of Lady Brinevein," she growled, her voice a low, menacing rumble. "The Veilguard. Second only to her so-called 'Children of Purity.' They typically guard the sacred, living core of her flagship." She began to walk slowly, menacingly forward. JFK, who had been standing silently by Roy's side, uncrossed his arms, his posture shifting into one of suspicious readiness, prepared to counter whatever this unpredictable, muscle-bound elf was about to do. As Maelara neared Roy, she quickly dropped to one knee and hit a dramatic, muscle-popping pose.
"Enough about those freaks," she announced, her voice booming with pride. "CHECK OUT THIS PUMP! I had to get a quick workout in before joining the real fight!"
Roy, his earlier terror instantly replaced by a wave of profound relief, burst out laughing. "Maelara, you absolute lunatic! Go assist the Presidroids!"