Dunkerque was happy. Her joy was apparent from the smile plastered on her lips and the tune she was humming to herself. Of course, when she was happy, she baked. When the oven timer dinged, the gray-haired shipgirl crouched in front of it and opened the lid. The fragrant aroma of freshly baked macarons spread around the kitchen of her ship as she took out the tray with an oven glove and deposited it on the counter.
She had all the reasons to be happy. She was on a trip to Azur Lane with her friends and comrades traveling on her ship; they were all in the middle of the ocean, on their way to have an important meeting with their allies, far away from the political conflict that afflicted their homeland. She had insisted on hosting the fleet on her ship for the entirety of the trip and both Richelieu and Jean Bart had agreed to share the ride aboard her vessel, albeit reluctantly.
She knew that this wasn't a pleasure trip, but it didn't matter; it was the perfect chance to set aside the old grudges and the resentment between the two flagships, so that the Iris Orthodoxy could finally be considered reunited, not only on paper but in beliefs and camaraderie as well.
After leaving the macarons to rest for a few minutes, she took the tray in her hands and left the kitchen, heading for her command bridge with a spring in her steps, where her two friends and superiors were waiting. She heard their voices coming from the door and couldn't resist the impulse to eavesdrop a little.
"Compris, Jean? I want you to be on your best behavior for the entirety of our stay at Azur Lanel," Richelieu, flagship of the Iris and Cardinal of the Orthodoxy, said to the woman sitting across her.
"Bite me, soeur. You are not the boss of me, and I won't let anyone walk all over our heads just because you decided to get all chummy with the other flagships," Jean Bart, Captain of the Templar Knights, replied to her sister.
"As a senior Kansen and my sister, you are supposed show a degree of composure and respect towards all our allies. I will not have you sully the name of the Iris Orthodoxy with your poor manners," Richelieu reproached her, raising her gaze from the Bible she was browsing.
"They did nothing to deserve my respect; if they want it, they'll have to earn it. Besides, we already are the laughingstock of the alliance; acting like best buddies with them won't suddenly change the way they see us," Jean Bart said with spite in her words.
"That is not true, and you know it. The other factions have been nothing short of courteous and helpful towards us."
"Of course they were. Especially when they were trying to take advantage of our crisis to stick their noses into our business," Jean Bart scoffed, openly showing the sarcasm in her voice.
"That is just your prejudice speaking. They were genuinely trying to help us and never once did they overstep their authority."
"You call it prejudice, but I'm just talking objectively."
"Why can't you at least try to put a little faith in them?" Richelieu said with an exasperated tone.
"And why don't you realize that faith is exactly what's blinding you?!" Jean Bart snapped at her.
Richelieu slammed the book shut with both her hands, glaring at her. Her sister stared right back at her, narrowing her eyes with a challenging look.
Dunkerque pushed the door open, hurrying inside to defuse the situation before it escalated. If she just stood there listening in, they would probably start fighting again, and while their arguments usually remained civil and controlled, sometimes they would end up raising their voice, and when that happened, it usually ended with one of the two, or both, saying something they would later regret. So, if she could prevent it, she'd do it.
"I brought cookies!" She declared happily as she entered the room. She moved to the table at which the two Kansen were sitting and deposited the tray between them. "Make sure to leave some for the others too."
Richelieu and Jean Bart turned their heads to the side, thanked the battlecruiser, and helped themselves to the macarons in front of them. The sweet flavor of the treats was enough to wash away the sourness that was starting to build up in their throats.
Dunkerque beamed at them as they munched on the sweets. The two sisters casually enjoying desserts together had become quite a rare sight after everything that happened between them, but she was determined to see more of it.
"There, you two are far prettier with your cheeks stuffed with chocolate than when you are angry," she said in amusement.
Jean Bart choked on her food and started coughing, while Richelieu blushed and took out a napkin to clean her lips.
After the end of the conflict between the factions that saw their homeland split in half, Iris Libre on one side and Vichya Dominion on the other, only a broken government remained of the Orthodoxy, trying to put together the pieces of what was left. It was a long and arduous process, but thanks to the reestablishment of Azur Lane, Iris and Vichya were finally united again... on paper. Conflicting ideals, political scheming, and feeble alliances, added to the egoistical aims of the individuals helped fuel the distrust the two parties had towards each other. Of course, the Kansen were personally affected by this climate of tension; they were the first to suffer the consequences of the schism during the war, and not all of them were ready to set aside their grievances.
After the reunification, Richelieu kept her position as Cardinal of the Orthodoxy, but Jean Bart, who was supposed to fall back under her command, refused to do so, and, with the backup of the Vichya representatives, founded the Templar Knights, a branch of the navy consisting of all the shipgirls that supported the Vichya during the war. The navy was now split in half, just like their homeland in the past, and the shipgirls found themselves on opposite sides once again. Jean Bart blamed the Iris Libre for the schism, accusing Richelieu of having abandoned their homeland in its moment of need by deciding to side with Azur Lane during the war. Richelieu, however, was firmly convinced of the righteousness of her choice and resented her sister for not following her.
Which side was right is up for speculation; the only thing certain is that they both felt betrayed by the other party and refused to recognize their own mistakes, whether it was for pride, stubbornness, or both. The conflict, though, affected primarily the senior Kansen of the two factions, namely the aforementioned sisters and their closest retainers. Some of the shipgirls with a more neutral stance were either trying to reconcile the two sides by acting as mediators, while others were just trying to prevent the two sides from coming to blows. After all, none of them were eager to point their weapons at their sisters… again.
A knock on the door was followed by the appearance of two of those Kansen. Le Malin and Le Triomphant entered the bridge, the former sniffing around like a hound; her eyes soon fixed on the tray of macarons on the table, and she started drooling.
"Dunkerque's handmade sweets… Guhehe…"
"I hope we are not intruding; can we have some too?" Le Triomphant asked demurely.
"Mais bien sûr, mes chéries," Dunkerque replied. "I made these for everyone."
The two destroyers beamed as they went to reach for the treats between their two leaders. Of course, Le Malin and Le Triomphant were part of the group of Kansen that didn't care about the feud; sure, they still responded to their respective flagships, but in the end, they were just happy to be able to be with their sisters again.
With the snacks brought by Dunkerque and now with the two destroyers present, Richelieu and Jean Bart had lost their will to argue; Richelieu went back to reading, and Jean Bart stood up on her feet, heading for the door.
"Where are you going, Jeanie? Don't you want some more sweets?" Dunkerque asked her. She still wished she could rope the two sisters into a friendly chat before they reached the base.
"I'm fine, Dunkerque. Do you know where Algérie is?" The battleship asked.
Dunkerque raised her chin and stared into space for an instant before answering, "It seems she's sparring with Jeanne on my bow."
"Thanks, I'm going to get some air; see you later," she declared, not even gazing back at her sister as she headed outside, much to the chagrin of the battlecruiser.
Jean Bart closed the door behind her and stretched her arms. The trip was lasting too long for her liking, and she had been cooped up inside for most of it.
She agreed to share the ride with her sister on Dunkerque's ship upon the latter's request, even though she was well aware of her friend's attempts at trying to reconcile the two of them; inviting them to the bridge with the promise of cookies was only the latest of many.
As much as she appreciated the thought, the dispute between the two was not something that could be erased with pastries and tea. Although she personally wished for it to end sooner rather than later, it wasn't up to her; Richelieu was the one who abandoned her countrymen to go sucking up to the Azur Lane higher-ups, and she refused to just let her get away with it. Maybe if her stuck-up sister decided to get off her damn pedestal, acknowledged her faults, and apologized, she'd be willing to forgive her.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she headed for the bow of the warship, from where she could hear the sound of steel clashing. Once she arrived, the sound had already stopped, and she was greeted by the three remaining members of the fleet. Jeanne d'Arc was offering a hand to a downed Algérie, who gratefully accepted it. Béarn was standing on the sidelines, probably acting as a referee.
"You lost again, Algérie? Are those big knockers of yours getting in the way?" Jean Bart asked her friend mockingly; the scene in front of her clearly gave away the result of the sparring session.
Jeanne d'Arc narrowed her eyes at her as she dismissed her weapon. "Your subordinate is giving her best, and yet you dare mock her effort? Have you no shame, Bart?" The blonde cruiser said with an accusatory tone.
Before Jean could tell her off, Béarn intervened, saying, "Jeanne, I think she was just teasing her; there's no need to get so worked up."
Jeanne d'Arc coughed in her hand and muttered an apology, which Jean Bart promptly ignored. Algérie rolled her eyes at the interaction and retorted, "At least I know what having a bountiful rack means, Jean." She sent a wink and a smile to her friend before taking on a more serious tone. "Were you looking for me, mon amie?"
"Right, I was thinking of proposing a mock battle when we get to Azur Lane, and I wanted your-"
"Hey, what's that thing in the sky?" Béarn pointed ahead, where a small purple vortex of energy was slowly forming at a distance from them.
Jean Bart, despite the annoyance at being interrupted, turned her head in that direction. She squinted her eyes and shielded her face from the sun, and after a few instants, her eyes widened as recognition struck her and the other shipgirls. She hurriedly contacted the owner of the vessel. "Dunkerque, stop your ship! There's a Siren portal ahead of us!"
The warship slowly came to a stop as Dunkerque and the rest of the Kansen came out of the bridge, approaching their comrades on the bow.
"What's the situation?" Richelieu asked the group as she moved her gaze toward the portal.
"It appeared out of nowhere, but it hasn't done anything suspicious. It looks... dormant, or something," Béarn reported to her flagship.
"Better not take any chances. Everyone, call out your rigging. We move around it and then get back on course right away, but stay on your guard," Richelieu ordered.
"What?! There's a Siren portal in front of us and you want us to just ignore it?" Jean Bart let out, outraged.
"If it's truly dormant, why should we provoke it? If things go south, we are too far from any port to expect reinforcement," Richelieu replied sharply.
"Because if the Sirens are up to something in these waters, we can't let them do as they please. There's no one else here except for us!" Jean Bart retorted.
The two started bickering again, but before Dunkerque could intervene to smooth things over, the portal began acting up. The vortex began swirling faster, becoming bigger with each passing second until it revealed an opening in the center. From the dark opening came a small figure that, like garbage being thrown into a trash can, fell unceremoniously into the water below with a splash.
Once the figure touched the water, the portal in the air disappeared as if it had never been there. The Kansen watched from the bow of the Dunkerque in perplexed silence as the figure stood up on the water.
In front of them was a young man with short, unkempt light blue hair. The boy was pretty short, had fair skin, and was wearing a light gray sleeveless down jacket with pants of the same color and black boots. On his chest was emblazoned in black the stylized face of a polar bear caught in the act of roaring.
"Is that... one of the male Kansen Elizabeth was talking about? What's he doing here?" Richelieu wondered out loud.
"Shouldn't we help him? He doesn't seem to be in good shape," Le Triomphant added from the side.
"Don't be hasty, he just came out of a Siren portal," said Jean Bart.
Indeed, the shipboy didn't seem to be in good shape. His eyes were unfocused, and he was standing on the water with a slack posture as if he hadn't just recovered from a neck-breaking drop.
"Jean, don't be so harsh. We need to help him if we want to know what happened to him," Dunkerque scolded the battleship.
"In the name of the Iris, state your name and intentions!" Jeanne d'Arc stepped forward and shouted, leaning over the railing of the ship.
The shipboy raised his head at the voice; he regarded them with a thousand-yard stare and began moving towards them, stumbling a bit along the way.
"Hey! Who gave you permission to step forward?" Jeanne d'Arc called out to him again.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Béarn breathed out as the shipboy kept getting closer to the Dunkerque.
Jean Bart jumped over the railing, landed on the water in front of the ship, and summoned her rigging, immediately aiming one of her turrets at the shipboy.
"Stop right there, pipsqueak! Or I'll blow your face off with my cannons!" She yelled, but even her powerful voice didn't seem to bother the shipboy.
Before she could double up on the warning, the male Kansen came to a stop many feet away from her. If he tried something funny, she was ready to shoot him with her guns, and from this distance, there was no way she would miss.
Without uttering a word, he raised his right arm, palm pointed at the group of Kansen aboard the vessel. Everyone held their breath; they were all ready to bolt at the slightest sign of aggression.
Unfortunately, no one noticed the hull that had appeared in the air above the warship until its shadow was cast upon them.
Béarn launched a cry of alarm as everyone turned around and raised their heads upward; time seemed to slow down as the ship plummeted down on the Dunkerque. Le Malin and Le Triomphant were the first to react and vaulted over the railing of the ship, followed by Béarn. The others were slower but were still able to get to safety.
Except for Dunkerque herself. Her eyes went wide as dread took over her body; she knew what was coming, but the sheer horror of the prospect was enough to paralyze her with fear.
"Dunkerque, hurry! Recall your-" Algérie couldn't finish. She and the others could only watch in horror as the weirdly shaped bow came crashing down onto their friend's ship like a guillotine, splitting her hull open from deck to keel with a thunderous metal screech that sent shivers down everyone's spine. The impact was so powerful that the battlecruiser's bow recoiled upward, sending Dunkerque flying in the air.
Not a single sound came out of her mouth. The pain that shot through her body from her back was so unbearable it caught her breath in her lungs; she didn't even register the world spiraling around her as she was sent flying, her body convulsing from the shock and her face twisting in a mask of agony.
She felt her consciousness snuff out completely before she even hit the water.
Algérie was there to catch Dunkerque as she plummeted towards her. She fell on her knees, holding the woman close to her chest, and watched in horror as the cursed hull cut through her friend's ship like butter.
"Dunkerque! You have to recall your ship before it's too late!" She tried to reach her, but Dunkerque was unresponsive. Algérie's breath caught in her throat as she noticed her friend's half-lidded eyes staring into space. She tried to shake her awake but then noticed the red color her hands had taken on. Blood was pouring out of Dunkerque's back, staining her dress and the water around them.
Despite her desperate condition, she could still feel a pulse. She was still alive.
Everyone else looked at the scene in front of them with horrified eyes, too stunned to intervene. The two destroyers were trying to hold it together as they watched the condition their friend was in, unable to move an inch in front of her broken body.
Jean Bart was furious. She turned toward the shipboy, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. "You bastard!" she lunged at him, screaming at the top of her lungs.
She fired a full broadside at the shipboy, who dodged it by simply sidestepping; then, instead of moving away from her, he charged at her head down. Jean, not expecting him to approach her all of a sudden, stopped in her tracks. He was so close to her that if she fired another volley, she'd be caught in the blast too. She hesitated only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for him to deliver an uppercut to her jawline that sent her stumbling backward.
Sensing another window, the shipboy pressed on and aimed a straight to her gut. Before his blow could connect, Jean recovered from the hit and grabbed his wrist with her left hand, slamming a right haymaker in the boy's face, then he got a knee to the chin, then a straight to the face, then a jab, then another haymaker...
Jean Bart was relentless in her onslaught, landing blow after blow on the shipboy, who could barely guard his face by raising his arms. Before Jean could deliver one final blow, his eyes shone with a bright yellow light that blinded the shipgirl and forced her to step backward.
Once the light dimmed down, Jean noticed that on his bare arms had appeared two weird contraptions. They looked like two big cestuses, but in the end, they were nothing but two chunks of metal. They clashed with the appearance of the smaller shipboy and his noodle arms, covering his hands and forearms completely. They were of a dirty gray color, shaped in the form of bears' heads, with their snouts jutting forward slightly, and their eyes of a shining azure color.
Jean Bart understood immediately: it was his rigging. The hull that had appeared out of nowhere and that crashed into Dunkerque's looked weird to her because it was not a warship; his rigging was proof of that since it lacked any kind of armament.
"If that's his rigging, then that means..." she turned to glance behind her, where Algérie and the others were trying their best to keep alive a heavily wounded Dunkerque. She moved her gaze further away from them; indeed, the ship that had been crushing her friend's vessel under its weight had disappeared. The warship had a gaping V opening in her hull that went from the deck to the keel; it was taking on water, and the hull was slowly but surely sinking below the waterline, but at least the two sides seemed to be still attached to each other, for some kind of miracle.
"Please, God, if she gets through this, I swear I'll start attending all of Richelieu's sermons; I'll even start praying on my own, but please don't let her die." She grimaced at the thought of losing her friend in such a cruel way, and her attention shifted once again to the shipboy in front of her, who was settling into a combat stance with his arms and guard up. "But first, I'll make you pay for what you did to her. I'll return the pain she's experiencing tenfold!" She declared and lunged at him once more.
A soothing voice reached her ears, and her eyes fluttered open; they were unfocused and devoid of any light, but she could still make out the colors in front of her, even if the figures were blurred. She tried to mouth something, but the only thing that came out of her lungs was a strained wheeze. She could barely feel her body from her waist down; she couldn't even move a finger, and her ears were ringing painfully. After a few seconds, the voice became clearer, and she was able to discern some words.
"Dunkerque, please! If your magazine blows up, you'll die! Please wake up!" Algérie cried out, tears now freely coming out of her eyes, as she slapped her friend's face with her hand.
Since the pressure of the sixteen thousand tons hull had been removed from her spine, Dunkerque was able to come to her senses, if only for a few seconds. It was enough for her to recognize the voice, but she had to use every ounce of willpower she had to force herself to recall her vessel before immediately slumping into the embrace of her friend.
"She's still with us, thank the Lord," Richelieu said, breathing a sigh of relief as the damaged hull of the battlecruiser disappeared into thin air.
Béarn was kneeling next to the wounded shipgirl, trying to gauge the extent of her wound, and grimaced, "Yes, for now. If we don't find a repair ship soon, she might not make it."
Algérie's expression darkened, and she turned her head toward where Jean and the shipboy were fighting. "Richelieu, take care of her while I go help Jean. You have to reach Azur Lane as soon as possible if we want to save her."
Richelieu pursed her lips. She didn't like the idea of leaving them behind in the middle of the ocean, but she knew it was the only way to make sure Dunkerque survived. She was about to reply, but an ominous presence behind them interrupted her.
"I can't allow you to do that."
At a distance from them, many feet above the water, a spot in the ether started rippling, and its colors shifted, revealing the figure of a Siren with manta ray-like rigging on her back.
"Tester! So this is your doing!" Jeanne d'Arc barked at the Siren.
"Bingo! I was looking for Purifier's Cube when I came across a group of traveling Kansen. I figured it was the perfect chance to see how our new test subject fares against you shipgirls," she said, giving them a psychotic smirk. "But I can't have you run away on me like this, not when the fun is just getting started."
At that moment, multiple portals appeared in the sky around her, from which came out various Siren units, landing on the water in formation. Without wasting time, the mass-produced vessels aimed their weapons at them and opened fire, while the low-tier humanoid Sirens charged at them.
Richelieu stepped forward, summoned her rigging, and used its armor to deflect a volley that was coming straight at them.
"Le Malin, Le Triomphant, go help my sister. Béarn, stay behind and take care of Dunkerque. Algérie, Jeanne d'Arc, with me," she started barking orders as the other Kansen also called out their rigging and prepared for combat. Then she summoned her decorated spear and swiftly waved the Iris banner attached to it in a grandiose manner.
"Camarades de l'Orthodoxie! Aux armes, marchons!"
At the Cardinal's rallying cry, the three Kansen charged at the enemy, with their guns loaded and their weapons at the ready.
The Siren fleet was looming over them like an insurmountable wall. Tester retreated in the back of the formation and disappeared again thanks to her camouflage; the Elite's goal was to crush the shipgirls with numbers alone and force those who remained to fight the male Kansen, but she didn't take into consideration the Cardinal's resilience.
Richelieu was unfazed by the sheer size of the enemy fleet. She pushed forward at her top speed, firing volley after volley towards the mass-produced ships, proudly holding the banner of the Orthodoxy high in the air. Whether she was dodging or taking hits head-on, she never stopped moving forward, her guns setting the pace for her and her comrades' advance. Algérie and Jeanne d'Arc were sailing on her sides, providing covering fire for the Iris flagship, and using their weapons to deal with any of the small fries brave or foolish enough to try to stand in the Cardinal's way.
Algérie swung her battle mace as if it were made of paper; the sheer force behind her swings was such that it sent flying any humanoid Siren it encountered, crushing them to pieces. Jeanne d'Arc was less conspicuous with her approach but no less effective; she danced on the battlefield like a butterfly and stung like a hornet with her rapier, stabbing and cutting at the vital points of each Siren who stood before her with lightning speed. Those who escaped the fury of their blows were handled by their cannons.
Above their heads, Béarn's planes soared in formation, providing cover from any attempts by the enemy drones to catch her comrades off guard with a bombing run; their symbolic indigo-blue glow was like a beacon for them to follow.
"Don't let any of them get close to Dunkerque! The safety of our beloved comrade is in our hands; none of them must escape us!" Richelieu's commanding voice resounded as she took position to fire a full broadside, nailing one of the Siren capital ships and scoring a critical hit that enveloped the enemy hull in a cloud of fire and smoke, reducing it to a trash heap. Now that their formation had been breached, they could start singling out the rest of the units, but they still needed to pay attention to the aircraft and the rest of the humanoid Sirens.
Her thoughts went to her sister for a moment, at how blinded by rage she had been when she lunged at the shipboy and at how self-destructive that kind of behavior could be. She hoped she had made the right call by sending the two destroyers to support her; maybe their presence could help in assuaging her fury.
Not that she wasn't furious herself. Putting up a mask of poise and confidence in front of her subordinates had become second nature to her, but in truth, she had been fighting the urge to release her ire the entire time.
"Cardinal! Behind you!"
Jeanne's voice reached her right on time, as she ducked under the blast of a Tracker that had gotten too close to her for comfort. Before the Siren could shoot her again, Richelieu lowered her decorated spear and pierced her gut with a swift thrust, raising her body high in the air with the shaft before slamming it down onto another Executor-class behind her, smearing the flag on her banner with the purple of the Sirens' blood.
"I don't have time to worry about that idiot. Right now, the others are counting on me; I have to stay focused."
She extracted the point of her spear from the body of the Siren and resumed the attack, keeping an eye out all the while for Tester's possible location.
Tester was perplexed. She had been observing the development of the battle from behind the safety of her fleet, hidden from view thanks to her rigging's camouflage, but she was starting to get bored.
The shipboy accompanying the Sakura fleet had wiped the floor with her pawns in an impressive display of destructive power, and she was expecting their prisoner to do the same. That's why she had thrown him at the shipgirls: because she wished to observe the phenomenon from up close this time. Unfortunately, the result was a letdown. The male Kansen wasn't doing much outside of taking hits; it didn't even look like he was capable of doing anything else at all.
"After all the effort it took to put him under our control... what a disappointment," she shook her head in disappointment.
When one of their patrol fleets had found him unconscious in the middle of the ocean, they had brought him to their lair, and Zero had demanded he be interrogated for information. Unfortunately, the only thing they were able to extrapolate from the shipboy was that he had quite a temper. When he woke up from his slumber, he wasn't happy to see them; he started screaming and kicking under his bindings, throwing insults and profanities at them, and didn't reveal a single thing about his origins or his intentions.
Every attempt at manipulating him through a Black Wisdom Cube had been for naught. It was as if he was screening his mind with an impenetrable barrier, and they were unable to break through it, at least until they switched to a more drastic approach. Observer didn't want to admit it, but Empress' suggestion had proved to be effective. Once they started tormenting his body, his resolve slowly began to crumble until he was forced to retreat his consciousness inside his Cube, if only to spare himself the rest of what they had in store for him. It turned out to be the wrong choice for him since it left his mind without protection and allowed the Black Wisdom Cube to work on him.
Unfortunately, in that condition, he was just like a mindless puppet; his consciousness was still there, but it was confined to the deepest reaches of his mind, and they couldn't get any answers from him in that state. It was a bummer, but for now, it was all right. At least they could make him follow their orders without resisting.
Tester only hoped they wouldn't lose him to the shipgirls.
Jean Bart fired another volley at the shipboy, but he dodged it effortlessly once again. She gritted her teeth in frustration. The male Kansen was too small and quick of a target for her rigging, and since he had those big cestuses on his arms, engaging in CQC was not an option anymore. She didn't know what they were capable of, but she figured it'd hurt quite a bit if they connected.
The battle was lasting far longer than she intended; she couldn't waste any more time with this runt while the rest of the girls were facing an entire Siren fleet behind her, and every second was vital to ensure Dunkerque's survival.
"Argh, to hell with this!" She went straight for him at her top speed. She wanted to end this quickly, but to do so, she had to get closer to shoot him, even if it meant getting caught in the blast of her own shells.
If he had caught on to her intention, his unreadable expression didn't betray it. Instead of moving backward to keep his distance, he lowered his stance and charged headfirst toward the woman, his gaze fixed on her rigging, carefully watching for the slightest movement of her barrels.
As the two drew closer, the quadruple battery of her right turret jutted outward, and its barrels pointed down at him. Time seemed to stop as he glimpsed into them, waiting for the flicker that always preceded the rumbling of the cannons, then he jumped. He didn't even blink as the rounds traveled below his body, and he vaulted over them into the air like a high jumper.
Jean was caught by surprise as her volley missed the target and the shipboy leaped over her head, landed on the water behind her, and immediately lunged at her, rearing back his arm. She could only turn around and shield herself with her left turret. She was planning on taking the hit with her rigging and retaliating with her own fists, but she wasn't ready for what was coming next.
His right cestus crashed into her battery with a loud bang and overwhelming force, crumpling the metal of the contraption like a sheet of paper. The force of the impact pushed the battery into her left side, and the sound of her bones cracking mixed with the sound of metal crunching and snapping. Her breath was forced out of her lungs, and she was sent flying many feet backward.
When she landed on the water and came to a stop, she started gasping for air and tried to assess the damage. The entire left side of her rigging had been reduced to smithereens, and she was left with a single functioning turret. Her left arm looked like it had been put through a press, and she could feel a sharp pain coursing through her left side. She probably had a few broken ribs, and she was lucky none of them had punctured her lungs. She wasn't screaming in pain only because of the adrenaline and the anger coursing through her veins.
She forced herself on her feet, clutching her left side with her right arm. Her opponent was still coming at her, but she still had one turret left. This time, she wouldn't repeat the same mistake. This time, she'd wait for him to get as close as possible before shooting.
He was upon her in an instant. She braced herself for the impact as she aimed her barrels right between their feet…
And was forced to cover her face as an explosion that didn't come from her cannons raised a copious amount of water right where the shipboy had been. She jumped out of the way as multiple conflagrations followed the first and turned her head to the side.
Le Malin and Le Triomphant were approaching her position at high speed, the former with a determined frown on her face, the latter with a more worried expression, their torpedo tubes empty after firing their load onto the shipboy.
They took positions on both her sides, and Le Triomphant's eyes widened when she noticed her injuries.
"Jean! What happened to you?! Those wounds look awful!" She tried to reach for the battleship with her hand, but she recoiled back.
"I'm fine. Don't concern yourself with me," Jean brushed off her concern.
"Good thing we made it in time. Were you planning on blowing yourself up with him?" Le Malin accused her.
"So what?! You gonna tell Richelieu?" Jean Bart snapped at the destroyer.
Le Malin narrowed her eyes at her, not happy with her superior's attitude. Jean Bart had always been the brusque and gruff type, but she cared about her comrades more than anything else and had never acted this way towards her. She noticed her bleeding arm, her ragged breathing, her crazy bloodshot eyes, and her half-destroyed rigging. She was clearly in no condition to continue fighting, both physically and mentally. She decided to take matters into her own hands, consequences be damned.
"We are taking over from here. You go back to Béarn's position and stay put," she declared with a tone that didn't admit any objection.
"What?! You expect me to-"
Le Malin kicked her in the shin with no hesitation, and the taller woman fell on her knee with a gasp. Now that she was at eye level with the destroyer, she could see the resolve in her gaze.
"Don't force my hand, Jean. You gave it your all, but now you are in no condition to keep fighting. I don't want to risk the life of another friend, so either you do as I say, or I drag you back myself."
Le Malin's stern words and her determined tone of voice left no room for discussion and were able to calm the nerves of the battleship. She gritted her teeth in frustration, knowing that the destroyer was right. She hung her head and conceded to her "request."
"Fine. But if something happens to you two, I'm kicking your little butts later," she warned them. She stood up again, then she turned on her heels and stumbled backward, toward the position pointed by the destroyer.
Le Malin watched her move away, then switched her attention to the unnamed shipboy. The male Kansen was struggling to get back on his feet; his face was bleeding and swollen from Jean's blows, his body and uniform were covered in filth from their previous attack, and his yellow eyes seemed to have lost part of their glow. Nonetheless, he straightened his back and raised his guard once again.
The two destroyers summoned their signature weapons. Le Malin pointed her estoc at him and addressed him with an accusatory tone of voice. "You attacked us out of the blue and gravely injured our friend; don't you have anything to say for yourself?"
He kept staring at them in silence; if it weren't for his breathing, you could mistake him for a statue.
"Won't you at least tell us your name?"
Still nothing. She looked right back into his eyes and frowned when a sudden thought ran through her mind.
"I see how it is." She settled into a fighting stance. "Sister, put your shield away. I don't think it's going to be of much help against him."
Le Triomphant complied. Her shield disappeared in a flash of light, and she also fell into stance. Seconds ticked agonizingly slow as the two sides sized each other up.
"Witness the power of the Le Fantasque-class!" The two sisters declared in unison, and the three Kansen lunged at each other.
AN: At last, after eighteen chapters, the sixth shipboy and the last of my OCs has appeared. You already know his name since it was mentioned a couple of times by the others in the past, but if you don't remember, I'll remind you. His name is Lenin, and just like Jean Bart guessed, he is not a warship.
But I'll talk about him in the next chapter; for now, just know that his rigging is inspired by the Nemean Cestus from God of War III, but with a bear motif and in the style of the Northern Parliament rigging.
Next Chapter: Breaking the Ice