Given the importance of their passenger, it is a bit odd they would have him travel on a C-130 given it's 26,000 foot flight ceiling is well within what the Abyss should be able to intercept. Especially since the more advanced C-17 has a 45,000 foot ceiling that should be above what the Abyss forces should be capable of engaging with.
Given the importance of their passenger, it is a bit odd they would have him travel on a C-130 given it's 26,000 foot flight ceiling is well within what the Abyss should be able to intercept. Especially since the more advanced C-17 has a 45,000 foot ceiling that should be above what the Abyss forces should be capable of engaging with.
Contrary to expectation, the thought wasn't laced with melancholy or regret, no. Indeed, for such a deep question from a philosophical and tactical genius such as herself, it shouldn't have come from a state of utter and complete exacerbation.
Not only was she surrounded by idiots, but the very ship in which they resided was an idiot! A dolt who couldn't tell his prow from his screws! Moreover, he was a dolt who had earned her respect through the fires of combat, proving himself worthy of the title battleship... only to reveal that he'd been the accursed stowaway all along!
The Captain didn't know whether she wanted to kiss or strangle him!
There were too many conflicting facts for her to come to a verdict. All she could do was stew in her emotional conflict while trying to keep the positives of the situation in mind.
Her ship was fully repaired; that was good. All crew had reported back at their stations; even better. Most importantly, during the battle her quarters had been blown to smithereens! Normally, losing their bunk to a fiery explosion would have demoralized anybody... except that it had also taken the abhorrent mess with it!
When the repair bucket worked its magic, her quarters emerged as clean as a whistle.
Take that, stowaway!
Of course, that caused her thoughts to loop back around to the problem at hand.
This... William.
Words could not describe her frustration when she had to learn that from the Admiral himself instead of her own ship! A Japanese battleship who couldn't speak Japanese was pure madness! Unthinkable! Improbable! Inconceivable!
And yet, this was the reality she was forced to endure! Captaining a battleship with an identity crisis, one who couldn't speak a word of his native tongue, and whose first thought upon getting repaired was to hop aboard one of those flying deathtraps known as an airplane!
As if sensing her discomfort, the deck lurched like they were going over a wave. Only, there was no water beneath Musashi's keel, just hundreds of feet of empty air keeping them from shattering against the ocean below!! What was her moron of a vessel thinking!? Battleships weren't meant to fly!
Grabbing her tin cup, she slammed back another mouthful of the black nectar. She didn't know what else to call it – a barrel of the stuff had taken on during their first resupply. Naturally, as the Captain, she'd taken it upon herself to test the new substance. The first sip brought a burst of vitality. She felt awake, alert, and most importantly, alive. Best of all, the taste was as bitter as the dark recesses of her blackened soul; it was a match made in heaven!
And as her heart began to race with the nectar flooding her veins, she turned her attention to the most pressing issue. Namely, the command staff clustered in the Officer's Lounge.
As the only officer who bore witness to Musas... William's story, it fell on her to inform the rest of the crew what had transpired. A crew who – in the Captain's most humble opinion – were not treating the situation with the severity it warranted!
Half of them were still dubiously sampling the black nectar that had inexplicably replaced their tea ration. The Chief Engineer, however, suffered no such hesitation and was downing her fifth cup. Her deadpan expression was offset by her vibrating limbs.
In stark contrast, the Chief Gunnery Officer was vibrating for an entirely different reason. She hadn't touched a drop of the stuff, but the moment Musashi's keel had left the ground her excitement couldn't be contained. Now her pestering was starting to get on the Captain's nerves as she tried to point out that Musashi didn't need supplementary anti-air anymore!
After all, what was more anti-air than a flying battleship!?
The Captain had found a strange sense of comradery with the Chief Engineer as they both called her an idiot.
That same sense of comradery died a painful death as the Chief pointed out that welding wings to the hull wouldn't be enough. Only a large enough explosion or one of those experimental jet engines would be enough to get Musashi airborne. Then they would need something to keep that altitude.
Balloons, maybe. Lots and lots of hot air balloons.
As conversation swayed in that direction, the Captain bemoaned the fact that she was the only sane officer present.
"Desu!" she snapped, bringing the meeting to fruition. A lot had happened over the last few days which most of the crew was not aware of. Being dead tended to do that to people. With that being said, she began the long and mentally arduous explanation of the last few days.
Finally, she got to the truth about Musashi and the stowaway. The words of the English language she understood could be counted on both stubs, but the pictures provided enough context. This William had found their ship before Musashi had even been summoned, and through some whoopy-doopy-spooky stowaway shenanigans had come back instead of their beloved battleship!
For a long moment, silence reigned over the group.
Then the Chief coughed politely. "Desu."
"DESU!!" The Captain shrieked back. She most certainly did not call a damn thing!!
That, of course, segued neatly into what was to be done about the situation. As her crew looked on, the Captain firmly declared where her loyalties lay. Their boat might not look the same – as well as being a few ensigns short of a bridge crew – but even she couldn't deny that the fighting spirit of Musashi lived on!
Admitting that to herself was one thing, putting it out before her entire crew was another. But to her relief, they were nodding along with her proclamation. A few even cheered when she supported the man's bravery.
And now they were being flown across the sea, not the preferred mode of transport, but the enemy didn't wait for anyone! Why else would they depart so soon after repairs? The enemy was howling at the gates! Another warzone needed Musashi's fury!
With her speech bordering on outright zealotry, she hopped atop the table, scattering maps and papers everywhere. Draining her cup of black nectar in a single gulp, she held it out to an ensign who dutifully filled it to the brim.
She drained that cup too, feeling her tiny heart swell with pride and thrum like the wings of a hummingbird.
They would crush the enemy under their keel! She roared, feeling more hyper and alive than she had in days as more nector went down her throat. And though they could all feel their ship's melancholy at being thrust into another warzone so soon, they would be there to support him every step of the way!
The crew cheered, most of them vibrating in place as they cracked open another barrel.
----
The sun rose above the Montana horizon, casting its rays through the narrow windows set high in the wall. Coincidentally, the angle was just right to cast a frustrating glare across her phone. No matter what she did, Victoria's shadow refused to cooperate, forcing her to squint through the glare at the rapidly scrolling chatroom.
Since Musashi's heroic return, the internet was abuzz with activity. Everyone seemed determined to swamp the new battleship under their gratitude, all the while speculating about her appearance, attitude, and everything in between.
If she was anything like Yamato, she was liable to faint. A gentle giant with a heart greater than the size of her guns. Kind yet confident, skating across the water to fight the Abyssals with grace to rival any dancer on stage.
Her chin dropped to the desk before the image left her mind, knocking her glasses askew.
She couldn't help but be sour about the whole thing. Yeah, it was messed up; feeling sorry for herself while people had died over in Japan, but it was hard not to feel bitter as she scratched another name off the list.
Musashi had returned, and with that, the odds of her being a Natural Born dropped dramatically. She already had a better chance than most, too, being a Japanese-American. Hell, both her granddads had survived the war, and on both sides too! If there ever was a good candidate for either fleet, it was her.
She was patriotic! And she could recite the Bushido Code backward if needed! She had attended every program the Navy had sponsored for youth like her. She was just waiting for her 18th birthday before heading to the Naval Academy! In fact, Victoria could say with certainty that no one in Billings Montana wanted to go to war more than her!
As a shipgirl!
But like her dad had said, it was like trying to win the lottery.
She hated him for it. Disregarding all of her hard work as though it meant nothing in the long run.
And now Musashi was back, shortening her list of prospects even further. Which ship could she awaken as now and still make a difference? Mikasa? A pre-dreadnought battleship? The statistics were sobering; she'd be next to useless without significant modernization.
Hell, at this point she'd be thankful to awaken as one of the few remaining destroyers on her list.
It wasn't fair. The universe had a vendetta against her. No one took her dreams seriously.
Something nudged her leg and she glared at Marcus from across the aisle, who only grinned, cheekily. "Coping well over there?"
"Crawl in a hole and die," Victoria snarled, picking up her phone again. It had been buzzing incessantly, overwhelmed with notifications from the dozens of servers she frequented. The one dedicated to hopeful Natural Borns wasn't helping her mood, either. Everything was bemoaning the fact that calling Yamato a sister was now off the table.
It felt a little weird to be using her phone in class, but Mr Keomalu was a bigger shipgirl fan than she was. Missouri might have been his favorite – the posters scattered around his classroom were proof enough of that – but in his eyes, shipgirl news rivaled an address from the President. Today's lesson had been sidelined in favor of watching Admiral Goto's public address about Musashi's condition. Nothing but the live broadcast would satisfy the quirky math teacher.
The rest of the class was ecstatic; though whether it was because they got a free period or the prospect of seeing battleship sized boobs. Honestly, it wasn't even a question. Pigs. The buzz of conversation filled the air as her classmates exchanged wild theories and... artwork.
Most of it was cringeworthy... but some of it wasn't so bad. Not that she would ever admit that out loud.
But not even her angst could overshadow her curiosity. Never before had a shipgirl's summoning been shrouded with so much secrecy.
After Musashi's triumphant return through Tokyo, everyone was surprised when the Kanmusu Corp clammed up like an awkward schoolgirl. Their media team went dead silent, aside from generalized reports that Musashi was slowly recovering. The Navy – especially the Japanese – never failed to publicize returning shipgirls. To have a fresh summon was always a morale boost. One more defender against the terrors of the ocean.
'A defender that isn't me,' she thought, bitterly.
But to hear nothing at all was strange. Not only from the media but from the shipgirls themselves. A total blackout from everyone. It brought a sense of mystery to the servers and chatrooms dedicated to shipgirls and their activities. After all, when a prominent internet personality like Naka went dark without a word, people tended to notice.
And when she did start streaming again days later, it felt like she was walking on eggshells with every word.
This continued for weeks. Not even shipgirls of other nations could pry answers out of their Japanese allies. Rumors and speculation ran rampant. Hundreds of theories that Victoria had disregarded in disgust. Weirdos, all of them!
But the most frustrating part was the reoccurring rumor that Musashi had come back as male! Victoria had pulled a spit take on that one, almost ruining her phone in the process. It was fucking stupid, that's what it was! The only proof anyone had were – again – more rumors about a picture taken a mere hour before the attack!
When no one could provide the damning image, Victoria expected the conversation to move on.
But it didn't! People insisted that it was real! And to make matters worse; now there was a Canadian involved! By now the story had gone through so many second-hand sources it was impossible to get the real story.
A town called Rokkasho had been attacked and Musashi had appeared to save it. That was all anyone could agree on. The debate would have come to physical blows eventually if Admiral Goto hadn't gone public and announced a press conference.
This led to an excited Mr Keomalu throwing the class schedule out the window in favor of bringing the best speakers he owned and wiring them into the class computer. At that moment, a loud burst of Japanese blared around the room.
"Sorry!" Mr Keomalu said over the noise, adjusting the volume with a sheepish smirk. "Sorry 'bout that. Had 'em turned up for a gig, sorry."
It was an odd picture: The classroom's Smart Board was flanked by a pair of amps that belonged at an AC/DC concert. Overkill in the extreme, but then again, Keomalu didn't do anything halfway if he could help it. His fanatic energy was annoying most days or just plain weird. He was a grown-up, he wasn't supposed to have Discord running beside the livestream. That was something teenagers were supposed to do, not her teachers!
"You're moping again."
"Fuck off," she mumbled, trying to lose herself in her phone again.
Missouri herself had logged on and the feed was going wild. As was Mr Keomalu who was doing a little wiggle dance in his chair. Even the rest of the class erupted as the famed battleship's message appeared on the board.
Victoria's spirits sink further. The message wasn't anything special either; just introducing herself and saying how proud she was of the newly summoned Musashi. They might have been enemies in past life, but the Iowa-Class was ready to welcome her to the world with open arms. Another sister in arms to take back the seas!
Welcome to the fight!
Next, she openly called out Iowa, commanding her to be a good sister and spill the beans.
Victoria sighed.
It should have been her...
"And now you're just being childish," Marcus huffed. "Come on, the odds were never in your favor. You have more chance of winning the lotto than that."
"I thought you were supposed to make me feel better," she hissed back.
"I am, it's called smacking you with the truth. It's a better way of handling things. You get more gloomy with each girl that comes back! Seriously, it's depressing."
She glared at him. The deadpan she got in return didn't improve her mood.
"Drop dead, Marcus.
"Kay everyone! It's starting!" Keomalu shouted from the front, turning up the volume. The class gradually settled down. By the time the Japanese news anchor had been replaced by an empty podium set against the backdrop of the ocean, the classroom had gone completely silent.
It took a moment before Admiral Goto himself appeared, taking his place at the podium and smoothing out a few papers. He looked exhausted; a shell of a man inside his immaculate navy whites. Despite this, he drew himself up and bowed to the camera.
"Thank you all for coming. I understand that these have been trying times for everyone so I will make this brief."
"You want to know what's crazy," Marcus whispered as the Admiral paused for a moment. "My uncle heard that Goto is getting court marshaled for this."
Ah yes, that uncle in the Marines. Both a thorn in her side and her greatest ally. On one hand, it gave her access to info that wouldn't normally make it to the internet. On the other hand, she had to deal with Marcus to get it.
But a court marshal? Now what could have happened to start a rumor like that?
"What the hell...?
"I know, it's crazy."
Keomalu shushed loudly, just in time for the Admiral to continue.
"I must start by addressing some rumors about Musashi's condition. Rest assured, Musashi is alive and well, but before I go into specifics, these rumors need to be laid to rest."
"Personally, I don't think Kongou would even let them court marshal him. I mean, have you seen-"
This time it wasn't just Keomalu shushing Marcus.
"For starters, the rumors regarding an Abyssal spy on Japanese soil have been proven false. While there was an unusual suspect in the form of the 'Rogue Canadian,' he has since turned himself into our custody and has cooperated fully with the investigation. All allegations of espionage and impersonation have been dropped."
Victoria blinked. That was interesting. She'd heard the rumors about a traitor but didn't think that anyone could be that stupid. All the same, it was nice to be vindicated on the subject.
But how had that gotten started in the first place?
It was easy to make out how the Admiral hesitated before continuing to his next announcement.
"Regarding Musashi, however, the rumors are much more complicated. It has been said that Musashi has returned as the first male Kanmusu."
The entire world seemed to hold its breath, and Victoria wanted to slap them all silly. How could anyone believe that garbage?
"These rumors... are true."
Marcus leaned over again, whispering. "Well, we knew that right from the beginning. Now we... wait – what?!"
His final word came as a shout, mirrored by dozens more exclamations of surprise as the class erupted into noise. Discord was going wild, the chat scrolling at light speed as thousands made their confusion known all at once. Even over the livestream, reporters could be heard letting out a torrent of questions as Admiral Goto waited for the noise to subside.
But Victoria could only lean back, stunned speechless. And as a picture of the new battleship appeared, the final nail in the coffin, she felt ready to cry. She didn't care about the oddities of his appearance, only the rigging strapped to his back.
If Musashi had come back as a man, then the already insurmountable odds against her had just doubled.
----
Warspite's spit-take was later regarded as one for the ages. Hot tea flew through the air in a glorious spout until it splashed squarely into the face of HMS Queen Elizabeth. Her shriek of surprise, however, was drowned out as the wardroom erupted into chaos.
"Wot?" Repulse's heavy accent could be heard roaring above the crowd, punctuated by the clink of glass as she pulled her head from her nest of alcohol. "Wha' do ya' mean it's fu'kin true?!"
"I'm terribly sorry, my dear!" Warspite had to shout to be heard above the rabble as she dabbed at the old dreadnought's face with a handkerchief.
But Elizabeth's retort was drowned out by a new wall of sound as a picture appeared on the large television hung in the corner. At first glance, nothing appeared amiss; just the familiar lines of a Yamato-Class battleship. Then the human aspects came into focus and Warspite's mind ground to a halt.
The picture must have been taken recently, with both Iowa and Musashi standing on a pier with their rigging deployed. A comparison shot, unless she was very much mistaken. A common photogenic practice where shipgirls were concerned. Iowa was already a well known public figure and her proportions were... well documented. In ways than one. She made for a good comparison to the new arrival.
Indeed, they seemed to be getting along swimmingly. The American was grinning, hand thrown back flippantly as if caught in mid-insult.
But as for Musashi, smirking back at her...
Warspite's mouth went dry.
Iowa was already tall by human woman standards, somewhere above the six-foot range. And yet, Musashi towered over the American. He was big; far bigger than a man had any right to be. So big they seemed to be having trouble finding clothes for him. The black Navy tee shirt was pulled tight across his broad chest, providing a tantalizing glimpse of the powerhouse that lay beneath.
Simply gorgeo-
"Warspite!"
Elizabeth's furious hiss jolted her back to the present, and she realized she'd merely been spreading the mess across her sister's face rather than cleaning it up. Baleful eyes glared up at her, promising revenge like only a British battlewagon could.
"Warspite," Elizabeth repeated, in a marginally more controlled tone. "You're drooling."
"I am not!" Warspite retorted automatically, heat rushing to her cheeks even as she wiped her lower lip clean.
The amount of skepticism her sister packed into a single blink was enough to sink Ireland.
----
If the noise in the British wardroom was bad, it was nothing to the roar filling the Severomorsk common room. Most of the off-duty girls had already been hitting the bottle hard, so when the press conference hit its climax so too did the Russians.
After she had sobered up, Gangut reflected the fleet hadn't taken the reveal well. Not in the emotional sense, but rather that it turned them all into idiots.
As she had found out early on, very few men could satisfy a battleship. Not that they didn't try, but flesh and muscle couldn't match the raw power of steel and boilers. It made for... disappointing nights out. Honestly, unless that Goto character over in Japan was a boat in disguise, Gangut couldn't see how Kongou could ever be satisfied with him.
Then Musashi appeared.
Once the implications managed to make it through the Vodka induced stupor, everything went wrong. Plenty of girls rushed for the door, convinced by alcohol that a taxi could ferry them to Yokosuka for a few hours of fun.
Gangut would have been the first out if she hadn't been swarmed by the more sober attendants. Or rather, the ones who could string more than one slurred sentence together. Their approach was to beg for the closest posting to Japan that was physically possible. They made promises, called in favors, offered favors in return, even bribery just to get one nautical mile closer to the single hunk on planet Earth could feasibly give them a good time.
Their pleas had gone in one ear and out the other. After all, why would Gangut give up this chance to have that beast all to herself?
That had been a wild night: Escaping the helpless romantics begging through drunken tears for the night of passion that she herself craved! She'd get to that glorious bastard first if it was the last thing she did!
After escaping the crowd she made out the door into the night... then woke up in the woods on the outskirts of the nearby airstrip with a pounding hangover.
Vaguely, she remembered making plans to commandeer a plane, getting caught in the act, then running off to try again later. The broken control column and headset she'd dragged along with her was proof enough that her plan hadn't been a dream, nor had it succeeded.
After learning of this, and all the other damages the girls accumulated across the countryside, the Admiral was not happy, to say the least.
----
In sharp contrast to reactions across the globe, the wardroom at Truk was deathly silent. Prince of Wales stood rigid, covering her mouth as the Admiral answered question after question, trying to appease the reporters baying for their pound of flesh.
As more about Musashi's – or rather, William's – state was revealed, Wales could only shake her head in mute horror.
As bewildering as the revelation was, Wales couldn't help but notice the lack of a certain battleship on screen. The reporters had noticed it too; a few asked for Yamato's opinion on the matter, only to be politely glossed over.
When Yamato's fleet arrived in Yokosuka everyone had been expecting a joyful reunion and the mystery to be revealed. The last thing they expected was for Yamato herself to fall under the spell of radio silence.
Only now did Wales realize why.
The guilt over the part she played almost crushed her.
As the press conference came to a close, Wales pulled out her satellite phone and tapped out a familiar number. But as the dial tone rang again and again her jaw tightened.
"Kongou, pick up this instant, or I swear-"
The call connected, cutting her off mid-threat.
"Hello Wales dess!" came Kongou's voice. The first syllable alone was damning evidence that the situation was worse than she feared. The cheer in the fast-battleship's voice was as thin as paper.
"Kongou," Wales greeted her solemnly. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the common room drawn to her, awaiting news on their gentle giant. "Is Yamato there?"
For a long moment, the call was dead silent. It was so unnatural for the excitable woman that Wales immediately became suspicious.
"Kongou, if you hung up on me-"
"No, I'm still here."
As if the long pause wasn't bad enough, the weariness in Kongou's voice was overwhelming. Nonetheless, Wales strove onward. "We just watched the Admiral's address. I... I can't make sense of it, but..."
The guilt of pushing Yamato into this hellish situation overwhelmed her for a brief instant. Eventually, she mustered the courage to continue. Even then, her question felt woefully inadequate.
"How is she?"
----
Kongou hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the crowd gathered outside Yamato's quarters, showing their support however they could. It was little consolation to the trembling form on the bed.
It had been like this ever since the fateful meeting, and for the life of her, Kongou couldn't find a way to help. It was heartbreaking, watching Yamato turn away from any attempt at comfort, giving the world her back as she pressed herself against the wall, sobbing silently.
She had been like this for days, but Kongou refused to give up.
"Not well," she admitted, weakly, going to prepare a fresh pot of tea.
----
Moonlight shone down through the broken roof, casting the interior of the bombed-out convenience store in a soft twilight. It was just enough for Torpedo Cruiser Chi-3506 to navigate the ruin without causing a racket, creeping across the floor with barely a sound.
Her senses were on high alert; lookouts across her deck scanned her surroundings, searching for the slightest sight or sound. But it was her nose that she focused on the most; on the scents that came and went with the slight breeze. The dust in the air, the smoke from distant fires... and blood.
Crawling under a fallen support beam, she came across a body splayed across a counter near the front of the building. There was no doubt as to what killed him; shattered glass embedded in his upper body was proof enough of that.
It was just another body, like the hundreds that lay scattered throughout the ruined village, but 3506 couldn't help but stare.
Humans were so... fragile. Not exactly weak, just fragile. This human in particular was proof of that. He had been the quartermaster in his small town; distributing supplies according to the human's... weird procurement system. She didn't understand how little slips of paper could be of any value, but the human's entire world seemed to revolve around it. This... money stuff.
But with a single salvo, this quartermaster was dead. A critical figure of any ship gone in an instant. And while it was true that magazine detonations were possible, it shouldn't have been this easy.
Thank the Deep that she was made of steel and not skin. It made her hull crawl just thinking about it.
She turned away and resumed her hunt, sulking between the scattered rows of supplies, searching for her prey. It had to be here somewhere, she knew it. The search would have been much easier if she wasn't ducking into the shadows whenever aircraft buzzed overhead. Not the unearthly screech of the human's 'jet fighters', but the familiar roar of Wildcats. Although, with the carrier divisions being rotated constantly, it was hard to tell the difference. It could have been Zeros up there, for all she knew. Such was the mixed nature of their fleets.
Either way, the Wo-Class on duty would be all too eager to report movement along the coast, maybe even shoot it too. And the last thing 3506 wanted was to explain why she had left her post.
That was a good way to be executed for dereliction of duty.
Her search continued along the shelves of the outer wall, her spirits drooping as her efforts turned up nothing. She was about to call her excursion a failure when another patrol passed overhead. Ducking into a swath of shadow, she cursed as her foot crunched through a pile of flimsy cardboard boxes.
But the scent that wafted up from the broken container...
She waited until the patrol passed then brought the broken box out into the light. For a moment, her attention was stolen by the unfamiliar language plastered across the front, but tearing open the top revealed a plastic bag full of black spots. By now the scent was undeniable!
Raisins!
Widening a hole in the bag, she shoved a handful into her maw, cooing with delight at the freshness that washed over her tongue. Most raisins she had managed to find tasted like they had been left out to dry for years! Not these ones; no, these were just right!
With a happy smile on her face, she sank back into the shadows, shoveling more of the delicacy into her maw. She knew speed was of the essence, but raisins! She just had to stop and enjoy them!
Everywhere their crusade went it was more of the same: Chocolate wrapped in foil which wasn't even pure chocolate most of the time. For some reason, the humans insisted on mixing in the oddest things. Like nuts! Or that strange gooey stuff that stuck to her teeth. Or gummies. As if the name wasn't weird enough, the taste was simply awful!
That was her first encounter with the human's sweets; when the fleets had blitzed through Normandy as the first act of their journey. In fact, it was her first encounter with humanity that wasn't through a rangefinder. Shelling them across kilometers of open water was one thing; walking through their bases – towns, she reminded herself – was another matter entirely.
And there was not a single Abyssal afloat who hadn't heard the rumors about the human's sugar. Supposedly, the accursed Kanmusu were bribed to fight through copious amounts of the stuff. Containers of 'ice cream', slabs of 'chocolate,' and the ever-present 'tea' and 'coffee' which seemed interchangeable among the enemy fleets.
How any of those could be better than good old aluminum and bauxite, 3506 had no clue. Probably another defect that plagued the Kanmusu ranks. As if being bound to humans wasn't bad enough already.
Normandy, however, had both opened her eyes and then immediately slammed them shut again.
When she and her sisters had celebrated their first victory on the path to salvation; carving their names into the slopes of the cliffs, they got a little adventurous. Of course, the mystery of chocolate was on their minds as they explored the ruins of a human town, whereupon they found the ruins of a human quartermaster.
There were so many colorful packages and strange smells that they didn't know how to react. It was 3501, their oldest sister, who shoveled a few of the articles into her holds before their flagship came to investigate the hold-up. Of course, being Torpedo Cruisers, they were assigned a patrol in the English Channel, far away from the coast and the mysteries of human food.
And yet, that was a magical moment shared between them. Gathered in a circle, constantly wary of enemy submarines, 3501 had brought out some of the loot for the sisters to share.
3506 remembered the experience distinctly; the first treat they tried was a small plastic net that held dozens of multi-colored... blobs. There was no better way to describe them, and the label on the package made no sense.
Although in hindsight they were, indeed, 'gummy.'
Naturally, she had asked for a black one. The color of the Abyss. Her sisters were more adventurous.
That too was a distinct memory; all her sisters cooing at the taste of the reds, blues, and greens in complete ignorance of the awful taste assaulting her tongue! This was the infamous human sugar?! It was awful! Kanmusu were willing to risk their lives for this garbage?! Moreover, how could her favorite color betray her like this?
Truly, the depravity of the humans couldn't be understated!
And the disappointment only got worse! Next was a crystalline stone that was so sour she instantly spat it out! Thankfully, her reaction wasn't an isolated case, if her sister's reactions were any indication. But it only got worse from there!
Chocolate turned out to be this brownish mass that had melted into sludge! And there were these cubes of red gel that reminded 3506 of jellified diesel with a weird plant-like taste that clung to her tongue: She had to rinse her mouth with salt water just to get rid of it!
And it was all so sweet! Sickeningly so! She couldn't stand it!
No wonder Kanmusu were always in a foul mood if this was what they had to eat!
The experience had almost succeeded in justifying the human's extinction when they tried a small red box filled with wrinkled little beans. Like a sardine that had been left to dry in the sun.
3501, who had been enjoying the experience so far, popped one into her mouth without hesitation. The previous samples must have affected her sense of taste because her reaction was 'meh.' Not bad but not great either. Passing the bag around, the rest of her sisters gave similar reports. Then it was her turn, tentatively putting one of the wrinkled beans into her mouth...
...and shivered with satisfaction. Not too sweet, but not too sour. Not too hard, but not too soft either.
They were just right.
It was there that her love of raisins began, and strengthened with further campaigns into human territory. She lost count of the times when deciding who got a bar of chocolate came to blows; fights that she was never a part of. Why fight for a slab of brown muck when there were piles of raisins just sitting around for the taking?
Honestly, the fact no one else liked them was ridiculous! Excuses she heard dozens of times before; 'oh, they're not sweet enough!' 'Oh, they're too dry!' 'Oh, it looks like you're eating bird poo!'
The joke was on them! Raisins were the only good that ever came from humans! Raisins were perfect and she would gladly fight anyone who said otherwise!
As if to challenge her conviction, a faint chime came from outside.
She froze, a handful of raisins halfway to her mouth. For a moment, she thought it was just her imagination, until the sound came again, like a thousand shards of glass tinkling in the breeze.
But the heavy footsteps following in its wake only confirmed who was bearing down on her. This time the shiver that went down her keel wasn't that of delight, especially as she recognized the faint murmur of voices.
The Princess and her trusted Second. They were coming down the street at a furious pace, and if they caught 3506 away from her post...
...suddenly she wasn't afraid of death anymore...
With a rising sense of dread, she shrank back into the shadows, clutching her box of raisins and willing herself to be invisible as a dark form melted into view from the night.
Compared to the fury and rage of the Princesses of old, the Distant Shore Princess more than made up for it in sheer presence. Dark robes whirled around her form, obscuring her legs making it seem like she was gliding across the ground. Long, white hair flowed down from a veil that obscured every feature except for her sapphire eyes, blazing like spotlights in the dark.
Twin tentacles burst from her back, tipped by the heavily modified turrets of a Ta-Class battleship. Along their length sprouted thousands of tiny chains that hung down to the ground. As the tentacles arched above their mistress, the chains swayed in her wake, creating the unearthly chime.
She resembled one of the human's angels... whatever an angel was. The French Battleship Princess had made the comparison as an insult, but it was an image that the Distant Shore Princess bore with pride.
Bouncing against her chest was a small oilcloth book held in place by a length of chain she'd plucked from her own rigging. A book in which she had recorded every verse of the Prophecy in their entirety. As a former apprentice to the Anchored Demon before her exile, the Princess had been a witness to all that had transpired; one of the few to hear the Prophecy in full.
Her conviction and the written word hanging around her neck fuelled this campaign.
"But.. but it can't be true!" In stark contrast to the Princess, her Second in Command was almost plain. The Ta-Class battleship struggled to stay beside her mistress as she whispered. "Kirishima was always a spiteful coward. It makes sense that she would try to dissuade us, even in death."
"The report comes from the humans, not her," the Princess corrected, her voice soft and wispy in the night.
"That only proves it then!" But there was no conviction in her words; instead, the Ta-Class seemed to be pleading, begging for confirmation. "They're trying to break our spirit! That's all this is!"
The Dreaming Princess glided to a stop, freezing the battleship in her tracks as those glowing eyes locked onto her.
"Doubt is unbecoming of you, sister. But... your confusion is understandable." She reached up and undid the cord holding the book shut with deliberate slowness. "What we seek is steeped in the same darkness from which we emerged. The Abyss favors us, but it does not give up its secrets easily. The Prophecy itself is an example of this. We have our heading but the voyage there is always shrouded in night."
Opening the book, the Princess flipped through it carefully before showing the selected pages to her Second. "But take heart; this means that we are on the right path. Look here, at the beginning of the second verse. And here, throughout verse seven. Tell me what you see."
In the darkness, the Ta's expression was hard to make out, but 3506 thought she looked pale. And no wonder, the Torpedo Cruiser couldn't imagine what it was like reading the word of the Abyss directly!
"But..." The battleship stammered, straightening. "T-This means..."
"The verses of the Prophecy are more intertwined than even I thought possible," the Princess nodded gravelly. "Past, present, and future merged onto a single page. Only now do I realize why summoning the Queen failed; it was not the right time... nor the right person."
"The right time?" The Ta-Class echoed, weakly. "But... if Musashi is here now... does that mean we have to wait fifteen years for him to accept us?"
The Princess's silence spoke volumes as she gently closed her tome. "It is a throne we must prepare. Bismarck must sink, to leave this world behind... to become the son of the Ninth Verse." Carefully rebinding her tome, she let it hang against her bosom.
"They will meet at Verdun, where our judgement will begin."
"But... fifteen years..."
Hearing the weariness in the Ta's voice, the Distant Shore Princess rested a hand on her shoulder. "Be strong, sister. Even if I can't complete this voyage, I will ensure you make it to the end. You will see this home prepared for us. I promise."
In the darkness, 3506 swore she saw the battleship's face glisten with tears. "...thank you..."
Pulling away, the Princess straightened. "For now, this news will shock the fleets. I will prepare an address. I trust you to keep the other Princesses in line..."
The pair hurried away, their voices fading away into the night.
Minutes ticked by in complete silence, but it was only the buzz of another passing squadron that broke 3506 out of her stunned stupor. The box of raisins she'd risked everything to acquire slipped from her fingers. Alone in that dark ruin, shrouded under the cover of night, 3506 hugged herself, begging her ears to be wrong. But there was no denying the truth.
The words of her Princess rang with the finality of death itself.
Musashi had returned... on the human's side.
She tasted salt on her lips. Tears were leaking from around her chitin mask. She didn't understand... had they done something wrong? They'd stayed the course, they'd followed orders! Through everything the humans could throw at them they had stayed faithful! Gallipoli was theirs! They have carved their numbers, their very names into the cliffs themselves! They were so close! She hadn't dared to dream that she would live to see the journey's end, but now...
Fifteen years!
Fifteen more years of war!
The box of raisins, her favorite food, lay forgotten in the rubble as she curled in on herself and wept.
She and her sisters had been there at the very beginning; when the first shots were fired on Normandy! Each one of them was convinced they would see this through! After all, how could the humans possibly fight against the will of the Abyss?
Taking Gallipoli had given her hope, but now?
Minutes passed before she was able to pick herself off the floor; the growing sense of urgency winning over her despair. Picking up her treat from the floor, she hurried from the destroyed building, sneaking through the ruins of Burhanlı back down the coast.
On her portside, the Dardanelles Strait lapped against the beach. And beyond that stretch of water, 3506 could barely make out the opposite coast as a dark blot against the starry sky. The humans had wisely killed any lights that would present a target at night... but that didn't mean they couldn't see her.
Rumors of rangefinders that could see heat ran rampant. While their nature as creations of the Abyss gave them advantages over their foe's technology, it was an advantage that seemed to grow weaker by the day.
Human artillery was becoming scarily accurate. Not a problem while the fleet was mobile, but on a stationary position such as this?
She had never brooded much on the human's capabilities before, but...
Fifteen years.
Whatever was waiting for them after Verse Twelve ran its course, 3506 knew she would never live to see it. She would never survive fifteen more years of this. None of them would. Hopeless... all of it was hopeless...
The truth haunted her as she picked her way back down the coast, hiding from air patrols and the enemy alike. At last, she arrived at the grove of trees hiding the small building from view. It was one of the few that had survived, surrounded by rows of plants growing in neat lines. A 'farmhouse', if 3506 remembered the name correctly. The two-story dwelling wasn't much to look at, honestly. It was made of wood; a single shell would knock it over.
A snuffling and scrapping sound got her attention, drawing her behind the old house where a spray of dirt almost caught her in the face. The hole, it would appear, had only gotten deeper in her absence.
Boredom was a terrible curse, inflicting all during the long watches of the night, and her rigging was no exception. Being unable to fit inside the house without tearing it apart, she had left it outside. And through its eyes, she had seen a small fuzzy creature with a long tail disappear into a burrow between the rows of plants.
Her rigging had valiantly resisted the temptation, but boredom proved to be too much. Before long dirt was being flung in all directions as it dug after the rodent.
That had been hours ago, and now the hole was comparable to a small crater. A yawning pit of darkness and despair from which poked the head of a literal monster. The eldritch glowing eyes and bared teeth were offset by its lulling tongue, and the sheer joy her rigging emanated.
Apparently, it had found something it enjoyed more than sailing. On one hand, she was happy for it... on the other, her paint and chip detail were wailing in despair, especially as it scuttled out the hole revealing just how dirty it was. Mud and clay covered it from snout to talon tip.
She couldn't stay mad at it though, not with what she had just learned. After giving it a halfhearted scratch behind its jaw, she let it return to its digging before turning her attention to the second set of rigging waiting patiently next to the wall. It was so still it might have been asleep; if not for the way it glared at its more rowdy twin.
But at least that meant 3507 hadn't wandered off again.
The broken front door squeaked as 3506 pushed through, threatening to fall off its hinges at any moment. And while the room beyond was in chaos, it wasn't caused by fire and fury but by the exploration of two hungry cruisers. Every cupboard and drawer was open, and if their contents were edible they were treated with some dignity, otherwise they were unceremoniously left on the floor.
So many tasty things; and while she was starting to grow fond of bread and cheese sandwiches they weren't the same as raisins. Hence why she had taken the risk tonight.
But while her box of treats was more precious than gold, it felt as heavy and worthless as lead.
Fifteen years.
With heavy boilers she climbed the stairs, pushing past the various eccentricities involved with human life towards the one place she knew where her sister would be.
The main bedroom – and talk about uninspiring names – was the largest on the second floor and had the same air as the chambers of a Princess. Large windows facing out towards the coast, providing an excellent view of the strait. When combined with the four-poster bed, the whole room gave off a royal sort of air. It was the most luxury 3506 had ever experienced in her short lifetime.
And on the bed, sitting against the headboard and wrapped in a cocoon of blankets was 3507. She was the odd one out, as far as Chi-Class cruisers went. Her chitin mask hadn't formed properly during her construction, leaving her right eye and a good portion of her face exposed. Combined with an insatiable love for chocolate, she was the best little sister a ship could ask for. As evidenced when 3507 glanced her way, her eyes lighting up. Literally.
"You're back!" she said, voice slurred as she rolled a piece of... something around in her mouth. "You were gone for so long I was getting worried!"
But even with her delight on full display, 3506 couldn't muster the same cheer as she sat next to her on the bed, setting the box of raisins in her lap. "I had a... a close call. Nothing to worry about, though. Seen anything?"
"Nah, everything's been quiet." She opened up the cocoon and 3506 accepted the invitation, snuggling up to her sister as she pulled the blankets tight around them. They sat like that for a while before 3507's holds rumbled. "Hey, uh... you didn't happen to find more chocolate, did you?"
The little glutton.
Grinning fondly, 3506 reached into her holds and retrieved the second prize of the night, savoring the way her sister's eyes lit up as the treats were revealed. Abyss forbid she deprive a little sister of her chocolate. The small mountain of sugary sweets she brought back would keep her satisfied for a long while.
If – and only if – she rationed it properly. Though going off the way 3507 was cutely chomping a bar, plastic wrap and all, rationing was the last thing on her mind. The pile might last her a day at most if she kept this up.
Although... if they had to split the treats six ways like before, her binge wouldn't have lasted an hour before she was begging for more.
That thought hung over her like a cloud, making the raisin she popped into her mouth taste like dust. Back then treats like this came few and far in between deployments, and in much lesser quantities too. But those moments where it was just the seven of them celebrating the fact they had all survived were the memories she treasured most. That they were one step closer to the end. Together. Their own little fleet.
Family.
It was with a certain sense of irony that 3501 was the first to sink; catching a lucky shot in her magazine. 3502 tried to slip into the role of oldest sister ship with moderate success, but after 3504 went down after a torpedo strike, something inside her seemed to snap. She was always questioning the Prophecy after that, almost to the point where it got her killed for doubting the cause.
That was where the cracks in their little family started to show. 3502 did everything she could to talk them out of this 'hysteria' as she called it. That there was no salvation throwing themselves at fortified human positions just because the Abyss told them to; the only thing it led to was a watery grave.
She tried so hard to convince them that it was all for nothing, that they were going to die as nothing more than pawns in this scheme. They didn't even know if this chance of salvation was real! But none of them listened; the promises of the Abyss beckoned and nothing could dissuade them. And it was only because 3502 was their sister ship that they didn't report her for sowing doubt among the fleet.
Likewise, her sisters were the only thing keeping 3502 around, trying to save them, as she said. But after 3503 went down she must have given up, vanishing into the night, never to be seen again.
Then it was just the three of them, trying to survive long enough to make it worthwhile. To make their sacrifices count.
Until a week ago, anyway. Now it was just the two of them.
...four years of war on the quest to salvation... and only two of them were left...
"Do you think we'll get our own bedrooms?"
Startled out of her musing, the only response 3506 could muster was a distracted 'huh?'
"We're halfway there," 3507 said softly, chocolate crumbs littering her chin. "Well, almost. But still, halfway there. What do you think it'll be like? Home, I mean?"
3506 didn't know what to say. In her mind that mystical promise felt so far away as to be a forgotten dream.
"I think we'll have bedrooms, like this one. Our own private rooms that not even the Princesses can enter without our permission. They'll have a bed like this... and shelves, like those." 3507 pointed to the wall next to the window, at the ornate shelves that held a collection of pictures. "I could put my seashell collection there and not have to worry about anyone breaking or stealing them. And there would be warehouses full of chocolate and raisins, enough that we would never run out."
She took a happy bite, the snap of breaking chocolate echoing in the night air. But as she chewed, the smile faded slightly. "...what do you think peace is like?"
The question hung in the air, open-ended and unanswered.
"It's just... war is all I know, right from the spawning pool. It's what we were made for. And yeah, it's scary knowing that we could die any day, but..." she hesitated. "... sometimes peace scares me just as much. I know what it means, but not what it is... if that makes any sense."
3506 gave a mute nod. She understood completely. They were warships; brought to life by the Abyss to wage war against humanity. Without war what was their purpose?
And this Prophecy continually guided them towards this strange, distant shore. To return to the place from which they were created. Home. Wherever or whatever that mystical place was. Abyssals didn't have a concept of 'home'; they were creatures of war. The fleets, divisions, and hierarchy of the Abyssal force were all they knew.
But for humans, a home was a place of belonging. Of peace and safety.
For a human creation... that was strangely comforting.
"But I guess we'll find out pretty soon," 3507 whispered, taking another bite. "We're halfway there."
Halfway?
3506's throat clenched, it took every ounce of willpower not to sob. If what the Princess said was true then they were right back where they started! There would be no glorious return home for them, just two more wrecks rusting away on the ocean floor!
Fifteen more years!
She wanted to say it, to speak her mind, but the words kept catching in her throat. Her sister's joy was radiant; for the first time since 03 had sunk, she looked truly happy, content in the knowledge that they were almost to the finish line.
This new revelation would shatter her.
Instead, 3506 pulled her younger sister into a crushing hug, hoping that the tears leaking out would be mistaken for ones of joy. Not for the first time, she wondered if they had been better off running away with 3502.
So, if you follow the story on Kofi, you'll know there was a segment cut due to time constraints. I'm still working on it, as it introduces characters and points important to the plot, it's just needs a little more work. As soon as it's ready, it's going live. I'm not sticking it behind a paywall when it was suppose to be part of the main course.
Wow. I was not expecting this story to go that route with the Abyssals. Damn. Wonderfully done. I wonder if William will somehow be the catalyst towards understanding that even the Abyssal fleet is more human than expected, to contract his discovery that it's much much more sinister than expected as well? Would be a nice dichotomy.
Fixed. Thanks for pointing that out. Another was found on SB, but if those are the only two that made it through, I'll be happy. It means my editing skills are improving.
Wow. I was not expecting this story to go that route with the Abyssals. Damn. Wonderfully done. I wonder if William will somehow be the catalyst towards understanding that even the Abyssal fleet is more human than expected, to contract his discovery that it's much much more sinister than expected as well? Would be a nice dichotomy.
Ah, angst. The weirdly common trait of any universe where the objective is to aquire a PNG harem.
It's interesting to see the Abyss's side, and their reactions to MC's existence, especially how they're reshaping their prophecy to accommodate the change. Best part of any prophecy is that you can always justify their logic in hindsight, but before the events play out your interpretation can be Wildly off.
I thought the reactions to William on the human side were interesting, but I was really hoping for a more moment-by-moment playback, where Admiral guy has to explain, repeatedly, that he's got no idea what the fuck is going on but also that there's no chance this is a mistake. The various clarifications like: yes, he's like 7", and yes, he's a dude, no, they don't know if he can reproduce, no, they're not gonna try to find out.
The shipgirls' reactions were funny too. Though contrasted with the depression spiral around home-base makes the differences stark. I wonder if any of the 'FUCK HIM' group had any success? would be a fun b-plot, or a side story of various background seduction attempts that failed for various reasons. Though probably a bit too much of a detail from the current plot structure.
I'm not really familiar with Kancole lore(personally drifted towards Azur Lane with it's more fantastical characters), but how exactly are they planning to 'Abyssalize' MC? Or are they just trusting the prophecy to make it so if they setup their believed preconditions? Seems kinda unlikely unless they have the same type of abyss whispers that nearly got MC back in stowaway-time. He's both a lot more stable, and a lot less now. Less insane desperation, more crushed at the truth of reality.
Time was running out for 3502. That last torpedo strike had crippled her; opening up holes in her hull to allow the cold waters of the Atlantic to rush in. Her damage control was out of commission and she was running out of options. The numbers didn't lie; she had minutes to live at most.
Skirting the edge of a massive iceberg, she took stock and found her situation wanting.
Her fleet was gone; even now, their last battleship was beginning its long descent to the ocean floor and their two carriers were fleeing south as fast as their props could take them.
"Stupid flattops," she cursed, adjusting her course and ordering her guns to switch ammunition. Cowards, the both of them! "Completely fucking useless! You haven't sunk a damn thing!"
They flowed from her lips, oaths in every language she knew and even ones that she didn't. But one thing was certain; even if the carriers were being assholes, she was not going to go down without a fight!
She would have her vengeance!
Baring her teeth, she abandoned the cover of the ice, appearing before the Shchors cruiser like the specter of death. Which, technically, she was. A manic grin spread her lips as her guns lined up and her rangefinders did their work. "There you are..."
With a single thought, all of her remaining guns fired, sending high explosive shells flying at the stricken cruiser.
Much like her, the Shchor was on death's door. Her hull was scorched by fire, barely clinging to the last vestiges of life. Her turrets began to spin in panic at the Abyssal appearing off the port bow, but it was too little too late! Before her secondaries could even get the range, the shells impacted.
Explosions ran down the Shchors's hull, ending in a massive fireball as the burning ship began to capsize.
"Yes!!" 3502 cheered, throwing her hands in the air. "Take that you-"
She never saw the shells that killed her, plunging from on high to bury themselves in her upperworks. Despite the damage being relatively superficial, the explosion that rippled down her hull was compatible with a magazine detonation. Her celebration was cut short as she too began to capsize, her broken hull following the Shchors on its one-way voyage to the bottom.
Soon, nothing remained of the two vessels. Not even ripples on the surface.
Needless to say, 3502 was livid.
"Noooo!"
The monitor jumped an inch in the air as she slapped the desk in outrage. To make matters worse, the camera shifted so she was staring straight at her killer; a lone enemy destroyer that had appeared just outside of her passive view range.
"Yo~ou..." she hissed, pure Abyssal malice dripping from each word. She swore frost began to edge the monitor. "You rat bastard, you took my Kraken Unleashed from me!"
She didn't have one yet! It was humiliating! She, an Abyssal, a literal boat, couldn't get five kills in a stupid video game!!
And that damned Yuudachi, vanishing once again into the fog of war, was the epitome of her struggles! That was the only downside to this human wonder known as the Internet: The unknown human who sunk her could have been anywhere on the damn planet! Never able to experience her wrath for denying her the prize!
And to make matters worse, they saw fit to mock her!
The chat on the left side of the screen pinged with a message.
'POI'.
3502's eye twitched. The mechanical one.
Taking a deep, calming breath that failed to calm anything, she began typing out her retort. "Dear... fucker..."
The insults continued, growing longer and more elaborate; the essence of Abyssal hatred rendered down into the written word. A text so long, so full of spite that any human who looked upon it would witness the pure, unfiltered hatred of the Abyss! It was one of 3502's finest works, her voice rising as she typed, imbuing each word with the fury of an Abyssal scorned! She was screaming by the end, fingers pounding against the keyboard!
"...so take your top-heavy destroyer, shove it down your throat, AND CHOKE ON IT! HAH!!"
The keyboard almost shattered as she drove the 'Enter' key down to the fortress's foundations.
It was then that whatever strange processes fuelled the internet took hold, judging her message as it made the short journey from the box into the game. But what appeared was not the artistic script of wrath and vengeance! They must have known only an Abyssal could create such a masterpiece; for what came out was an abomination!
Every second word was replaced by that damned speech impediment! Her litany of righteous veal had been turned into the ramblings of a Kanmusu weeb!! The forces of the internet were doing this just to spite her with their blatant censorship! All to keep that damned trophy-stealing fuck from feeling the wrath of an Abyssal scorned!
A new reply appeared, mocking her with its very presence.
'POI!'
Her eye twitched again, faster than before.
"Damn you!!" She wailed, thumping her desk. "Damn you to the Deep! I curse you! Curse you to suffocate between her-"
"Aren't you supposed to be working?"
Freezing mid-thump, 3502 glared around her monitor, meeting the distinctly annoyed face of a Ri-Class cruiser.
The difference between her and a Ri-Class heavy cruiser could not be understated: While most Ri-Class 3502 knew were based on more powerful designs like the Northhampton, this batch was based on the Ooyodo. And for the life of her, 3502 couldn't understand why.
The differences were painfully obvious. They were smaller, less armored, and had fewer guns, but came with a weird fascination for administration. As this specimen proved daily, they were perfectly happy to do paperwork for months on end, all the while hating it with the same resentment an Abyssal usually reserved for humanity. It was weird, unnerving, and made no sense.
Or it did, at least until 3502 looked up the name ship online and realized that the attitude mirrored Ooyodo directly. They would have been identical sister ships if one wasn't a Kanmusu and wore clothes more modest than a bra and shorts.
It explained the glasses, at least. Plus, it offered a reasonable explanation for their existence: Somewhere out in the world, a Princess or Hime got tired of managing the logistics of their fleet and commissioned a new class of Abyssal to do it for her.
As such, 3502 started calling her Yodo.
They didn't want to misidentify her with Ooyodo in combat, after all. When – or if – the cruiser ever saw combat again.
Yodo hated the name.
The Princess, however, loved it. She even took it one step further after a stroke of inspiration. They had a small ceremony and everything. And through drunken slurs, the Princess christened the unfortunate Ri-Class Yoda. May she proudly bare the name for the rest of time.
And the unfortunately named cruiser was still glaring at her.
"Uh, working, I am," 3502 said, motioning to the placard on her desk, proudly proclaiming her a 'Cyber Warfare Expert'. Huge emphasis on the cyber part of the title.
Yoda was unimpressed with the title written in red marker, flipping the placard right side up so the engraved 'Intelligence Officer' side was facing the door.
3502 glared back. "Well look at the carrier calling the destroyer flat! You've been failing at War Thunder this whole time!"
"It's a-" A muted explosion came from the headphones hanging around her neck. 3502 smirked victoriously as the cruiser flushed with embarrassment. "It's a combat simulator! You see these?"
She slapped the huge stack of paper sitting beside her keyboard. "Each one details a potential engagement with an enemy combatant. And since Gaijin saw fit to add in the Abyssal Fleets, I am using my valuable time to test our capabilities without spending precious resources! Do you know how well a Ne-Class fares against a Yamato?"
"Not very well?" 3502 guessed dryly.
"Well, uh... y-you're not wrong, but thanks to my work, we have a firm understanding of how the fight will progress! While you play your video games I am performing a valuable service to the fleet!"
"Hey, so am I!" she protested, glancing at her screen where the game was coming to its eventual conclusion. "Like, Lexington is shit against a Yuudachi!" She cackled as her useless teammate exploded under a spread of torpedoes, ending the game. "Ha! Hey, you got a Yuudachi vs Lexington sheet in there, I'll fill it out for you."
Yoda clutched the stack to her chest, protectively. "You will not contaminate my work with a random number generator!"
"What do you think War Thunder is?!"
She regretted the question as Yoda drew herself up imperiously.
"War Thunder uses utmost realism to determine outcomes. The trajectory and velocity of each shell are carefully calculated and compared to the angle and thickness of the armor. The ships themselves rendered down to meticulous detail, allowing for realistic damage assessments," she stated as a matter of fact. Then her voice turned sour. "World of Warships is equivalent to a slap fight where you try to knock seagulls off the other's conning tower! Tell me, what war was ever won when the other side ran out of hit points, hmm? I'll tell you: None. Exactly none. War Thunder is superior in its capabilities, meaning that I'm working and you are wasting time playing video games!"
"And getting to stare at the aft end of Yamato is a bonus, I suppose?"
Yoda flushed a deep crimson. "W-Wha! Well, you're staring too!"
"And proud of it!"
She really was, too. Honestly, if you were going to lewd you might as well let a ship know they were worth lewding over! Flattery at its finest!
Defeated once again, the cruiser retreated behind her monitor. "You are still playing games when you should be working!"
"On what?"
Spinning her chair, making the little wheels squeak in protest, 3502 turned to the whiteboard hanging on the wall. Lines drawn horizontally divided it up into tiers of importance. The bottom tier was for requests for intelligence by the standard members of the fleet. While the higher tiers denoted flagships and the Princess herself. Those were the reports she fulfilled as if her life depended on it, while the standards could afford to be a little patient for their next hit of internet.
Especially when their requests started to stray away from the tactical and strategic into the more lewd corners of the web. Not that she minded, per se, but some ships had better taste than others.
And all because she had bragged about her skills as a joke.
Normandy had opened her rangefinders to the wider world. While her sisters had been enthralled by the mysteries of human candy, 3502 was more curious about those small square devices humans always carried around. These... cell phones. She wasn't sure how a telephone could be divided into cells, or even what the cell part meant, but humans did seem to put a lot of trust in them.
Needless to say, it was a dream come true when they finally took Normandy; their little excursion into town brought them candy AND a cell phone plucked from the limp fingers of its previous owner.
The rumors that the humans were able to protect their devices with a password didn't seem to apply here; the phone lit up when she carefully squeezed the right button.
From there, it was a glorious journey of discovery. A secret journey of discovery; because while enjoying human sweets was one thing, utilizing their technology without proper clearance was a huge offense. Rumors that humans could track the phones with radar-like precision scared most Abyssals away from ever taking up the task.
But if you figured out how to turn off the location services they couldn't do a damn thing about it! The months she held onto it certainly disproved that rumor. She was still alive, after all! No phone-seeking missile had sunk this cruiser! Hah!
After that, it was like she had a little crewman who lived outside of her hull, one who couldn't take care of herself. There were dozens of small tasks required to keep it functioning. She had to feed its 'phone plan' with 'credit cards' she swiped from corpses at every opportunity. She had to find the right cable to charge it with and create an adapter so her electrical system didn't short it out.
A phone was a delicate thing, a tool unlike any other, and she loved it.
Especially when she discovered what the internet was.
As a good little cruiser, her first thought was to try and learn the strengths of weaknesses of the foes they faced. That good intention immediately backfired when she searched for 'Bismarck's weak spots.' Steam was almost blowing out her ears when he realized that not only could the internet share information, but also pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.
Pictures of blueprints no less! And not just transitional blueprints either; hand-drawn cross sections of upper works, fuel bunkers, and more aft shots than she cared to count!
In hindsight, that was where her lewdish tendencies began to emerge; striving to learn more about the internet to see exactly how deep it went. In more ways than one. If there was a bottom to this ocean of depravity, she hadn't found it yet. They had videos of boarding actions just sitting out in the open! How did they expect anyone not to watch that shit?!
Of course, exposure to the internet also brought a perspective on humans that she didn't anticipate. They were all so... different, and that was only scratching the surface of her newfound feelings. It eroded her faith in the Prophecy, driving a wedge between her and her sisters. After all, there was so much more to this world than throwing themselves at fortified positions because a voice from the Deep told them to!
She hadn't been able to bring them around before deciding the risk of staying was too great. She had taken the plunge and jumped ship.
Metaphorically speaking, anyway.
She hated leaving; they were still her sisters after all, but... they were too entranced by that collective suicide pact. They would not have come willingly, and it broke her boilers leaving them behind to that fate. The part that hurt most of all was knowing the only thing keeping them from turning her in was the bond between sisters.
Much to her chagrin, however, she had the internet and an album filled with well over twenty gigabytes of ships in drydock to fill the void they left behind.
It was a very different 3502 who survived the perilous voyage across the Atlantic alone, buoyed up by the rumors of a disgraced Princess in the North looking for fresh recruits. Disgraced she might have been, the Princess didn't buy into the Prophecy, which suited 3502 just fine.
She also wasn't one of those iconoclast maniacs who claimed the Arctic Circle, which only sweetened the deal.
Everything went well; she found one of their roving patrols and offered her services. They were skeptical about her intentions, even after she admitted that she had lost faith in the Prophecy and wanted a fresh start. But at least they didn't label her a deserter, or worse; a traitor.
Then her mouth got the better of her, bragging that she could navigate the human's internet better than the ocean. Much to her surprise, that didn't earn her a one-way ticket to the bottom of the Atlantic. No, it was much worse than that; because she found herself in a one-on-one meeting with the Princess herself. A Princess with a very nice aft, but still a fucking Princess! A Chi-Class like her didn't normally meet a Princess face to face unless you royally fucked up.
...which she kinda did.
Needless to say, she was expecting a quick and possibly humiliating execution.
The last thing she expected was a promotion.
The Princess seemed delighted when 3502 revealed some of her skills that went beyond typing things into a search bar. She even complimented her understanding of certain concepts like wifi and cellular reception. Such a drive to understand modern human technology was practically unheard of in an Abyssal.
The less she knew it was all to satisfy a rampant porn addiction the better.
And to her even greater surprise, the Princess went into detail about the role she would play within her fleet. She was unnervingly forthcoming with the details, and it wasn't until the implied threats started appearing between the lines that 3502 realized she had just been played for a fool.
The Princess wanted her skills and if she could have them, no one could. Loose lips sank ships, after all.
And that was how she found herself serving the Northern Bay Princess as the first and only Intelligence Officer in her Cyber Warfare Division. No longer did she patrol the frigid waters of the far North Atlantic, now it was her job to navigate the ever-turbulent waters of the internet.
The job certainly had its perks; she got a desktop computer and a desk to go along with it! Plus, a measure of rank that was unheard of for standard cruisers like her! Oh, and an office. An actual office! It was great! Unfortunately, having said office all to herself was out of the question. It was split down the middle; one half allocated to the Intelligence Division – namely her – while the other half went to the sour Ri-Class responsible for managing all the... logistics in this new strategic zone.
Knowing the Northern Bay Princess was disgraced was one thing; knowing exactly why was another matter entirely. Compared to that, brokering deals with humans was the least of her crimes.
Not that she minded. As far as 3502 was concerned, doubting the Prophecy had put her on the hit list of every devote in the Atlantic. Compared to that, serving Northern Bay was far better for her health; no matter how dubious her operation was.
And as the Intelligence officer, she became a figurehead for the fleet almost overnight. The internet was a place few Abyssals could tread; either through lack of comprehension, an unwillingness to learn, lack of patience, or simply being too prudish. 3502 had to roll her eyes at that excuse. Yes, the internet was full of porn, but you didn't have to make such a big deal about it.
She lost count of the number of capital ships who scoffed at her position, bragging about how they themselves had refused it, sparing their reputation by becoming something worse than a lewdmarine.
As time went on, though, she again lost count of the number of times those same capital ships pulled her aside privately to make special requests for, quote-unquote, information. Off the books, of course.
It never failed to amuse her how those prim and proper Capitals were reduced to blushing, stuttering messes when bargaining for their next hit. They refused to write anything on paper as that would leave evidence, so they were forced to admit their fetishes out loud in a furious whisper, all the while cursing 3502's smug little smirk.
Sure, most just made requests for music or books, but that was boring! You couldn't tease anyone for wanting to read Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, or Fifty Shades of Grey! Why would you want to read about fifty shades of the same color anyway?
But the favors she could call upon more than made up for the time spent finding the stuff.
And those were just the private requests; the dirty little secrets of the fleet. The Board was for the official requests; events, news articles, humans of interest, up-to-date maps, and the all-important weather reports. Like it or not, the humans had well and truly outpaced them when it came to predicting the weather.
Even if they were Abyssals, there was a sense of security in knowing if you were sailing into poor weather.
And for the first time in a long time, her board was completely empty!
"Isn't all that white space beautiful?" 3502 grinned back at Yoda. "Come on, you know you like it too."
Unimpressed yet again, the Ri-Class pointed to the smaller 'to-do' board next to the main one. Knowing what she meant, 3502 rolled her eyes. "The Admiral's press conference isn't on for another two hours. Trust me, I have it all under control. So you paddle back to your strip tease simulations-"
Yoda spluttered indigently from behind her monitor. Honestly, it was too easy. 3502, meanwhile, cracked her nuckles and keyed up for another battle.
"-I, in the meantime, have a stupid fucking Yuudachi to sink!"
Any Yuudachi for that matter. In fact, anyone who uttered that damned word would face her wrath; enemy or ally alike!
Humans and their weird obsessions.
Yoda didn't retort, because like it or not, she hadn't survived this long by being lazy. If she said it was under control then it damn wellunder control! Not even Yoda could argue against that.
So half an hour before the press conference was set to begin, 3502 worked to calm herself down after three more failed attempts, a suspension of her account for excessive language, and more pois than she cared to count. At twenty minutes to, she was running down the list of everything the Princess wanted to know, setting up recording software, and grabbing a tub of ice cream from the small freezer in the corner.
By the time Admiral Goto appeared behind the podium, she was snuggled up in her chair, pen and notepad in one hand, and ice cream in the other.
Two minutes in and the ice cream was well and truly forgotten. So was her pen; dropping from her slack fingers as the Admiral relayed the news about Musashi.
As the conference continued, even Yoda paused her game to listen. An uncomfortable silence filled the small office, broken only by the voice of the Admiral as the minutes dragged on. It felt like hours before he left the podium, the live stream coming to an end, allowing the silence to fill the void with a vengeance.
Trembling, 3502 peeked around her monitor and met Yoda's terrified eyes.
Musashi.
3502 had been dubious when news of the battleship's return made headlines. Sure, her faith in the Prophecy was shaken, but Musashi had been the focal point of it all. The Queen who would come at the very end, leading her faithful subjects to their land of birth once the Verses had been fulfilled.
If she hadn't abandoned the cause already, Musashi defending Japan would have been the final straw. After all, how could the fucking Queen lead them to the promised land when she was actively trying to kill them all?
Only... this wasn't Musashi.
Not in the traditional sense, anyway.
But that fact alone brought with it an overpowering dread. A crisis of faith couldn't come close to what she was feeling now.
What she had to do.
Who she had to report to.
With trembling legs, 3502 stood and walked over the Board. Reaching up passed the tier allocated to the Princess, she retrieved a single sheet of paper held in place by a magnet under her name. Bringing it back to her desk, 3502 scanned its contents carefully, hoping to be wrong.
As an Intelligence Officer, she had a long list of standing orders; events that Princess ordered to be made aware of the instant they transpired. These orders were no different, save for the vessel who ordered them.
And as 3502 franticly considered each word, a grim sense of finality settled over her. While Musashi's state didn't meet the exact criteria of the request... she couldn't afford to dismiss it.
No... it had to be done.
Meeting Yoda's eyes, she tried to grin reassuringly, but all that came out was a frightened whimper.
She didn't want to, but she had no choice!
She was going to meet... with the Demon.
----
3502 rushed through the Fortress, clutching a large stack of fluttering papers to her chest. Anything and everything the demon might want to know about the situation.
The hour after the press conference had been a flurry of activity. All other operations had halted and even Yoda helped pull up any scrap of information they could find. They might have been adversaries, but Deep-forbid if the Demon was forced to visit their office because they forgot something!
Neither of them would survive the encounter!
And so, 3502 had scoured every database, pulled out every contact she had, and put together the most detailed report of her short life, praying to anything that would listen for it to be enough.
Her panicked sprint through the base didn't go unnoticed, nor did her frantic shouts to get out of her way go ignored. Destroyer, cruiser, and battleship alike stepped aside to allow the Intelligence Officer the right of way as the door to the Main Atrium hissed open under hydraulic power.
A briefing was in session. The projector they had obtained a few months ago was being put to good use, plastering a large map of the Arctic Circle onto the far wall. While the towering wall of Abyssal Steel did muddle the image slightly due to its eldritch properties, it was more than enough to get the big picture. Literally.
The flagships of the various Divisions were spread out, doing their best to set aside rivalries as the Northern Bay Princess herself pointed out key locations with a laser pointer.
And oh was she a sight to see.
Based on a King George V-Class battleship, Northern Bay strutted around with all the dignity of her self-professed royal heritage. A fur-collared great coat hugged her upperworks, the long tails of which fluttered around her legs as she walked too and fro. Her long white hair trailed down her back, camouflaged against the white leather almost perfectly.
In fact, if not for the black ivory buttons and leggings, intermingled with pieces of armor and teeth, she could have been mistaken for wearing nothing at all. So pure was her paint job.
Ice blue eyes glared out from under her high-ridged cap as the hissing door interrupted her briefing. Her anger cooled somewhat as she saw it was 3502, but not by much.
Normally, the imposing figure she struck would have been inciting to the eyes.
Not this time.
As stressed as she was, there was bound to be some miscommunication, and the Princess was right in her path.
Naturally, Northern Bay watched in dignified, albeit furious silence as 3502 ran up, reaching out for the papers. Needless to say, she was not expecting the little cruiser to veer out of the way, a few sheets escaping her arms with the sudden movement.
"I'm sorry! Sososo sorry, ma'am!" 3502 wailed as she nabbed the loose papers before they could be damaged, many of which had a bright red confidential stamped across the front. "T-these aren't for you, ma'am! I'm so sorry!"
The Princess's anger died almost instantly as the words registered and the implications sank in. Her mouth formed a silent 'oh' as she stood aside and let 3502 rush off again. She could feel the eyes of every vessel present watch her departure with something akin to dread.
The main atrium was exactly what it sounded like, acting as a central hub for the fortress. Great doors led off to different sections, each with its own purpose. Compartmentalization was a good practice for any fleet. But instead of hurrying to the Officer's section or even the docks; 3502 entered through the least used door of all.
The Summoning Chambers.
On the other side, gloom and darkness swallowed up the little cruiser as the door hissed shut behind her. Good recruitment, excellent repair baths, plenty of supplies, and good flagships with even better tactics led to a lack of activity in these parts of the fortress. Why summon what you didn't need, after all?
Northern Bay was particular like that. She believed that skill, capability, and strategy trumped numerical advantage, refusing to bloat – as she often called it – her fleet with unnecessary liability.
3502 couldn't complain; it was that mindset that made her an Intelligence Officer, after all.
All the same, dormant Summoning Chambers, especially ones the Demon had tinkered with were spooky as all hell.
Dark, swallow pools were spaced out evenly beside the raised walkway 3502 hurried along. The runes and markings carved into their bottoms were almost completely hidden by shadow, but just visible enough to give the impression of great eyes watching her passage to the stairwell at the very back of the room.
But leaving that dark chamber offered no relief as 3502 descended one stair at a time into the darkest bowels of the fortress. Her internal compass lost its bearing as packed earth and surrounding metal deposits messed with its sense of direction; the sudden sense of vertigo forced her to slow her pace else she tumble the rest of the way down.
Even without her compass, she knew the steps were taking her further away from the coast out beneath the dark expanse of the Northern Atlantic. Water dripped from around the metal scales keeping the tunnel from caving in. The depth and weight of the water above her head were terrifying to think about, but it was her fear of the ship at the bottom that kept her going ever deeper into the ocean where even the submarines dared not swim.
The stairwell finally ended in a short corridor with a single wrought iron door at the door end. There was no knob, key, or latch, just a heavy iron knocker upon its featureless surface.
Gathering what little courage remained, 3502 steadied herself, whimpered, and then knocked.
The deep boom of iron on iron reverberated through her hull and she stepped back, waiting. For a long minute nothing happened, but she dared not knock again. It wasn't that the occupant hadn't heard her, she was just... busy.
A series of clunks suddenly echoed inside the iron as locks cycled, allowing the doors to open by themselves on oiled hinges.
The first thing that struck the little cruiser... was music. Deep, thunderous notes that broke across her hull like gusts of wind. But beneath them was... something. It was not noise, but rather the absence of it. A hollowness to the air in the shape of words; lyrics that she couldn't hear nor understand, but inspired a deep sense of unease.
Her legs almost failed her, but she managed to push on. The iron doors remained open as she entered, almost daring her to run for it, but fear of the consequences drove her onward.
The room was of a comfortable size, just a bit smaller than the Princess's private chambers. A ribbed ceiling of Abyssal steel kept the ocean from crashing through and ruining the bookshelves that lined the walls. True to their form, countless rows of neatly organized tomes lined the shelves, interspaced with scrolls. Rolls of parchment and papyrus that must have been centuries old, at least!
In the center of the room was a summoning pool without a single rune to enhance it. The only markings it had was a thin white line that ran the circumference of its bottom. It gave the illusion of a white circle floating just beneath the surface in an ocean of purest black.
Light from a wood-burning fireplace set into the far wall danced across the walls and ribs of the ceiling, making the shadows dance in time with unnatural music.
The only other source of light was the single antique lamp on the long wooden desk that arched a third of the way around the summoning pool. The soft light it gave was enough to illuminate the book propped up on a stand, allowing the notes it held to be read and played.
As for the musician herself, she sat on a polished wooden chair, fingers expertly working the strings and bow of a Cello as she created her unearthly melody.
The Anchored Demon herself.
She was big; bigger than most battleships. Despite the size advantage, she was possibly one of the... plainest Abyssals 3502 had ever seen. While her hull was massive, the human body that represented it was tall but thin. Her upperworks matched the flat deck, but the lines were of a vessel half her size.
And her clothes were plainer still. A simple black dress and white shawl. Her hair was short and hung in tangles around her ears and neck.
Such was her appearance that she might have appeared like a regular human... if not for the great lengths of chain wrapped around her arms, leading to the two great anchors that flanked her chair. The links rattled as she played, the sound getting buried beneath her haunting melody.
It was a penance 3502 couldn't even imagine; being permanently anchored to the ground.
Swallowing her dread, 3502 forced herself to approach, stopping a respectable distance behind the chair, and tried not to tremble. If the Anchored Demon noticed her presence she gave no sign of it, continuing to sing her wordless song.
As the minutes dragged on, the cruiser tried to focus on anything else but the music. It set her teeth on edge and made her steel hull crawl in discomfort. There was something wrong about it, even if she couldn't put a name to it.
Eventually, her gaze was drawn to the summoning pool. What awaited her chilled the steam in her turbines.
The white circle painted on the bottom had vanished. All that remained was a black pit going down, and down, and down, and-
The music trailed off with a final sonorous note, allowing the sudden silence to echo in its absence. Before 3502's very eyes, the white circle melted back into view.
She unconsciously took a step back, and the Demon's head cocked in her direction.
"Speak."
The voice was low and quiet, with the tang of an accent she couldn't identify.
Her courage almost failed her, but she managed to squeak out her purpose.
"Uh, I-I'm sorry, ma'am, b-but you let orders to be, uh, informed about any word about Musashi."
A sigh followed by the rattle of chain echoed throughout the room as the Demon placed her bow on the desk. Picking up a pencil, she made a few adjustments to the book's curving script.
"You are forgiven. I was aware when she was summoned weeks ago. The echos of her eternal harbor faded from my sight." She flicked a hand over her shoulder, as if in apology. "I do not blame you for my failure to specify circumstances. Your journey to me was unnecessary."
If anything, that made 3502 wilts even further. Sure she might have known Musashi had returned... somehow, but she didn't have the whole truth.
And it was her job to deliver it.
"Well... that's just it, m-ma'am. Musashi being summoned is part of it, but..."
She swallowed, audibly.
"...h-he's not a ship...girl..."
The scratching pencil stopped abruptly as the words sank in. As the Demon's head slowly turned to face her, 3502 shrank back. It was not the face that terrified her, but the blindfold. It hid the better part of the Demon's face behind layers of a strange off-yellow fabric. Moreover, the cloth was completely soaked, whether through tears or something else was unknown. Trails of water ran down the Demon's cheeks, dripping down onto her clothes.
It might have been her terrified imagination, but flickers of light seemed to dance deep in the layers of the fabric.
Even with the covering and the complete lack of lookouts along her decks, 3502 knew the Demon was looking straight at her.
Then, with a rattle of chain, the Anchored Demon stood. The movement was so sudden, so effortless, that 3502 stumbled back, cowering as the towering form glided towards her. The anchors were dragged across the metal floor, screeching and sending up sparks.
Held in place by her terror, 3502 was completely powerless as the Demon stopped before her in all her haunting glory. Then she reached up and removed the blindfold.
3502 had no idea what to expect. The Demon had blinded herself long before the cruiser was even spawned! But out of all the terrible nightmares that rushed through her mind, somehow the soft blue eyes were even worse. The ship that signed the death warrant of millions, human and Abyssal alike, shouldn't have looked so normal.
The Demon's expression was even worse. Shock was too strong of a word, but she was clearly shaken by the news.
"He?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
3502 nodded meekly, holding the stack of papers out like a shield. The Demon accepted them, scanning the summary page the Intelligence Officer had painstakingly typed up before moving on to the rest of the report.
The rustle of paper resounded in the silent chamber as each page was methodically flipped and examined. It felt like hours passed, but 3502 remained rooted to the spot, too terrified to even ask for permission to leave. And still, the Demon flipped through the pages, scanning the classified documents the Officer had acquired... until she arrived at the first picture.
Sickly yellow mists.
3502 had no idea what it was, or even where it was taken. The only description she'd been able to find stated that it was taken in the Abyss, but that was impossible!
The next picture caused even the Anchored Demon to gasp aloud. The broken hull of Musashi floating in the endless fog bank.
For a very long time, silence reigned in the chamber. Even the crackle of the fire seemed to be put on mute. It lasted up until the rattle of chain as the Demon turned on her heel and glided over to one of the bookshelves. Retrieving a heavy, leather-wrapped tome guided with gold, she returned to her desk, laying out her material in ordered piles.
From where she was standing, 3502 had the perfect vantage point to watch the book open and barely managed to muffle a gasp as the Demon flipped through the pages.
Blueprints.
It was a book of blueprints. Blueprints on one single ship. And yet... there was something off about them. Each line seemed to hold more than just ink, all of it coming together to form more than just a static image. Not just specification, armor thickness, beam, and draft... no, the vessel's very personality was captured on paper.
Every bolt, weld, and screw merged seamlessly with a history of honor, disgrace, and regret to form... her.
The Queen of the Seven Seas. Designed to be the unifier of the Abyssal fleets by the Demon herself.
It was a vessel made to conquer the world.
A vision the Prophecy had shattered upon the first attempted summoning.
Then the second.
And the third.
And now, the source of the Demon's disgrace had been born of its own accord.
Flickering light from the fire danced across Anchored's inscrutable expression as she glanced back and forth from the book to the papers. But after a long while, the silence was broken again by the rattle of chain as she dragged her shackles over to the fireplace.
Sitting on the mantel was a wooden case, its sides dulled by age. The Demon took it with a sense of reverence and brought it back to her desk. Opening it, she pulled out another one of the instruments of her craft, tuning the strings with a deft move and rubbing wax along the bow of hair.
As her preparations continued, 3502 began to tremble in earnest; terror fighting with self-preservation. Powerless to do anything but watch as the Demon raised the instrument to her shoulder and laid the bow across the strings.
But before the first note could come, she appeared to remember the little cruiser.
"Leave me."
3502 never ran so fast in her life, sprinting for the door. She was almost through when the first note struck; a high, mournful keen that split the air like the wail of a dying destroyer.
And then she was out, the doors slamming shut behind her, sealing the music inside with its master. As she lay across the floor, panting, she realized she was crying. Large, fat tears were dripping down her cheeks. Such was the power of the Demon's song.
But she was out, and Anchored appeared... satisfied. That was all that really mattered. And after taking a moment to collect herself, 3502 hurried back up the winding stairs. Northern Bay would need to be informed. If the Demon requested action against this new development, not even the Princess could refuse her wishes.
As promised, the missing segment! 3502 is alive and well, if a little contaminated by the internet. And we are introduced to a character I've been waiting to introduce properly for a long time; the Anchored Demon herself.
I'm really glad I cut this segment out; it gave me the time to do the introduction justice.
For the month of March I've decided to try writing commissions! For more details see this post here.
I thought that the official story was only that Musashi was a "shipboy", not William-as-a-ship? If that's the case, then William's pictures should never have become public (and should not have been available for the Abyssals to view).
I thought that the official story was only that Musashi was a "shipboy", not William-as-a-ship? If that's the case, then William's pictures should never have become public (and should not have been available for the Abyssals to view).
Everything is still classified, yes. And the number of people in know doesn't even reach the triple digits(3502 included). The question is not how 3502 managed to get those files or pictures, it's who her contacts are.
Everything is still classified, yes. And the number of people in know doesn't even reach the triple digits(3502 included). The question is not how 3502 managed to get those files or pictures, it's who her contacts are.
The short layover in Fairbanks Alaska was over far too soon, and then it was back into the stuffy belly of the AC-130. Sure, he was a frequent flyer, but this was pushing the limits of his mental endurance. Music had lost its luster after five hours and familiarizing himself with his new hull had faded shortly after. To make matters worse, the jet lag was kicking in full force, and his new existence as a battleship didn't help.
All ships had a clock, that was a fact. The problem was he could literally feel it ticking away inside of him, giving him an hour that didn't match the sun shining in through the plane's window.
The fact he could also count each passing second didn't help. He was bored out of his mind.
The fairies crawling around inside him were the only saving grace. Occasionally one would appear on his shoulder to stare out the window, write something down on a pad that was half the size of its whole body, then vanish to reignite an argument that had been continuing off and on for the last ten hours.
From what he could gather from all the shouting and pointing at the clock in the wardroom, they were waiting for the sun to set before fixing the time difference. The issue was that they were flying close to the Arctic Circle. In spring. Long story short, the sun wasn't setting and it was throwing the little creatures into a frenzy deciding what to do.
Their constant bickering provided just enough of a distraction to keep him from losing his mind with boredom, but also keep him from falling asleep.
If he hadn't already been through hell, he'd say this was pretty damn close. But as the flight dragged on, though, a missing piece of history began to beg for his attention.
Naturally, Iowa had given him the broad strokes on the war. The Blood Week certainly lived up to its name. But there was one unit who participated in the defence of Canada which he almost forgot about. And the guilt over the lack of attention was well deserved: It was his own Battalion after all.
"At first everyone assumed it was terrorists," Colonel Horton said, his voice rendered tinny through the headset's speakers. "Of course, no one could figure out where or how they got their hands on old warships, but that was the general assumption. At first, they only hit small targets; cruise ships, cargo ships, beach resorts in the Virgin Islands, and some towns along the coast of Brazil. They also hit places along South Africa, but few of them were ever reported. Then things got very serious when they wiped Wilmington off the map."
William nodded, trying to remember if he'd heard of the place before. But he couldn't be blamed for not remembering every single town in the United States.
The Colonel continued, solemnly. "After that, it was open season on the high seas. Freak storms started appearing out of nowhere and everyone started getting hit. Bear in mind, this is before we knew what we were dealing with. The only reports we had were of spectral ships and people who seemed to be walking on water."
He shrugged with a rye smirk. "Naturally, people assumed it was the end of the world."
Sure, it wasn't the apocalypse, but it must have felt pretty damn close. Global trade ground to a halt as more reports of these terrorists appeared weekly; sinking ships, killing indiscriminately, and even going toe to toe with the US Navy. Smart munitions couldn't target them, submarines couldn't hear them, and radar went on the fritz whenever they appeared. Most often, the first sign you were under attack was when you went completely blind.
And this was all before the true Blood Week began.
The UN suddenly became the All Nations as everyone came together to try and figure out how to respond. No demands had been made, no threats issued, and they didn't even have a name for these people! Everyone was scrambling to figure out what was going on and who to heap the blame on.
But whether it was an intentional taunt or pure coincidence, the Blood Week officially began on June 27th, at 1043 hours as delegates and Admirals from across the world gathered to formally discuss the threat. It began with the Portuguese representative receiving word in the middle of the opening proceedings that the Autonomous Zones of Azores and Madeira had just been conquered.
Not just attacked; conquered.
The few reports they had were of strange, pale women staking across the water to stride up the beaches, killing all in their path with guns disproportionally powerful to their size. Small arms couldn't scratch them, missiles couldn't target them, and they walked from one end of the archipelago to the other with the few defenders being powerless to stop them.
But now they had a name for these mysterious 'terrorists.'
At the height of the attack, one towering figure had distinguished herself. Her voice rang across the Azores archipelago, even reaching the mainland in a thunderous radio transmission, proclaiming herself to be the Sundered Isle Princess and that the extinction of humanity at the hand of the Abyssals had begun.
Things went downhill from there; which was where the last stand of the 2nd Battalion picked up.
Tensions had been rising in Gagetown as word of more attacks were reported. Scuttlebutt ran rampant as bored Privates, Corporals, and Sargents had nothing better to do than endlessly speculate. Colonel Horton, however, was able to give more than just rumors; his position as CO afforded him a wider perceptive as orders came down from the Brigade level.
Even then, what information he had at the time was limited. Hell, he barely knew more than the general public! Even then, no one was expecting to deploy any time soon. Counter-terrorism fell under CANSOFCOM and if this mysterious enemy decided to attack Canadian soil, they'd be the first to respond.
That was the assumption before Wilmington, anyway. Once the smoke had cleared, the entirety of North America was placed on high readiness. From Texas to the Northwest Territories, every able military unit was activated and on 24 hours notice to move.
It was with a grim sense of foreboding that Horton announced to the Companies that the Battalion was taking up a search, rescue, and evacuation stance. If anywhere along Canada's Eastern coast was hit, they would be first to respond. Training was hastily scheduled; the entirety of the Gagetown base was used to help simulate mass unrest, willingly or not.
William had to chuckle at that, and even the Colonel admitted it was a good wake-up call for him and his staff. Nothing got the blood pumping quite like a shake-down from the Base Commander, demanding to know why there were checkpoints at almost every intersection around the base.
He had nearly been charged for it, but the higher-ups at Brigade couldn't help but approve his methods as the global situation escalated. People were dying in the thousands as ships of all sorts went missing, with pieces of floating debris being the only indicator of an attack. The freak weather anomalies throughout the oceans were getting worse, each one heralding another attack.
With each new report, their notice to move shortened hour by hour, until everyone was practically living at Battalion. The Platoon bays were filled with rows of cots, men had to get permission to go home, and even then, no one was allowed to sleep off base if the call came at night.
The entire Battalion was tensed and ready – if incredibly miserable due to living conditions – meanwhile panic was beginning to spread along the coastal provinces. No one knew where the next attack would be and many were fleeing the coasts of their own accord. But for the ones who didn't, it would be 2RCR's job to pull them out should the worst occur.
Lo and behold, on June 27, at 1100 hours, the order to deploy came.
The newly classified Abyssals had just declared war on all of humanity. Canada's small Navy had already been sunk and even the Americans were on the backfoot. Nothing was stopping the Abyssals from striking wherever they pleased.
That was where they came in; evacuate Prince Edward Island.
While information was limited, there seemed to be a correlation between the unnatural storms and the newly identified Princesses. Where one appeared, the other wasn't far behind. And two of them were headed straight for the East Coast. One had already made contact with Newfoundland, but the other had bypassed it entirely, heading straight for Prince Edward Island.
Newfoundland's sheer size would buy the civilians time; the Abyssal's weapons appeared purely ballistic. Once you were out of range you had a chance at survival.
PEI had no such advantage, and the only ways off the island were by air or the Confederation Bridge.
"We made it just before the storm hit," Horton recounted, grimly. "We secured it the only way we knew how. India Company secured the mainland entrance and provided a roving patrol up and down the bridge. Meanwhile, Hotel handled Port Borden and the surrounding area, and kept the traffic flowing smoothly. Golf was our QRF and hung out with Hotel while Kilo went forward to establish OPs. Give us early warning."
He went quiet, then gave William a sympathetic glance. "The last report we got from 61 was them crossing Stanley Bridge on their way to Cavendish."
He didn't need to elaborate.
After that, the dismantling of 2nd Battalion was a sobering affair. LAV-6s couldn't stand against even the lightest of Abyssal secondary armament. And with their 25mm Bushmasters, it was like trying to kill a giant with 22lr.
Recce Platoon was the first to go.
Five kilometers was a good standoff distance. For infantry, anyway. In terms of Naval warfare, that was practically on the Abyssal's front door. As sneaky as they tried to be, all it took was a single sighting and a small fleet's worth of firepower took care of the rest.
As Horton said, this was before the days when the nature of Abyssals was common knowledge. Back then it was just a fancy name; no one knew they were incarnated warships. And his decision to send Golf to investigate and, if necessary, rescue Recce still haunted him.
They heard the cannons echo over the island.
They heard the panic over the radio as Golf was torn to shreds one LAV at a time.
And then the Abyssals came in full force, skating across the water like it was ice. To Horton's eyes, they were no bigger than he was. Pale and lithe feminine shapes, covered in chitin growths and metal bits, and yet they moved with a power he had never seen before. The LAVs aimed and fired under his order.
To no effect.
In response, the Abyssals aimed their innocuous weapons at the bridge's supports... and fired.
Horton trailed off after that, his eyes fixed on the grating at his feet.
"Who else made it out?" William asked after a respectful pause.
There was an even longer pause before Horton sighed. "I think... we're it. They took a vested interest in hunting down every LAV or person in uniform. As if that would prove their superiority. Me? I was outside my LAV when it was hit. The blast threw me across the ground, knocked me out cold, then buried me in the rubble. It was a bloody miracle I survived. When I woke up... I was the only one left."
He looked up with a tight smile. "I thought I was, anyway. Then you showed up."
William gave a swallow nod in return.
In some way, the simplified retelling was worse than experiencing it for himself. He knew those men and women; trained with them, laughed with them... they were friends. Brothers in some cases. Granted, there were a few he despised, but he would never wish death upon them.
But having experienced an Abyssal bombardment firsthand, it wasn't hard to imagine what those last few moments inside those vehicles would have been like.
That sense of brotherhood opened his mouth before he could stop it. "I should have-"
"No! Don't," The Colonel cut him off, harshly. "Your presence wouldn't have changed a damn thing. If you were there, you'd be dead too."
William couldn't help but glare at him. What was he supposed to do? Accept that most of his friends had died while he was spirited away to his own personal hell? But the Colonel's solemn features stopped his anger dead in his tracks.
Words weren't necessary; the expression said it all.
Their experiences might have been different, but they both shared the loss. Hell, Horton was probably worse off. While he'd only lost friends, the Colonel had lost far more. It was written plainly across his face; the pain of a leader who oversaw the funeral of every man under his command.
And yet, buried beneath all that agony, there was the smallest of sparks in knowing that at least one of them had survived.
What could he say in the face of that?
"...I still wish I could have done something."
"You and me both." Horton squeezed his wrist, comfortingly. Then he forced the pain off his face. "Still, however messed up this is, I believe it turned out for the better. You saved far more people than if you'd been there with us. I'd call that God's work, if nothing else."
"Providence," William agreed, even if the word felt as heavy as lead on his tongue.
God's providence at work? Or the decision of the silent intellect that had released him from its realm? It was a question he was trying to avoid at all costs for the sake of his sanity. He liked to believe he had faith in the church's teachings; a cradle Catholic from birth. He went to church, he practiced the faith...
But he also couldn't deny what he had seen, what he'd felt... what he knew.
The Abyss was very, very real.
And the Bible was a book.
The plane suddenly dipped as it began its descent, breaking him out of his funk.
"Where are we landing? Cold Lake?"
"Edmonton," Horton replied, smiling. "After some discussion with your folks, it was decided not to subject you to a six-hour drive on top of the flight. More importantly, Cold Lake has their hands full supplying the Northern Defensive."
William nodded, more than a little perturbed at the news. While he had asked about the Abyssals terrorizing the North, Horton had gently but firmly brushed the topic aside. He was here to rest and recover, not get stewed up for another fight. The sentiment was appreciated, but it was hard to ignore an attack on his home country.
But as the plane descended further and the wide vista of Edmonton filled the small window, William started to have second thoughts.
He'd landed in Edmonton International before; being posted on the other side of the country made visiting family a bit of a chore. The problem arose from the fact they were coming in for landing from the North. With the airport residing to the South of the city and his seat being on the right side of the plane, there should have been nothing but empty fields through his window. Worryingly, he could see the runways of the airport far away on the other side of the sprawling city. They weren't even in the same neighborhood and the AC130 continued to drop.
"We landing on a highway or something?"
"In CFB Edmonton," Horton corrected him, doing up his seat belt.
A little bewildered, William blinked. "We gave it to the Chair Force?"
The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Army bases can have airstrips too. Besides, it's expanded quite a bit since the Abyssals appeared."
The mock complaint on his lips died as the AC130 touched down with a jolt. Instead, what came out was the customary sigh of relief. And really, who didn't feel that way after more than twenty hours in the air? Only this time, the relief was almost overpowering.
He was finally here...
Home.
The sentiment was shared to lesser degrees throughout the cabin. The other members of Horton's team were busy gathering their bags. But even that mundanity seemed surreal. It seemed too easy. Just step off this plane and it was all over.
Suddenly he couldn't sit still; unbuckling before the plane even stopped. He grabbed his few belongings and moved to the hatch, waiting. His heart – referring to them as his turbines was a little too much to cope with – raced as the plane trundled to a stop and the engines began to cycle down. He hardly dared to believe it was true, but here it was, at last.
As the hatch opened with a hiss of hydraulics, he walked down that ramp and looked around in awe.
While the drab, industrial feel of military buildings didn't fit his imagined homecoming, that slight disappointment was nothing to the warm wind and sunlight that caressed his face.
There was a different quality to the air; a familiar tang of dryness that could only come with altitude. You felt closer to the sun, high above the curtain of moisture that blanketed the coastal regions. Here he could feel the sun's rays more acutely than ever. A familiar warmth he had known his whole life.
For a brief moment, everything was bliss.
Then a shout and the sharp stomp of boots jolted him back to the present. After all, it was hard to ignore the ten-plus Companies worth of men snapping to attention right beside him. He stared, bewildered, before hardwired panic overrode his sense of reason. No one wanted to be the odd man out on parade. His bag dropped to the concrete as he snapped to attention as well, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could follow the order to salute as well.
"They're saluting you!" Horton chuckled, coming up beside him.
"Whaa? Me?!"
"You're a national hero now, didn't I tell you that?" Still chuckling, Horton pulled him along, grabbing his dropped bag in the process. "I wanted to keep the homecoming parade a surprise, though. You deserve it."
"Y-you told me I saved Japan!" William stuttered.
"And that wasn't obvious enough?"
"Well..." In hindsight, it really should have been. Saving a country wouldn't go unnoticed, but still! Not to mention the revelations of being a battleship, the war, and just plain old being alive left little room for anything else. "I just... didn't expect this."
"It's just a parade, you've been in plenty before."
William spared another look at the passing Company, his gaze being drawn to one man in particular. It wasn't the unfamiliar cap-badge, or even the kid's age; it was the undisguised look of awe on his face. He looked like he was meeting his hero or something.
And that gaze was fixed on him.
It didn't feel right.
"True. I've just never been on the receiving end before," William admitted, focusing on the path ahead. The attention was unnerving.
Not in the least because they appeared to have emptied the entire base for this. What felt like entire Brigades were stretched out along the runway. He recognized the cap badge of the Princess Patrica's, but there were dozens of others aside!
It was even worse when the salute was dropped; that was when the clapping started. Men were cheering his name. He caught snatches of praise in chaos, cursing the Abyssals and egging him on. And more than once he could make out a question through the chaos, demanding how he became a battleship in the first place!
He had to shudder at that.
Who the hell would want to go through this?
"You really didn't have to do this," he whispered in Horton's ear. "Trust me, just bringing me home was enough."
"Morgan, don't sell yourself short, you deserve this. It's the very least the CAF can do."
"I'm serious, though."
"So am I!" Horton gave him a half-exasperated smile. "You pulled off the impossible and we want to thank you for it."
A deep sigh escaped him at the familiar argument. "I did my duty, sir. Nothing more and nothing less. I don't need a parade for that."
The Colonel chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. But through the mirth, it was easy to hear the pain in his voice. "You know... Recce wasn't the same after you vanished. It shook them all up."
"...I can imagine..."
And he could, too, that was the worst part. What sort of friend would be if he couldn't?
Horton clapped him on the shoulder again. While his smile was fixed firmly in place, his voice was little more than a whisper. "I'm glad you're alive, Will. It really takes some weight off my chest."
That struck a lot deeper than it should have.
They continued in amicable, if solemn, silence. The claps and cheers of the parade faded into the background as they crawled into the waiting SUVs parked at the very end. And then they were away, the runway and parade vanished behind them, replaced with the passing sights of CFB Edmonton.
It was far... different than what William expected.
Despite calling Alberta home, he'd never actually been to the base before. Being posted on the other side of the country had taken that opportunity away. But even now that he was seeing it for the first time, the effects of wartime were obvious.
Dozens of new buildings were everywhere; evidenced by their immaculate paint, modern designs, and parking lots without a single crack in the concrete. Compared to the new additions, the old holdings and compounds stuck out like sore thumbs. A good dozen of the new additions were barracks, more than quadrupling the base's occupancy. And that wasn't even counting the tent city that had sprung up on the outskirts. Hundreds of weather havens padded out the base to twice its expanded size.
But it was the people that caught him off guard the most.
They hadn't emptied the base for his parade; not even close.
The sidewalks were teaming with people, both in and out of uniform, all flowing in the same general direction. If the waxing sun was any indication, supper would soon be served at the mess hall. The mass migration wasn't surprising, but the sheer numbers were!
But the most shocking sight by far were the dozens of training Platoons marching down the road in half-orderly ranks. They were easily distinguished by a course banner bearer, a general cloud of misery, and an escorting NCO with a pace stick in hand. If William's count was right, there must have been at least fifteen full-strength companies on their way to supper! Not even CFLRS could handle those numbers!
It didn't help that his vehicle had to slow down to allow the courses right-of-way, allowing a long, detailed look at their equipment.
The small banners were a sure sign of a course going through basic training, but the equipment didn't match up. He had to blink just to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
"Are they...?"
"In basic training? Yeah," Horton confirmed. "Wartime has changed the curriculum quite a bit."
That was the understatement of the century. Each Platoon was saddled with saddled with enough guns to try and bring down a destroyer. Literally. Every second man was toting a rubber RPG7 and bandoleer of rockets on top of his C7, and there were no less than four Carl Gustavs per Platoon.
The firepower they could bring to bear was staggering. It was a display that would have left him grinning in any other circumstance. Who wouldn't want to carry around an RPG as a secondary?
But having experienced their enemy firsthand cast their equipment in a more sober light. An Abyssal could wipe a Platoon off the map with a single salvo. He knew it, and the recruits seemed to know it too. Their expressions said it all.
"Doesn't Canada have Kanmusu?" he asked, tearing his gaze away.
Horton nodded, grimly. "We do."
When nothing else was forthcoming, William shot him a look. "And?"
"And you are going on leave. Mandatory leave." Horton didn't even blink, but his features softened after a moment. "The situation up North is stable, I'll say that much. Yes, we have our own shipgirls and they are working hard to keep it that way. But like I said, I don't want you getting worked up over this. You need time to cope and recover, plain and simple."
And that was a sentiment William agreed with wholeheartedly. Up until they landed he was just waiting to collapse into his own bed and sleep for a week!
But seeing all this was making him second guess himself. How could he rest when hundreds were preparing to go up North to die? That was the truth. He had only survived the Abyssal attack by being a freaking battleship; no other man in the world had that luxury.
It left a conflicting mess of emotions. He knew what he wanted; his homeward journey had kept him going beyond his limits. But with each face that marched past, he couldn't help but wonder who had already gone up... and who hadn't come home again?
Compared to that ultimate sacrifice, his own stubbornness felt pale in comparison.
Stewing in his own introspection, he barely remembered Horton trying to snap him out of it, or the vehicle pulling up to a building. Passing through the doors and hallways was one big blur, broken up with smiling officers, and the occasional clap or cheer. And then he found himself in another office, surrounded by more gold pips than he cared to count. There were Majors, and Colonels, all wanting to shake his hand and give a word of thanks. A Brigadier General even saluted him, calling for silence as he said a few words.
But it all faded away as one of his lookouts reported an anomaly among the crowd. The couple, a man and a woman, standing near the door weren't Officers at all. They wore plain clothes and, according to the sharp emotions of the lookout, were watching him a little too intently.
William knew them without even looking.
His throat clenched up and his legs felt locked in place. Talking with them over the phone didn't compare to finally meeting them face to face.
Feeling strangely numb, he turned away from the General, whose lips still flapped silently. Each step felt like a mile as he closed in on his goal. The officers in his way parted, and he almost wished they didn't. With a clear path forward, there was no hiding from them. All the assurances and promises might as well have been smoke in the wind.
With each step, he could feel every plate, weld, and rivet that held his new body together. The body of a battleship; a far cry from the son they had lost all those years ago. Years he hadn't even known had passed. Years that they believed he was dead.
He couldn't bear to look at them; too afraid of what he might see, yet hopeful all the same. He felt naked, a strange sense of shame overpowering everything else. He was changed, he was different... he'd been gone for so long...
Emotion and excuses clogged his throat as he gathered his courage enough to lift his head and meet the eyes of his parents.
What struck him the most was how old they looked, hammering home the time displacement he'd suffered. There hadn't been that much grey in their hair when last they met. Well, for his mother, anyway. His father's combover revealed more than it covered.
They made for an odd couple. While his father was tall and broad, his mother was about as petite as you could get. It only drove home just how much he'd changed. Where once he was only taller than his father by a few inches, now he towered over them both. The shock at his transformation was written plainly across their faces.
William tried to smile, but his lips barely twitched. His tongue felt thick and heavy as he struggled to find the words.
"Hi, mom... dad."
His voice was little more than a whisper and as meek as a kitten.
For a single, terrifying moment, nothing happened. But from then on out, William didn't know which one of them moved first, nor did he care to remember: All he knew was that he was being hugged, and the overpowering relief numbed him to everything else.
In a daze, he barely remembered what happened next. He was vaguely aware of instructions and his father accepting a thick stack of papers, a final farewell from Horton, before the base seemed to vanish altogether. Soon, even the bright lights of the city transitioned to the gently rolling countryside. Far ahead, the sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting the Rocky Mountains in glorious relief.
And as the sun's light faded away to dusky twilight, the highways gave way to hard-packed gravel, he wondered if he was dreaming. His journey was coming to an end and everything was so perfect... was it even real? Had he died in the Abyss and this was God's compensation for such a nightmare?
But as evening turned into night, he closed his eyes, deciding that it didn't matter at all.
It was over. He was going home. With that promise, did it matter whether this was a dream or not?
----
William wasn't sure when exactly he had fallen asleep, but he slowly awoke to the worst pain in his neck that he'd ever felt. That, at least, was enough proof that last night hadn't been a happy dream. He vaguely remembered pulling up to the old farmhouse and making it far enough inside to crash on the couch.
Which was where the pain in his neck had come from. While the old couch might have been comfortable two decades ago, time hadn't done it any favors. It was one of the worst beds imaginable; an exposed spring was digging into his back and the arm his head rested against had been worn down to bare wood. Coupled with the fact it was not designed to fit a person of his size, even before his transmogrification.
It was uncomfortable as all hell: Guests were often advised to sleep on the floor before taking the couch.
But in that moment, he wouldn't have traded it for the world.
He basked in the familiarity, painful though it was, before finally easing his eyes open.
Morning sunlight was streaming in through the patio doors, illuminating the conjoined kitchen and living room. Birds were chirping in the background, muffled by a slight breeze that rattled the old windows. It was surreal. After everything that had happened to him... here he was.
Home.
Grunting with the effort, he rolled off the couch and onto his feet. The floor creaked under his weight, but it had always done that. And in a way, that only made this reality more tenuous. The familiar sights and sounds of home clashed with the sensation of fairies hurrying to and fro inside his hull.
For a long moment, all he could do was stand and take in his surroundings. It was unbelievable that he had gone from all the pain, doubt, and uncertainty in Japan to... this.
It was the bubbling of the kettle on the kitchen counter that broke him out of it. No sooner had it clicked off than his dad shuffled in from the short hallway leading to the rest of the house. And still using the same bathrobe they got him for Christmas more than a decade ago.
His father, James Morgan, had always been on the big and tall side. While he wasn't exactly fit, his limbs carried a hidden strength that came from the long hours working the farm. And it was that same work that had broken and nearly killed him on multiple occasions. His left shoulder sat lower than the other, the only remainder of a bad quad accident from years ago.
Despite this and dozens of other injuries aside, he had great posture; walking with his head held high and shoulders squared as best as they would allow.
But his face stunned William the most. The transformation those seven years had wrought was never more apparent. There were more wrinkles on his face than William remembered. With the combover in a tussled mess, his hair had thinned to the point where he was almost completely bald. And what remained up there was more grey than dirty brown. A wide nose that had been broken on more than one occasion supported a pair of old square glasses.
It was so surreal he couldn't look away. His dad, making coffee just like he did every morning.
But his paralysis was broken as his dad glanced his way, his face lighting up.
"Morning, Will." Smiling, he dug in the overhead cupboards for a pair of mugs. "Coffee?"
William blinked, stunned. It took him a few tries to get his voice back. "Uh, s-sure. Thank you."
The mugs were poured and before William knew it, his dad was guiding him over the kitchen table. It was an old thing, almost as old as the house itself. The rough-hewn planks had been sanded and varnished more times than he could count. Despite its age, it was the most sturdy piece of furniture they had; its length filling a good fourth of the living room.
The chairs, on the other hand, seemed to be brand new. Or bought recently, anyway. Whatever cheap wood went into their creation clearly wasn't up to the task of holding a battleship. The poor chair groaned ominously as he sat, staring at the steaming mug his dad placed before him.
"How are you?"
William swallowed. Such a simple question and yet it left him completely floored.
"...I'm alive," he whispered, throat tight. He stared down into his mug, unable to meet his dad's eyes as he sat beside him. "Beyond that, I... I don't know."
Why was this so hard? Eight months of pain and loneliness wanted to rush out all at once, but language failed him whenever he tried.
His dad appeared to be having a hard time, too. The pain that had been buried for seven years was coming to the surface. But, eventually, he worked up the courage to speak.
"We, uh... we waited for you. Horton told us you hadn't died just... gone missing. He kept us informed, but... eventually they had to close the case. We had the funeral shortly afterward. It didn't matter what the truth was, everyone believed you were dead at that point." He sniffed, loudly. "But here you are. I-I can't believe it."
William nodded. "Me either."
Another silence stretched between them.
"...I missed you, Dad..."
What else could he say? How could you wrap up eight months of hell into a single sentence? Those four simple words felt woefully inadequate to convey... well, everything. And yet, those simple words were enough. The personification of the fragile hope that had kept him going through those sunless days.
The dam broke, and his father reached over to pull him into an embrace. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held him tight, as if afraid he would disappear again if his grip slackened, even for a moment.
Words could never express the pain those seven years had brought.
But that hug and the tears soaking into his shirt did.
Throughout his entire life, he had pushed his dad to many extremes. Anger, laughter... embarrassment, but never to tears. In fact, he could count the times he'd witnessed his dad cry on one hand. To see him now, crying over him felt wrong in a way he couldn't describe. Even if the circumstances were far outside of his control, he couldn't help but feel guilty over it.
What kind of son ever wanted to see their father cry?
It felt like hours before his dad finally released him, wiping his eyes as he worked to compose himself. In an attempt to help, William blurted the first thing to come to mind.
"Where did the wood stove come from?"
He nearly laughed aloud at his own question; but in the wake of the emotional turmoil, his mind latched onto a detail that had been bothering him since he first woke up. Namely the large wood stove sitting next to the wall on a small concrete pad.
It hadn't replaced the old stove; not by a long shot. The kitchen was relatively unchanged; the same off-white cupboards, faux granite countertops, and drawers so scuffed from decades of use they'd given up trying to repaint them.
The wood stove was the notable exception to this. It sat perfectly split between the two rooms; half in the living room half in the kitchen. And while it was a new addition in his eyes, it was easy to make out the marks of long-term use. The glass door was scorched from continuous exposure to flame.
William couldn't believe he missed it at first glance. It was bigger than his locker back at Battalion.
For the first time, his dad looked a little guilty as he blew his nose. "We, uh... we got that with your life insurance payout. Horton really fought for us on that. There was a little left over from the funeral, so..."
He shrugged. "I always wanted a wood stove, what can I say?"
"I remember," William nodded, a tight smile working its way across his face. He couldn't care less about what they did with the money, but it was nice to see they got some happiness out of it. His expression faded slightly as he suddenly noticed the lack of one particular person. "Where's mom? Shouldn't she be up by now?"
"She's been going for walks every morning. She'll be back shortly." With a grunt that sounded every bit his age, his dad pushed himself to his feet. "Hungry? We got eggs, bacon, steak, what can I make you?"
Again the sheer sense of normalcy struck him dumb. He struggled for words. "A-A lot of everything sounds good."
"A lot of everything, huh? I can do that." Clapping him on the shoulder, his dad took his coffee into the kitchen. Before he turned the corner, he paused. "Hey Will. It's good to have you back."
It didn't take long for wonderful greasy smells to fill the air. Bacon mixed in with beef stock... the smell was exactly as he remembered. The scent of food gradually cleared away his daze, leaving... something else in its wake. It wasn't uncertainty, but it wasn't exactly peace either.
He was home, that was a fact. But a little nagging part of him wouldn't back down. Even after being welcomed back he still felt like a stranger in his own home.
This time it was the babble of voices that broke him out of his funk. They were far too young to be anyone he knew. Unless his brothers and sisters had aged backwards, Benjamin Button style.
...and considering his latest experience with time travel that wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility.
Curious – and maybe a little concerned – he left the table and closed in on the enclosed porch. It was attached to the kitchen opposite the living room. After generations of mud, water, and any other filth the farmers dragged in, the hardwood floor was permanently stained with splotchy marks. But the family had varnished the oaken shelves holding countless pairs of boots and shoes. Those, at least, weren't a lost cause.
Through the wide bay window set in the far wall of the porch, William could see that his mom's garden had expanded drastically. The whole backyard was overrun with wooden boxes packed with soil and plants. But while the garden was new, the shop yard beyond hadn't changed one bit. Hell, all the tractors parked in a line were still the same.
But his gaze was quickly drawn to the small group walking down the path that meandered through the garden. His mom was easily recognizable, chatting with two other adults, but the sight of three bubbly kids threw him off. Their shrieks of laughter and babbling conversation sent birds scattering in all directions.
He watched them rush ahead, and then suddenly they were inside, slamming the front door open as only kids could. The first boy couldn't have been older than eight, while the others, a boy and a girl, were twins barely over five. They all shared the same shaggy brown hair and brown eyes, features that were... eerily familiar.
"E~Eli!" the girl was shrieking as her brothers began throwing off their coats. "Don't track mud in the house! Grandma 's gonna get mad again!"
"I'll clean it up!" The oldest shouted back, stomping on a mat to shake off the aforementioned mud. As expected, this only made the mess worse.
"Eli!"
"I said I'll clean it up!" he repeated, louder this time.
"But you never do!"
The argument continued as boots and coats were thrown everywhere, some more neatly than others as the sister did her best to corral her brothers with ever-increasing volume. It lasted up until the trio made a mad dash for the kitchen... only to stop dead in their tracks the moment they saw him.
He might as well have been a bearded grizzly bear. The twins shrank back, cowering under his presence. The older brother, however, tore out of the house like his life depended on it, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Dad! Dad, get the gun! There's a scary man in Gram'n'Grandpa's house!"
Gram'n'Grandpa?
William blinked, momentarily bewildered. The gun part was perfectly reasonable, but... this wasn't his grandparents' place, so what was he...?
In a rush of recognition, it all suddenly made sense.
Laughter came from outside as the adults came inside, kicking off their boots in a less messy manner. Almost immediately, his mom rushed forward to hug him, but her tearful greetings went in one ear and out the other. Not for for any lack of trying, but his attention was locked on the small family clustered together in the porch.
He knew exactly who they were... he was just having trouble processing it all.
"Adrian?"
And then his brother was hugging him. It was only for a brief second, before he pulled back for a better examination. "Will! You, uh... you got big!"
"And you got shorter," William retorted, numbly, looking down at him.
It was all happening so fast. He almost missed his brother reintroducing his wife, Monica, before kneeling down and pulling the kids into his arms. More to insure they wouldn't run away than anything else.
"And these are our kids! This is Eli, our oldest." Adrian tapped the head of the eight year old, who squirmed in his father's grip, clearly wanting to be anywhere else but here. "And the twins are Christoper and Christa."
The two youngest merely watched him with the terrified shyness kids reserved for complete strangers. Unperturbed by this, Adrian continued with a beaming smile on his face. "And kids, this is my brother, William. I told you we'd be meeting him soon. Remember how I said he went missing before you were born?"
No response. Not even a squeak. And that silence cut deeper than a knife ever could.
In those terrifying opening hours in the Abyss, that flimsy hope of being the best damn uncle had kept him swimming. Kept him hoping. Time might have eroded that dream into a vague mental picture of home, but those deep-set roots remained.
And now here he was, face to face with nieces and nephews who knew him only as a name on a tombstone. The uncle who died long before they were born. They were scared of him; he could see it in their eyes.
"Well... h-hey there kiddos." Slowly and as non-threatening as possible, he squatted down to their level. The gesture didn't help much; he still towered over them like a mountain. They shrank back, doing their best to disappear into their father's arms. "You, uh... I know we've never met before, but... I'm your big Uncle William."
Memories of his first day in hell came rushing back, how he'd repeated that mantra in his struggle to survive. His next words came out in a strangled whisper.
"...I thought I'd never get to meet you."
"You're scary," whispered Eli with the lack of tact all kids were known for.
"Don't I know it," William chuckled, his tension slowly bleeding away. "I, uh, I wasn't always this big. In fact, your dad there, at one point he was taller than me."
The kid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. If anything, his humor only seemed to make them more reluctant. Time for a change in tactics.
"You know what, let's try that again." Rocking back and forth on his heels to get some form of momentum, he put on the most earnest smile that he could and held out his hand. "It's good to finally meet you all. I'm your Uncle William."
The proffered hand only received more shy looks. For a moment, William feared that would be the ever-going trend. Then Eli seemed to work up his courage; reaching out to clutch a single finger and give it a tentative shake.
Whether or not he was simply being polite didn't matter. That simple gesture – reluctant though it was – was more precious than gold to his scared, weary uncle. Once again, huge thanks to the anonymous commissioner who made this early release possible! You know who you are!
Nothing too earth shattering in this one; a little history about the Blood Week and William's long await return home. It's a scene I've been picturing for a long time, and finally being able to put it to paper was a tone of fun. I honestly can't believe I made it this far. When William fell into the Abyss, the homecoming was a distant dream, at best. For both him and me, the author.
But now, Will is home, as he always wanted. But it comes with its own challenges and trials. Trigger happy nephews notwithstanding.
Thank you, everyone, for reading and helping me get to this point with your encouragement!
Our boy finally made it home. Peace, for now. But I doubt he will be allowed to quietly rest for too long. Anything from an abyssal getting too close to Yamato pushing for a Canadian holiday.
Either way, whatever you do, this story has been brilliantly entertaining. It has had me looking forward to each update. This one is no exception. Eager to see what comes next.
