Chapter 1301: The Red Light Of Death |
At the helm of Big Bertha, Corey stood captaining the formidable warship with a cold grin on his face as he watched their latest target get obliterated. Beside her on the captain's platform, Gibson, the grizzled first mate and former pirate, roared at the crew with the authority of a seasoned sea dog. "Aim those mortars at the frigates! Sink those Skyhall bastards to the bottom of the sea!"
The mortar crew sprang into action, hustling to move the heavy mortar to the front of the ship. The red light, a precise targeting system, shifted its focus toward a frigate on the sea, marking it for destruction.
"AYE AYE!" The crew of Big Bertha roared in excitement, their voices loud and full of rough cheer. "Let's give 'em a taste of hell, boys!" one shouted, the pirate accent thick in his call. "Make 'em dance the hempen jig!" another chimed in, as they loaded the mortars with practiced speed.
Meanwhile, Shorty, the short pirate with a shiny bald head, ran to man a swivel gun. As he took his position, he looked up and saw the demons descending from the sky. "Bloody hell, what in the seven seas are those winged devils?" he cursed, momentarily taken aback by the sight of the demonic entities.
The rest of the crew echoed his shock, shouting various expletives and names in confusion and disbelief. "Are those flying monsters? Since when do monsters fly?" another pirate wondered aloud, scratching his head in bewilderment.
Despite his shock, Shorty quickly regained his composure, aimed the swivel gun at the sky, and locked onto a demon that was momentarily caught in the red targeting light. "Eat this, ya flying freak!" he yelled as he fired the cannon. The ball shot through the air with a deafening roar and struck the demon squarely. The impact was so forceful that the demon's body exploded into a pulpy mist, scattering remnants across the sky.
"Ha! Got the bugger! See that? Shorty strikes again!" Shorty, stunned by his own accuracy, whooped loudly.
Even Michael, who had been overseeing the retreat and managing the battlefield from a distance, couldn't help but be impressed by the shot. He looked over at Shorty, a smile breaking across his face. "Look at that…That little bastard can shoot," he muttered under his breath.
Meanwhile, Elder Tarsus watched with gritted teeth as the Man-o-war was destroyed and one of his demons was obliterated by a cannonball. His face twisted in anger as he shouted at the ship's crew, who were observing the battlefield from the skies. "That is one damn ship! Tell the ground forces to destroy it!" he barked with thunderous rage.
Elder Tarsus continued to watch the battle unfold through the mirror, his gaze occasionally flicking back to Michael, observing the Dark Lord's movements and his new armor. The elf beside him took note of Michael's confident posture and the sophistication of his armor. "Elder, the Dark Lord does not come this openly without a plan," the elf warned, his tone cautious.
"We have the demons, and that death was just a fluke," Elder Tarsus retorted dismissively. Yet, the seed of concern planted by the elf's warning lingered in his mind.
Not willing to take any chances and determined to regain control of the situation, Elder Tarsus then issued a new command. "Order the air forces to target that damn ship," he commanded, pointing at Big Bertha on the mirror's display. "Bring it down before it causes more damage."
Suddenly, chaos erupted among the Skyhall forces as one of their aerial warships began to descend rapidly, careening toward the ocean below. The ship's sails fluttered wildly, flapping uncontrollably as the crew aboard lost their balance, scrambling to grasp onto anything stable. Taking advantage of their ability to fly, angels on board quickly launched themselves into the air to escape the doomed vessel. From Elder Tarsus's command ship, his crew looked on in confusion and alarm.
"What's happening to that ship?" one of the crew members shouted, pointing towards the descending warship.
"Is it hit? Did they get shot down?" another called out, trying to make sense of the sudden disaster.
After witnessing the unexpected debacle, Elder Tarsus barked an order to his minions. "Contact that ship's captain immediately! See what's going on!" His voice cut sharply through the din of concerned murmurs and speculative guesses.
Minions rushed to their communication devices, trying to establish contact with the plummeting ship. After a tense few moments, one of them turned back to Elder Tarsus, his face grim. "There's no response from the ship's captain, sir."
Elder Tarsus's brow furrowed deeply as he demanded, "What the hell is going on?"
Just seconds before the ship was set to crash into the raging dark ocean, it appeared on a collision course with another Skyhall ship positioned on the sea. Panic ensued among the sea crew as they realized the impending disaster.
"Brace for impact!" one of the sailors on the sea vessel screamed.
"Abandon ship! It's going down!" another yelled, as crew members frantically leaped overboard, trying to escape the catastrophic crash.
In the midst of this frenzy, a static-filled voice finally came through the communication device from the captain of the descending ship. His last words were garbled but clear enough, "Vampire bitches."
Realization dawned on Elder Tarsus as he pieced together the clues from the captain's last words. It must be the work of the two elder vampires under the Dark Lord's command. His face contorted with rage as he grasped the extent of their infiltration and sabotage.
"How did the vampires manage to get to the captain and sabotage the ship without anyone alerting us?" Elder Tarsus shouted with anger and frustration. "They've breached our defenses!"
Nearby, the elf watched the unfolding chaos and then turned his gaze to Michael, who was somehow managing to evade the demons and effectively coordinate the dark army's retreat into the castle. The continuous mortar fire from Big Bertha rained death upon the Skyhall ships and the pursuing demons, providing critical cover for the retreating forces.
"The vampires are more cunning than we anticipated," the elf muttered, observing the battlefield's shifting dynamics. "Look at them, even in retreat, they turn the tides."
On the battlefield, the demons found themselves unable to take down Big Bertha. The ship was fitted with an energy shield that repelled their advances, and the multitude of swivel guns aboard kept firing at any demon that dared to come close. Each blast from the swivel guns was met with demonic resilience, as many of the demons, despite being hit, quickly recovered due to their healing abilities. However, the relentless assault forced them to strategically back off, recognizing the futility of attacking a well-defended target.
Seeing this, Azazel capitalized on the opportunity. He rallied the dark army soldiers, shouting orders above the din of battle. "Fall back to the castle! Cover your mates!" His commanding voice cut through the chaos, directing the soldiers with precision.
"Keep moving, you bastards, don't let those winged freaks pin you down!" he roared, ensuring no soldier lagged behind.
Amidst the retreat, Elder Tarsus watched in seething frustration as his plan to overwhelm Michael's forces with the demon army faltered. "Damn that Dark Lord and his cursed allies!" he cursed loudly, slamming his fist against the rail of his command ship.
As the dark army soldiers progressively retreated into the castle, the weight of the battle increasingly shifted onto Michael's shoulders. Despite their strategic withdrawal under the relentless barrage from Skyhall's forces both from the sky and sea, the dark army suffered significant casualties. The dark castle itself bore the scars of the conflict, its structure battered and barely standing after the full-blown assault it had endured.
Finally, as the last of his soldiers disappeared behind the battered gates of the castle, Michael found himself standing alone. The battlefield before him was a scene of encroaching doom. Skyhall's angels hovered menacingly in the sky while demons prowled on the ground, closing in from all directions. The remaining light cast long shadows, making the gathering forces seem even more powerful and menacing as they surrounded him.
Michael stood resolute before the dark castle, his figure a lone bastion against the approaching horde. He slowly cracked his neck, deliberately breaking the brief silence, his armor gleaming faintly in the fading light. He remained calm, betraying no hint of fear despite the overwhelming odds.
As the angels and demons prepared to converge on him, Michael's voice cut through the tension, echoing off the broken stones of the castle with a mocking tone, "Diddle... Diddle... You are so little...