Chapter 1084: Someone Just Tried to Kill Me.
The storm did not pass.
It deepened, wrapping the fleet in a shroud of fury. Rain hammered steel, waves climbed higher, and the ships groaned like leviathans dragged unwilling into war. Cain moved at the heart of it, his blade a streak of lightning against the soldiers pouring from the flagship’s armored gut.
The cannon still pulsed with light, its maw yawning wider with every second. Power built in waves that rattled the deck and throbbed through the sea itself, a weapon meant to erase not just men but memory.
Susan was still at the smaller vessel, smoke curling from the missile launcher she had fired. The impact had slowed the flagship, but not enough. Not nearly enough. She wiped rain and blood from her eyes, shouting through the comm, "Cain! You don’t have time!"
Cain drove his sword through another soldier, his voice steady even as chaos tore around him. "Then I’ll take it."
The deck pitched violently as another barrage rained from the escort ships. Explosions split the waves, saltwater geysers drenching the night. Susan’s vessel rocked hard, nearly tossing her overboard. She clung to the railing, coughing, broken ribs screaming.
Steve’s voice crackled in her ear. "Susan, get clear. You can’t take more hits!"
She spat blood and steadied herself. "Not leaving him."
On the flagship, Cain pressed forward. He no longer fought men—he tore through them, each swing of his sword fueled by more than muscle, more than fury. The sea itself answered him. Water burst from ruptured pipes, flooding across the deck, waves crashing in time with his strikes.
Lightning split the sky again, and for a heartbeat, Cain’s shadow towered over the battlefield like a revenant called from the abyss. Soldiers faltered. Some fled. Others screamed and charged. None lasted.
The cannon’s charge reached its crescendo, the glow blinding, a sun about to be born in the storm. Steve shouted in Cain’s ear, voice breaking, "Thirty seconds, maybe less!"
Cain’s eyes locked on the glowing core at the base of the weapon. He sprinted. Bullets tore at his cloak, shrapnel bit his arms, but he moved unyielding, unstoppable. The blade in his hand seemed to drink the storm itself, brighter, heavier, alive.
Susan, still fighting to breathe, dragged herself toward her vessel’s console. Fingers trembling, she keyed into Steve’s coordinates. "Tell me where to hit."
"Don’t you dare, Susan," Steve snapped. "You fire again, the recoil will tear you apart."
"Tell me!"
Static, then his grim answer: "The reactor housing. Mid-ship. It’ll cripple the whole beast—but if Cain’s still there..."
Susan’s jaw clenched. She whispered past cracked lips, "He’ll forgive me."
On the flagship, Cain reached the cannon’s base. Heat and light seared his face, burning his vision white. He raised his sword high, then drove it down into the heart of the weapon.
Metal screamed. Sparks erupted like stars. The cannon shuddered, energy writhing out of control. A shockwave hurled soldiers aside. Cain braced, hands locked tight around the hilt, forcing the storm’s fury into the machine itself.
Susan fired.
The missile tore through the rain, a streak of fire swallowed by the storm. A heartbeat later, the flagship convulsed. The explosion ripped through its hull, fire and steel bursting outward as the sea surged hungrily into the wound. The cannon’s core overloaded, its light collapsing into a single piercing flash before vanishing in a thunderous blast.
The shockwave slammed into Susan’s vessel. She was thrown hard against the deck, head ringing, lungs burning. Her last thought before darkness clawed her down was Cain’s silhouette standing unbroken in the storm.
When her eyes opened again, it was to silence.
The storm had passed. The sea lay in ruin, littered with flaming wreckage. Black smoke coiled upward, staining the pale dawn sky. Of the fleet, only fragments remained—twisted steel, broken bodies, and the hollow echoes of men who thought themselves untouchable.
Susan coughed blood and dragged herself upright. Her vessel was barely afloat, half its systems fried, the deck torn apart. She searched the horizon with blurred eyes, calling hoarsely, "Cain!"
No answer.
She tried again, louder, voice cracking, "Cain!"
Waves rolled endlessly, carrying only wreckage.
Then, through the smoke, a shape moved. A figure climbed from the ruined flagship, boots heavy against shattered steel. His cloak was gone, his armor scorched, but his sword still gleamed in his hand. Cain stood tall, unbroken, his eyes burning with the same steady fire.
Susan sagged against the railing, relief carving a weak laugh from her throat. "You bastard... you lived."
Cain’s voice carried across the water, calm, unyielding. "The sea takes who it wants. Not me. Not yet."
Steve’s voice crackled through at last, thick with disbelief. "Cain... Susan... the fleet’s gone. All of it. You just started a war."
Cain looked back at the horizon, where smoke curled like funeral pyres into the morning. His grip tightened on his blade, rainwater and blood dripping from its edge.
"No," he said. "I finished the first battle. The war starts now."
The sea, restless even in defeat, lapped against the wreckage like a beast licking its wounds. And above it all, the city waited, hungry for the next scream.
Susan slumped back, her cigarette pack sliding from her pocket onto the wet deck. She stared at it, then at Cain, and muttered, "If this is how the first strike feels, I don’t want to see the last."
Cain didn’t move right away. His gaze lingered on the smoke curling into the morning, eyes unreadable, jaw locked tight. The blade in his hand dripped seawater and blood until finally he sheathed it with a slow, deliberate motion.
"The last," he said, voice low, "will feel worse. But we’ll be ready."
Steve was still on the comm, his voice brittle. "You don’t understand, Cain. Every eye is on you now. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a message. They’ll answer. Harder. Smarter. With everything they’ve got."
Cain finally looked at Susan. "Good."
Her bitter laugh rasped into the silence. "Then let them come."