"You have to be joking," Torin whispered, his voice trembling like a plucked violin string.
The team stood rigid on the rusted grating of the dock. The new vessel loomed below, a jagged insult to engineering. Valerius had called it a "decommissioned stealth-frigate." Technically, that was a factual statement. Visually, it was a crime scene.
The Rusty Nail was a jagged, black-iron wedge of a ship, roughly eighty metres long. Its hull wasn't so much armoured as it was bandaged—patched with mismatched plates of scavenged steel, copper, and an undeniable, hazardous stop sign. Wires hung loose from the underbelly like the exposed intestines of a mechanical beast.
There was a literal bird’s nest in the main cannon barrel.
"It floats," Lack said, forcing a tone of optimism that his brain explicitly rejected. "Probably."
It looks like tetanus with an engine, the Light Devil critiqued, delighted. I love it. It matches our aesthetic perfectly: 'Functionally Broken'.
"Hey! Don't insult the lady!"
A blur of motion shot down from the ship's hull, defying gravity with frantic momentum.
ZZZT-CLANG.
A dwarf landed in front of them. He didn't just land; he sparked. His beard was braided with copper wire, and his goggles glowed with the frantic readout of thermal data. He held a massive spanner in one hand and a welding torch in the other—except the torch wasn't a tool.
It was his index finger.
"I'm Ratchet," the Dwarf grunted, wiping grease onto his overalls. "Chief Engineer. Valerius said he was sending a crew of 'special' cases. Didn't know he meant children."
Lack scanned him. The energy radiating from this Dwarf was immense. It was dense, hot, and volatile.
[System Identification: Ratchet] Species: Dwarf Vessel: God of Sparks (High Executor Tier) Status: Overcharged
"High Executor?" Volt (Lightning) whispered, stepping back. "He operates as a walking reactor."
"You got good eyes, Sparky," Ratchet grinned, his teeth metallic. "Yes, I'm a High Executor. Why am I a mechanic? Because fighting is boring. Building..." Ratchet’s eyes swirled with a manic creativity. "...building is art."
He held up his finger. A blinding white spark drilled into a piece of scrap metal, melting it instantly.
"God Ability 1: The Spark," Ratchet explained. "Right now, I use it to drill holes and weld plates. But at Divine Tier? This spark splits atoms. It becomes a nuke."
He tapped his temple.
"God Ability 2: Hyper-Imagination." His goggles flashed. "My patron boosts my Imagination Stat by 400%. You need high specs to build a Void Drive. Or a Black Hole Cannon out of a toaster."
"And the ship?" Lack asked. "Does it run?"
"Run?" Ratchet scoffed. "Original Skill: Overclock (Speed Up)."
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In less than three seconds, Ratchet vanished. A streak of sparks circled the entire eighty-metre ship. Clang. Clang. Clang. Forty bolts tightened. The engine was kicked. A fuse was replaced. Blur. Ratchet reappeared in front of them.
"She doesn't run," Ratchet panted, grinning. "She glides. This beauty has a Void-Drive Core. It eats mana pollution for fuel. The dirtier the water, the faster she goes. Perfect for the Neutral Zone."
? ? ?
Location: The Bridge of The Rusty Nail Time: 07:00 AM (Hour 1 of the Solar Cycle)
The bridge was cramped, a dense atmospheric cocktail of stale coffee, machine oil, and ozone. Lack sat in the Captain's chair. It squeaked—a high, undignified sound.
"System check," Lack ordered.
"Engine online," Ratchet’s voice crackled over the intercom. "Shields at 40%. Weapons... uh, we have a harpoon gun? And Borg."
"Good enough," Lack said. "Torin, take the helm. You're good with wind currents."
"I'm going to crash us," Torin whimpered, gripping the wheel as if it were the neck of a monster.
"Wait," Mina pointed out the viewport, wiping condensation from the glass. "Someone's coming."
Running down the dock were three figures in crimson uniforms. They weren't University staff.
Volt, Terra, and Rian.
They carried heavy duffel bags. A week's worth of absolute exhaustion dragged heavily at their posture.
"Permission to come aboard, Lieutenant!" Volt shouted from the gangway.
Lack stood up and walked to the airlock. "You have orders to return to the University, Volt. The semester starts in a week."
"Screw the semester," Volt said, dropping his bag on the deck with a heavy thud. "We just spent a month fighting Cosmic entities. You think we can go back to sitting in a classroom listening to theory? It would be... illogical."
"The Dreallytear faction is hunting you," Rian added, his voice chilly. "If they send another Silent Shadow, your team of misfits will need firepower. We are firepower."
"Besides," Terra smiled, holding up a basket of glowing herbs. "Who's going to heal you when you inevitably break your ribs again?"
Lack's focus anchored onto them. The Elites. The ones who used to mock him in the corridors of Sector 98. Now, they were deserting school to join a suicide mission in a pirate zone.
"There are no beds," Lack warned. "You sleep in hammocks."
"We slept on the floor for three weeks," Volt shrugged. "Hammocks are an upgrade."
"Welcome to the crew," Lack grinned.
? ? ?
Location: The Boundary Line (Leaving the God Domain) Time: 08:00 AM
The Rusty Nail shuddered as the engines roared to life—a sound less like a machine starting and more like a dragon clearing its throat.
The ship lifted off the mag-lev rails and drifted out of the Hangar. Below them, the Northern Wall glowed like a line of holy fire, dividing the world.
Beyond it lay the Shattered Seas.
The water here wasn't water. It was a chaotic soup of violet, green, and black liquid mana, churning with the runoff of the War. Massive jagged rocks floated in the air, defying gravity, islands of stone adrift in a sky of bruised purple.
But it wasn't empty.
"Contact!" Torin yelled. "Sonar is picking up... entities."
Lack looked out the window.
Drifting in the mana-mist were transparent figures. Spectres. The souls of soldiers who died in the war, unable to pass on, now hungry for living mana. They floated like jellyfish made of grief.
Below the surface, pale shapes swam like sharks. Ghouls. Failed Devil Vessels that had mutated into amphibious horrors.
And on a floating rock nearby, a massive creature sat, watching them. It had the head of a tiger, but its body was made of stone and ancient armour. It held a glaive made of bone.
"Yagua," Ratchet spat, checking the gauges. "Specifically, a MoGui. That's a Devil Construct. Nasty business. Don't make eye contact."
"Crossing the boundary in 3... 2... 1..." Torin announced.
WHOOSH.
They passed through the perimeter shield. The comforting hum of the Wall vanished. The silence of the Void took over—a heavy, suffocating silence. The sensors went dark.
"We are ghosts now," Ratchet cackled, activating the stealth oxidisation. "Stealth mode active."
Lack stood at the bow, his target lock tracking the chaotic horizon. Somewhere out there, amongst the 540,000 islands, was the truth about the Exit.
"Course set," Lack ordered. "Full speed ahead."
Yo ho, yo ho, the Light Devil sang off-key in the back of his mind. If we see a Poltergeist, I'm possessing the toaster. I've always wanted to be a kitchen appliance.
? ? ?
[System Record: Crew Roster Update]
- Captain: Lack Flameheart (Abyss)
- Chief Engineer: Ratchet (High Executor - God of Sparks)
- First Mate: Torin (Navigator)
- Combat Specialists: Volt, Rian, Terra
- Support: Mina, Serra, Olan, Kip
- Heavy Weapons/Garbage Disposal: Borg