Chapter 377: The Howl of Hell
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The enemy ships' sides lit up with another series of dazzling flashes. Ser Horas Redwyne felt a shiver deep in his chest but suppressed his fear.
The strange weapon was loud and terrifying, but its power hadn't been as devastating as expected—at least not until now.
Horas was confident that his ships could withstand the barrage long enough to close the distance.
As long as they got close, they could engage in the melee combat where the Arbor fleet excelled.
As long as they got close...
---
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion rocked the Purple Grapes, nearly throwing Horas off his feet.
This time, the attack was different.
Blasts erupted on the deck, sending up plumes of thick, black smoke. Tongues of fire surged upward, licking at the masts.
"What's happening?" Horas demanded, his voice trembling.
Before anyone could answer, cries of "Fire!" and "Help!" filled the air, accompanied by screams of pain and the frantic clatter of boots on wood.
"Ser, look!"
Turning toward the left flank, Horas saw the Swordfish engulfed in flames. The fire coiled like a fiery serpent, rapidly devouring the ship's mainmast.
CRACK!
The mast snapped like a twig, collapsing onto the deck with a deafening crash, crushing half the bow and sending waves rippling across the sea.
Dozens of sailors were flung into the water, their desperate cries for help mixing with the roar of the flames.
Chaos reigned as the fire spread across the deck. The remaining crew abandoned their posts to battle the blaze, their efforts increasingly frantic as the ship listed dangerously.
But then, disaster struck again.
The crippled Swordfish, now drifting aimlessly, collided with the nearby White Hart. The latter's massive ram cleaved the Swordfish in two with a sickening crunch, splintering its hull.
The Swordfish's bow and stern rose out of the water before sinking into the depths, leaving behind a swirling vortex of debris, charred corpses, and crimson-stained waves.
In the distance, the disturbance attracted a swarm of sharks, their fins slicing through the water as they closed in on the carnage.
---
Horas stood frozen, watching in stunned silence as one of his ships was obliterated.
For all his experience in naval warfare, he had never encountered anything like this.
In his mind, naval battles had always followed a familiar pattern: ramming, boarding, and close-quarters combat.
The ships would lock together, and soldiers would clash in bloody hand-to-hand fighting until one side prevailed.
But this...
This wasn't a battle.
This was slaughter.
For the first time, Horas felt the weight of despair settle on his shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he might be witnessing the end of an era.
Yet there was no turning back.
"Forward! Full speed ahead!" Horas roared. "We must close the gap! Keep pushing forward!"
---
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Another volley of cannon fire erupted from the Stormlands fleet, filling the sky with black smoke that blotted out the sun.
Horas couldn't see his target anymore, but he knew it was there—close enough to reach.
If they could just hold on...
The air was filled with the splintering screams of wood, the fiery cries of men engulfed in flames, and the relentless crash of cannonballs.
Horas clenched his fists and kept his eyes fixed on the faint shadows of the enemy ships through the smoke.
"We're almost there... almost there..." he muttered like a prayer.
BOOM!
Another explosion sent chunks of wood and bodies flying into the air.
The Purple Grapes groaned under the assault, but Horas shoved aside the guards trying to shield him and stumbled out onto the deck.
Nearly one-third of the fleet behind him had lost its combat effectiveness, with some emitting thick smoke, some having their masts blown off, some falling into a sea of fire, and some sinking to the bottom of the sea...
Horace didn't dare to look back, nor could he look back. He could only move forward like a moth flying into a flame.
His bloodshot eyes burned with rage as he glared at the enemy fleet, barely visible through the chaos.
"Ramming speed! RAMMING SPEED!" he bellowed, waving his sword like a madman.
---
The Purple Grapes surged forward, its massive ram cutting through the waves. The relentless drumbeat of war drowned out all other sounds as oars dipped and splashed with manic intensity.
Spray burst around the ship like a snowstorm as it barreled toward the nearest enemy vessel.
But then something strange happened.
On the Stormlands ships, massive paddle wheels mounted on the sides began to churn the water.
They're moving?
The enemy ships, which had been stationary during the bombardment, suddenly unfurled their sails and began to maneuver.
"They're trying to dodge us!" someone shouted.
"Hard to port! HARD TO PORT!" Horas screamed.
The helmsman spun the wheel, the oarsmen adjusted their strokes, and the Purple Grapes executed a sharp turn, sending a cascade of water spraying outward.
The sudden maneuver threw Horas off his feet, and he hit the deck hard, biting his tongue in the process.
Spitting blood, he clawed his way upright and pointed his sword forward.
"Don't let them escape! Pursue them!"
The Purple Grapes groaned in protest, its hull already battered and its frame straining under the stress. But the crew obeyed their captain's frantic orders, pushing the ship to its limits.
---
Finally, the Purple Grapes closed the distance.
With a deafening crash, its ram struck the rear of a Stormlands warship.
The impact shattered the enemy ship's stern, sending splinters flying and throwing sailors into the air. Both vessels shuddered violently, their hulls grinding together in a cacophony of breaking wood and groaning metal.
"Grapples! Grapples!" Horas screamed.
Hooks flew through the air, catching onto the enemy ship's railings. The crews on both sides heaved, pulling the two vessels closer together.
"Board them! Kill them all!" Horas roared, his voice hoarse with fury.
"For Arbor! For our honor!"
"For Arbor!" his soldiers echoed, raising their swords and axes.
---
But before they could leap across, another blast tore through the air.
BOOM!
At such close range, the Stormlands cannons were devastating.
The Purple Grapes was hit by over a dozen cannonballs in quick succession.
The deck beneath Horas's feet splintered and collapsed, sending him plunging into the cold embrace of the sea.
---
Saltwater filled his mouth and nose, choking him as he struggled to the surface. Gasping for air, he clung to a floating piece of debris and coughed up a mouthful of brine.
Around him, the sea was littered with the remains of the Purple Grapes.
The ship was ablaze, its once-proud frame reduced to a smoking ruin. Scattered planks and lifeless bodies floated in the water, while a faint smell of blood attracted circling sharks.
Through the smoke and chaos, Horas could see the enemy ship's broadside lined with cannons, their muzzles flashing as they fired one final volley.
The sound was deafening, a cacophony of destruction that reverberated across the waves like the howl of hell itself.
(End of Chapter)
TL; Imagine how terrifying this is.