Cane followed Neri to the edge of the deck where cannon fire had torn away part of the railing. With a quick wave to the crew, he dove into the sea.
The moment he submerged, a bubble of air formed around his face—allowing him to breathe and speak without effort. Neri rose up from beneath, her tail batting him playfully before she offered a webbed hand.
Instead of heading straight for their target, Neri led him deeper. The water around them darkened until it turned to ink. Cane lost sight of her for a moment, but then the suit's enchantments adjusted, sharpening his vision. Her smiling face came into focus once more.
"I can see again," Cane said. "Took a bit longer than I thought."
He barely finished the sentence before he was yanked forward—racing through the water faster than he'd ever moved before.
"You weren't this fast when we escaped the slaver ship," he managed to call out.
Neri glanced back. "I was pulling two of you. And I'd spent days in a cage without food or water."
"Sure," Cane replied dryly. "If you want to make excuses."
A few minutes later, she pointed upward. They began to ascend.
The ocean surface glimmered with moonlight—except for one dark shape. It floated silent and still, invisible against the waves.
"There it is," Cane murmured. "Quiet as a mouse. I see why this ship's been trouble."
"Hold me," Neri said. "I need to make an air pocket."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, careful to avoid her powerful tail as it propelled them underneath the Avenger.
Slowly, a shimmering pocket of air began to form against the hull—starting small, then expanding until it was large enough for a person to press against.
"That's the best I can manage," Neri said.
Cane placed one hand on the hull, closing his eyes as his senses stretched into the metal.
"Can you do it?" she asked.
"Yep." Cane winked—and then vanished into the steel, leaving Neri hovering in the dark water, wide-eyed and speechless.
Cane paused to get his bearings, listening as he scanned the interior. He was in a narrow cargo hold—tight and dim. Judging by the Avenger's sleek design, the cannon deck had to be close.
He chuckled quietly, offering a silent thanks to the engineer who'd designed this marvel. Metal everywhere. Even the inner walls, dividers, and doorframes were built from a light alloy—just enough to give him full access.
The chamber was tight—maybe three meters long with barely enough headroom to avoid brushing the ceiling. He exhaled, placed his hands on the next wall, and gave a mental push.
The metal folded and bent like paper, and he stepped through the wall with ease—just like he'd seen Nos glide through the air. That comparison gave him pause.
Later, he told himself, filing it away.
"Found ya," he muttered.
He was on the cannon deck now.
Rows of 24 guns lined the centerline, their firing ports sealed shut. Cane moved sideways along the wall, careful not to trip over a power keg or loose shot. He placed a hand on the nearest hatch, intent on sealing them all shut. No open ports meant no firing.
But then he paused.
Would they already be loaded?
He turned back to the cannon nearest him, hand resting on the barrel. The craftsmanship was top-tier—smooth metal, expertly forged. Definitely the work of a skilled metallurgist. Runes were etched into the alloy—amplifiers designed to increase force.
Cane submerged his senses.
A vision surged forward: a steel refinery, choked with soot, filled with tired workers whose eyes had long forgotten hope. He blinked the image away and focused deeper. Inside the barrel, the cannon was indeed loaded—powder bag and projectile jammed tightly into the ignition chamber.
The metal was soft—pliable like clay in his hands. He worked quickly, melding the projectile to the barrel, locking it in place. An immovable object inside a weapon meant to explode.
One down.
He moved to the next.
For the next few minutes, Cane sabotaged each of the 24 cannons. One after another. Clean. Efficient. Quiet.
When he finished, he equipped Starbolt and retrieved the silver sheet, then lay flat against the cold metal floor.
The first part of his mission was complete.
Extending his senses, Cane merged with the ship as a whole. The sensation was overwhelming. He traced every seam, weld, and rivet—mapping alloys, noting faults, memorizing weld signatures.
And then he found it.
The power core.
He nearly whistled out loud. Beast core. High-level. He couldn't identify the creature, but the pressure coming off it was immense.
He pressed the silver sheet against the hull and began weaving—interlacing fibers at their most basic level. The runes on the wall flickered in reaction, curious but not hostile. The defensive rune transferred easily.
The stealth rune did not.
It had a trigger—one that only activated under certain conditions. He coaxed it, eased his will forward.
It flickered once—then flared.
Cane's breath caught.
A soft alarm began to sound.
Cane turned, reaching for the hull to create an exit when a sharp hiss made him duck.
A second later, a thunderous bang rocked the hold. A lead ball slammed into the space where he'd just been.
He swore and hurled Starbolt.
The trident slammed into the shooter's chest with bone-crushing force, pinning him to the wall. His body went rigid, turned to ice, and fell still—lifeless.
Cane placed a boot on the wall and yanked Starbolt free, just as the door was thrown open.
Three sailors burst in, blades drawn, attacking from both sides.
But the saboteur was gone.
The leader cursed and lashed out, stabbing blindly at chest height in case the intruder was cloaked—but there was nothing there.
No movement.
No breath.
Only cold steel and silence.
Cane fell through the hull.
Under the pressure of life and death, his instincts took over. He stepped through the ship's metal like a farmer walking through his fields—natural, fluid. But once outside, the physics hit him like a hammer. The powerful wake caught him mid-exit, tumbling him head over heels, spinning without sense of up or down.
A hand closed around his wrist.
"This way, Mr. Safe and Quick," Neri scolded, her tone sharp with relief. "I was worried."
With its stealth rune disabled, the Dark Avenger veered abruptly—its dark hull cutting toward the Defiant like a predator sensing prey.
"They're back!" Maud shouted from the rail, pointing toward a narrow disturbance carving through the water.
Cane grabbed the rail, soaking and breathless, as a hand hoisted him aboard. Neri followed a moment later, clearing the water mid-leap and shifting forms in a smooth, practiced motion.
"Their stealth is definitely down," Neri confirmed.
"Cane?" Rhiati helped steady him as he staggered upright.
"I disabled the runes and sabotaged their cannons," Cane said between gasps. "They're wide open."
"Ship closing fast!" Maud shouted. "Heading straight for us!"
"Helmsman!" Rhiati snapped. "Five degrees left rudder—we'll broadside her. Man the cannons!"
The crew exploded into motion, every sailor suddenly a cog in a seamless machine. Cane ducked between a cluster of crates, one of the only safe spots as the deck came alive with urgency.
Rhiati took the helm herself, scanning the dark line cutting across the waves.
"Four hundred meters and closing."
She glanced at Cane—he was crouched between crates, watching, ready.
"What are they doing?" she muttered as the Avenger's silhouette began to shift. Her eyes narrowed. "She's coming about. Cannon doors opening—Down on deck!"
THUNK.
BOOOOM.
The Avenger's starboard side exploded outward and upward, light splitting the night as metal twisted, split, and detonated in midair. The flash was blinding, followed by two deeper explosions that tore through the ship's interior. Chunks of scorched hull ripped skyward. Screams echoed as fire and molten debris rained into the sea.
Twisted iron and burning fragments hissed as they splashed down. The ocean steamed under the sudden violence.
Rhiati stood frozen, eyes wide.
The terror of the sea—gone.
Destroyed before the Defiant had fired a single shot.
"SHIT! The sail!" Maud's voice cracked across the deck as the main sail ignited, blazing red against the dark.
Molten metal had ripped through the canvas. Without waiting, Maud slashed the ropes, collapsing the sail in a heap. Crew surged forward with buckets, forming a line in seconds, dousing the flames before they could spread further.
Steam, smoke, and shock filled the air.
The deck of the Defiant was oddly quiet. The fires were out, the main sail beyond salvage. Only the head and jib sails remained, catching just enough wind to limp them through the drifting wreckage.
Neri stood beside Cane, an arm looped around his shoulders as her eyes scanned the scattered debris.
Maud approached, giving him a respectful nod. In a battle like this, injuries or casualties were expected—but somehow, thanks to their last-minute reinforcement, they'd suffered neither.
"It'll take a full day to reach port," she said, grinning. "Let's roll some dice. Time to find out if you were actually lucky last time."
Cane smiled, but it was Rhiati who interrupted, ruffling his hair. "You go get changed. You're still wearing that ridiculous fish suit."
Maud looked alarmed. "What? You're hiding now?"
"Come on, Cane," she teased, "we're battle buddies. Stay here!"
Cane just gave a tired wave and stepped through the door, disappearing below deck.
Dawn broke soft and hazy over the Defiant. Most of the crew slept, save for a skeleton watch at the rail. A few empty bottles and scattered dice marked where the others had unwound before drifting off.
Neri rolled out of her hammock, eyes searching the dim deck. She stretched, sensing the shell bracelet she'd given Cane nearby. Close. Still, he wasn't in sight.
So the search continued.
She passed sleeping sailors and quiet halls until she found herself at the captain's quarters. The door creaked open.
Rhiati looked up from her chair, boots propped lazily on her desk. She'd been dozing.
Cane was asleep on her bed.
Neri raised a single brow. "You let him use your bed?"
Rhiati chuckled. "Let him? No. I told him—clearly—that was my bed, and he could sleep anywhere else."
Neri moved to the side of the bed and brushed Cane's hair from his face, his breathing deep and even.
"And?"
Rhiati shook her head. "He saluted. Crisp and proper. Then collapsed face-first onto the mattress."