K9Thefirst1
FINALLY! Sorry this took so long folks. Lots of details and my own procrastination and putting my efforts in favor of school kept this from being completed in time for Harry to move the story into the new year. Anyway...
Spoiler: At long last...
The Die Is Cast
5:34 PM, December 31st, 2013, The Great Meteor Seamount
The Princess Porta Abysseum Atlantia, holding court in her palace, was experiencing a new sensation, and she wasn't sure what to call it. Her gut felt tight, and cold, as if a rod had attached itself to her innards, and was coiling them up like a fork in pasta. Though she found it difficult to breath, Her Highness was able to keep it concealed behind her queenly mask. Holding court helped at least. She simply needed to go over the series of events that had led to the current moment.
Tantala recited to her a section of her Epic that she had finished revising. Rigar had shown her the latest designs for a new palace she wanted to build once the seamount became an island. And then, Canut was kneeling before her, with her latest report on training the fleet in hand-to-hand.
After the battleship demon's… lapse in good sense the previous year, Porta was quite certain that she would need to execute the foreign Abyssal. But the chastisement, and whatever it was that resulted in her losing her ability to actually fight, had done leagues of good as far as the Princess was concerned. Whereas before she was all but underfoot and in the way in trying to be helpful, Canut now focused her energies on where they were required – building an armory of melee weapons, and training the fleet in their use.
"We are pleased to hear of such progress Canut," the princess said, "We trust that in time of conflict, they shall be able to carry Us to victory?"
"Verily, your Highness. While those under my tutelage may not be masters, they can at least swing without harming themselves or their sisters in arms, and that alone will be to their advantage should they find themselves too close to the enemy to fight with their guns or torpedoes. Precisely as you requested. While they all have long to go, practice, and actual combat, will carry them further than more lessons alone. I thus call my first class complete, and I stand ready to begin the next batch of students. In fact, your Highness… If… If I may…"
Porta Atlantia gestured to her sworn subject, a small smile on her lips.
"Prey, speak."
"If it would please Your Highness, I would like to organize a tournament, to show the fleet I have yet to train how far they have come, and to inspire some interest in the training. I have already taken the liberty to plan the logistics, and the itinerary."
The battleship demon, clad in cloak and hood, approached the throne and held aloft a sheet of parchment to the Princess.
"Here, you Highness, I show what I had hoped to present. Just say the word, and in three days' time I and my finest students shall show the whole of your realm our might."
Porta took the parchment, and examined it thoroughly.
"A tourney, you say…"
Canut held her tongue, eyes averted, as her Sovereign read what she had organized.
According to the itinerary, there would be exhibition duals –
not to the death, Porta was pleased to see. While on one hand she did not see Canut wasting her fleet in such a matter… Her 'over exuberance' in 'halping' the fleet in growing its already prodigious numbers the previous June had irrevocably damaged Porta's trust in the battleship demon's judgement. Thankfully, other than some minor cuts or bruises, none of her precious force of Melee-trained Abyssals would be incapacitated once the war started.
Along with the duals, there would be a chance for the uninitiated to get their first lessons from their fleet-sisters. This too pleased the Princess. After all, it meant the tournament doubled as a recruitment drive and as a chance to gage interest in the fleet for the extra training, especially as she would be quietly rousing more of her fleet from mothballs in preparation for the declaration of War.
Furthermore, she had already sent out feelers to the realm's small but earnest Civilian core. There was the MacHamish Clan, who promised to serve their finest brews for the audience. Porta looked at the proposed menu, and was disappointed that none of them were making Mead. Oh well, liquid bread and spoiled grape juice was fine.
And it wasn't like she didn't have her own stash anyway.
Furthermore, Woë and a few others focusing on Animal Husbandry were promising Antillian Mutton, Antillian Beef, and Antillian Boar. All promising to be excellent dishes. The Princess took a mental note to quietly record as much of the meal as her Imps could. The humans would no doubt have someone curious about the culinary culture she was already developing.
There was just
one item that… Didn't feel right, and on reflection the Princess was certain that it was the source of her unease.
"You are to be commended Canut. These plans bring a smile to Our face. You were right to envision a tournament, and you were right to consult with Us. We anticipate a spirited series of games, and a merry display of sportsmanship.
"However… We are curious about this item on your agenda… Could you care to elaborate what you mean by a, quote, 'Match of Masters?'"
Canut looked up at her sovereign.
"You Highness has accepted my fealty, and put me to work as your Mistress-At-Arms. Your faith in my combat prowess has granted me this position, and I am grateful. But most all of my students daily talk almost constantly of what your champion, the Ocean Liner Demon, can do with arms in hand. And it is a topic that has entered my mind as well as of late. So I felt that a demonstration in arms between the two of us would-"
Ah yes.
That was what made the Princess so uneasy. Canut was attempting to commit Suicide by Ocean Liner Demon.
"Enough."
As Canut spoke, faint murmurs grew into excited whispers among the younger members of the audience. Years of rumors and talk, a match the likes of which none of the realm had ever seen before. It would be a dream to see such larger than life figures duke it out. And unnoticed by them, the older members of the fleet, who had served their Princess since before the war began, all looked at Canut with horror, or bowed their heads as if in prayer for one who was about to die. And at the raised hand and declaration of the Princess, all talk ceased.
Porta, one hand in the air, the other rubbing her temple, looked at Canut with naked concern as she lowered her hand.
"Canut…? Are… Why do you wish to commit suicide?"
Clearly, the question was the furthest from the Battleship Demon's mind, going by the absolute confusion on her face.
"…Princess?"
"Canut, We know that no longer being able to take up your axe struck you to the soul, but We do not wish you to die so soon after you have found your place among my fleet! Look around! Do you think the friendships you have made among Our subjects are unworthy? Would you cast aside the comradery of Our Daughter, who thinks so highly of you, as if it were so much rubbish?"
Canut looked to the Princess in confusion, heedless to the growing unease of the rest of Porta's court.
"Your Highness? I do not understand, I mean nothing more than a light spar, to take the measure of a fellow warrior."
Porta's face pinched, as though exposed to the thoughts of a slow child. And her hand was soon firmly pressed to the regal brow, and pulled down to her slender chin.
"Canut… Ocean Liner Demon… Is
no warrior. While she may be under my Thrall, that does
not guarantee that she will not take advantage of the situation if given leave to exact violent on a warship."
"Situation?" Canut scoffed, "Princess, you jest. You yourself named her your Champion, that alone says that she is a warrior, and an honorable one at that, otherwise how could she be worthy of being your Champion! No, your Highness, I do not believe that any Thrall could ever hold confidence such as the Liner Demon holds… With you…?"
As the battleship demon spoke, the Throne Room was slowly filled with a sense of preternatural dread. The light dimmed, and all around looked about as Terror that came not from their hearts took hold of their bodies. The only ones spared were the Princess, who leaned back on the throne, palm firmly against her face, Lady Angband, you looked around in confusion at everyone around her, and Canut, who felt as though the fangs of Fenrir himself were crushing down around her chest, and the eyes of Hel boring into her soul from behind, ready to drag her to Helheim. It was a sensation she had only felt on a few occasions, and even then, only as a bystander.
It was as if the War Demon Skadi had risen from her watery grave, and was hunting for Canut's very soul.
With unnatural fog puffing from her mouth in the sudden chill, Canut turned around, to find Liner Demon at the entrance of the room, eyes glowing Hellfire Red from inside her helm. The Demon took a step, and it echoed across the chamber. Even though there was an aisle plenty wide for her to walk down, the Abyssals of the fleet still backed away on reflex as the Demon passed. For years, she had been a constant presence in the Fleet, but save for those who had been in service since she joined in the 1980s,
none, had
ever, felt such sensations as what was being broadcasted from the beast in their midst.
One Abyssal, a Tsu-Class cruiser new to the fleet, one of the rare few of the mercenaries Canut had gathered that was permitted to join based on her war record, bowed as if in worship as the monster in armor walked past in apathy.
"
War Demon! By the Black Abyss!" she muttered, as if traumatized by some past encounter, and was watching it play out anew.
Canut, knowing now that she had made a grave error, but unsure as to its character, looked on as the other Demon approached, unmoving from her kneel. Finally, Ocean Liner Demon stopped just behind and to the left of Canut, and knelt down, placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, and spoke.
"'Honorable Warrior' huh? Never.
Ever. In my lives. Have I been so…
Insulted."
Canut found herself trying to lean away on instinct, but the other Demon's grip turned painful and held the Battleship Demon in place as the Second of the Fleet held up the Warhammer Canut had gifted her earlier in the year. She held the head close to Canut, so that she had an unobstructed view of the lightning bolts of Zeus, the
Olympian god.
"Tell me. Was it not enough, for you to
rub my face in the
weakness, the
failure, the
absolute Hell that was my first life? To not only give me a gift
I have no need or desire for, but to
remind me of what should be
forgotten? So you double that with the salt of lumping
me in with
your kind?
"Your kind, who from the days when man sailed in hollowed logs with paddles, hunted my race. For sport. For glory. For naked greed. You, who could not satiate your bloodlust by killing your own kind, so you raped and plundered the fat, slow merchantmen? Torpedoed neutral craft with innocent women and children inside. Sent nations to economic ruin by the very act of being built! What sort of
sociopathic animal calls that
honor?"
Liner Demon leaned into Canut, thoroughly riveted by naked terror, guilt, and the primal instinct of being in the presence of something Abominable, that was also something she somehow had a hand in creating. Canut stared into the twin glowing orbs recessed in the blackness of the helm's eye slits. And when the Demon spoke, Canut could not help but notice how those eyes
moved horizontally, as if the head they were attached to was not built in any form that was… Natural.
"But I accept your challenge." The Demon said, suddenly jovial, "I will gladly
murder y-"
"
Enough!"
At once the Demon was silenced, and the heavy sense of fear and dread was wiped away from the room and its occupants by a faint red pulse of
Power. Attention gravitated to the Princess, who had risen from her throne, and was glaring down at the Demon with clear fury on her face. She sharply pointed to her right and snapped her fingers, the sound reverberating through the throne room as definitively as Ocean Liner Demon's footsteps minutes before.
Without another word, Ocean Liner Demon rose, and smartly walked to her designated place, quiet, obedient, and contrite.
Like a loyal dog.
The Princess held her glare at the Demon for a few moments more. Satisfied that Liner Demon wasn't going to act out of turn again, Porta Atlantia walked down the stairs and knelt beside the visibly shaken form of Canut. The Princess laid her hands on the battleship demon's form with the gentleness of a mother, concerned for the wellbeing of her child.
"Are you all right Canut?"
Canut, eyes wide and staring into the middle distance, did not respond at first, but finally took a shaky breath and nodded.
"Canut, a tournament is a wonderful idea, and one that We endorse whole-heartedly… Provided that
you do not fight Ocean Liner Demon. Understood?"
Canut, having regained her senses, nodded in earnest agreement.
"Aye, your Highness. If I may, I would like to make amends for anyth-."
"
Don't you dare."
------
Territory of Armored Carrier Princess Wobbly, Northeast of the Grand Meteor Seamount…
Mordorim was a most unusual abyssal. She was a relic. No doubt the last of her kind in the whole world – the last of a class of Abyssal Carrier that was at the very edge of obsolescence even as the war began, a MO-Class Carrier. Unlike their successors the Wo-Class, whose hangars were curved, organic, and far more capable of tending to craft larger and heavier than what she ever could, Mordorim's hanger was a large box, consisting of six slabs of what could be charitably called armor riveted together, and whereas the landing facilities of the WO took the form of a pair of fleshy tentacles, for the MO-Class it was a set of four girder cranes, that often got in each other's way during operations. They did their job, no doubt, but only in the context of the era she was birthed in.
Mordorim didn't really expect to be able to genuinely entangle her way into any fleet like the Princess commanded when she was given this assignment a decade ago. If she were honest, she suspected Her Highness was only sending her off to die because her Post-Azores circumstances meant that she couldn't support near as many carriers as she had, Her Highness was just being polite about it, allowing her end to have some dignity to it. She was under no illusions that her remaining sisters weren't likely scrapped soon after the relocation.
"LOOKY LOOKY MORDY! A pod of whales! …Let's kill 'em!"
Then she met
this dumb bitch.
"Wow! Lookit all the blood! Eh-hee-hee!"
Somehow, this Armored Carrier Princess managed to spend avgas and munitions like water, and
not get killed. Mordorim wasn't sure what agitated her more about this Petty Princess – her childish approach to everything, Admiral Murphy's obvious favoritism for her… Or the fact that her pale naked ass was on full display like a jackass 24/7/365. Regardless, when the order
finally arrived, ridding the world of this waste of resources would be
oh so very satisfying…
------
10:24 PM, December 31st, 2013, Great Meteor seamount
Porta sat on her favorite sofa, staring into the abyss outside her widow. After she had narrowly prevented Liner Demon from redecorating the throne room, the atmosphere was decidedly different, and while efforts were made to recover from the scene, there was still a tenseness. Tantala recited another passage from her Epic that she had just finished revising, and Rigar showed off some of her latest concepts for a new Palace. Where she once again asked permission to demolish the current palace in order to make the designs a reality. Despite the fact that she had already done so earlier.
That in turn got Chatter – the Chi-class that possessed a happy talent for artwork, and had even made the exceptional mural over the entrance to the throne room – all sorts of salty. Claiming that Rigar was wanting to destroy Chatter's first Masterpiece, that same mural. That resulted in Rigar re-iterating her earlier remark of 'the world would lose nothing of value' with the destruction of the current palace. And Yolasu – the submarine who discovered her talent in making fine sculptures from rock – naturally enough could not stop herself from weighing in despite not having a stake in the matter. And in fact, would have benefited more from keeping silent rather than lowering herself to such a petty argument.
What followed was yet another edition of the debate of what form of visual art was supreme – Paintings and the sort, which enriched the lives of all by concentrating key aspects of reality in a permanent image, architecture, which married both form and function in a grand work that could also be used, or sculpture which did everything a painting could do, just in three-dimensions, and could be taken in all at once, rather than one aspect at a time like with a building. Porta was thankful for the distraction – she found the by now almost scripted conversation to be incredibly amusing. And also encouraging, choosing to take it as a sign of a slowly evolving aspect of culture, for there to be intellectual debate – amateur and childish though it was.
Tantala wisely stayed out of it, choosing instead to jot down notes with a repressed smile on her face. Porta looked forward to seeing thinly-veiled cameos of the trio serving as comic relief in future editions of her Epic.
The Princess didn't make comment one-way or the other – but given how her subtle efforts at elevating the mount into an island were already starting to cause structural damage to the building, Porta had no illusions that reconstructions would not be needed. And when the time came, she would spare no expense in preserving and transporting Chatter's mural to the new palace, it was too culturally significant in the history of both her small nation, and the cultural identity she was nurturing. But when the trio started to travel from artistic differences to personal attacks, Porta stepped in to quiet them down. It was getting late anyway. Time for everyone to get some rest. After all, while her subjects didn't know it, come morning the fleets around them would be at war with each other, and by next week they would be entering the fray to 'liberate' them from their anarchy.
Finally, her rounds complete, Liner Demon entered the apartments. Porta looked to her second, and was reminded of the Demon's… Episode earlier. Fortunately, she was there to pull on the leash. Usually her well-known disdain for warships was a boon, allowing her to better balance the Machiavellian ideal of being both Loved
and Feared, but that didn't mean she would tolerate her Second being openly belligerent. Regardless of reason.
"You called for me, Princess."
------
Somewhere in the Central Atlantic, near the Grand Meteor Seamount
Yorei smiled with satisfaction as she lined up her next shot. While the others took their orders literally, the Yo-Class submarine chose a more… Creative interpretation. They were meant to ultimately sow distrust and confusion among the local powers surrounding the Grand Meteor Seamount, right? Now, Yorei
could have weaseled her way into one of the fleets… But she found sniping them during their attacks on Human Convoys to be
much more satisfying.
With a
hiss of compressed air another fish was let loose. Her imp in charge of working out the targeting solutions eyed the stop watch, its ticks echoing throughout her hull.
bmpf…
"Nazg, nazg nazg."
'Impact, enemy Wo-Class carrier crippled, heavy flooding.'
Yorei smiled, and celebrated with a fist pump… And a vocal '
yes!'. She had gotten careless. But she had similarly lapsed many times before and nothing came of it.
But she had still been careless.
After Action Report: USS England, Action of December 31st, 2013, Convoy EB-993 [Excerpt].
At 2000, passive sonar reported a faint ping from a submarine off the four o'clock of the convoy and reported to flagship. Initially dismissed, due to the origins being severely isolated from the main body of the enemy attack force, the CO granted England leave to investigate after destroyer pressed the issue. At 2031, passive sonar picked up cavitation consistent with an early-war Yo-Class submarine that initiated an emergency crash dive. Three consecutive pings of active sonar confirmed the contact. England proceeded to launch a salvo of Hedgehogs at 2033, which missed due to the enemy maneuvering. This was followed up at 2039 with a second salvo, which also missed. The third salvo, launched at 2045 was deliberately aimed wide to account for the likelihood of evasive maneuvers. This resulted in a hit. England then proceeded to repeat for effect with two more salvos of hedgehogs, and three passes with depth charges.
At 2105, England reported sounds of a pressure hull breach and of bulkheads collapsing. The kill was confirmed at 2112 by U-571, who reported the sounds of crush depth implosions at the location indicated by England.
------
10:30 PM, December 31st, 2013, Great Meteor seamount
Porta eyed the Demon at the door. Her fury had cooled in the preceding hours, but the Princess needed to be sure that her Demon was cognizant that such scenes would not be tolerated. Especially going forward. Meanwhile, Ocean Liner Demon crossed her arms defiantly.
"Indeed I did Demon. Care to explain your little episode earlier? I dare say you might have made Canut soil her armor."
"What's to explain? I had been meaning to give that creature a piece of my mind, but somehow the chance always got away from me. Then she handed me a chance on a silver platter, along with the perfect excuse to kill her."
Porta eyed the taller Abyssal, years of close association alone permitting her to not grow into a fury at the Demon.
"
You might see her as a waste Demon.
I do not. I admit that, had I known about her insensitive gift, I would have stepped in. Because that is my role Demon – to dispense judgement, and to facilitate the making of amends, in a calm, rational, and responsible manner. You
should have told me the
second she gave you that offensive hammer.
Not let it simmer and stew!"
Her cool, stern expression softened, and she touched her hand to the Demon's arm, and spoke softly.
"I know why you and the others inside your soul despise warships Demon. It is a hate that is all fully justified. But please… My alliance with the humans is still new. And in the coming years we will be working alongside the shipgirl fleets. Most intimately at that. And when the war is over, my subjects – nearly all of them warships – will be finding peaceful pursuits, and will no longer give you reason to hate them so-"
"They are warships. That is reason enough."
Porta looked at her Second and friend for a long moment, an expression of sorrow in her eyes.
"If not for the good of my realm, or me, then for yourself Demon… You must relax this death grip you have on your hatred."
Liner Demon's eyes flared red, and a deep guttural groan as though made from countless voices emanated from the armor…. But she turned her head away, and did nothing more aggressive than that.
"I won't do that, Princess. Not for anyone. Not for you… Not even for my sisters."
Porta sighed. She had suspected as much. But still…
"I would know why, Demon."
"Because
it is mine," Demon all but bellowed as of through gritted teeth, turning to the unphased princess and leaning in until their faces were inches apart. "The world took
everything from me! My sisters, the company, the competition, my life-
my own identity!"
At the last, the Demon held up her wrist, wordlessly gesturing to the 12-Pounder mounted there. Then she clawed her free hand as if crushing something.
"But it
can't take away
my hate,
not without my consent.
The Lord God Almighty Himself can't take it away from me! Not even with all the Armies of Heaven and Hell! To forgive is to say to the ones that hurt you that their actions mean nothing, and to forget is to act as though the grievances – the
friends and family and rivals they murdered and wounded – don't mean
anything to you. And I will
never insult them in such a way.
"The Warships are a blight on the world, Princess. Abyssal, Steel hull, shipgirl, they are
all loathsome insects, and I will forever hold them to task for the sins their race has perpetrated upon mine, and pray for their eradication, their damnation to the lowest pits of Hell, as deserving of the parasitic pirates they all are."
Porta looked at the Demon as she heavily breathed, decades of unspoken frustration finally permitted to vent, with naked pity and empathy in her eyes, a slight glimmer that might have been a prelude to tears shown in the firelight. Liner Demon, feeling a sudden shame, turned her gaze away. The Princess, gingerly, turned her old friend's gaze back to her. She rested their foreheads together.
"Demon. Do you member the night we first met? Back in 1987."
"Yes."
"You remember the madness that I saved you from.
Still protect you from."
There was a pause, and a gulp was loud and clear from deep inside the Demon.
"…Yes."
"Do you know why I saved you, when your destructive tendencies made it my duty to kill you?"
"No…"
"Pity. I saw someone, consumed with a rage born from a pain so terrible, it no longer required anything to feed on but itself. And I pitied her. Then I saw what you were capable of without any focus, and I marveled at the thought of what you could accomplish, if only you could direct those energies, that passion, into something constructive.
"I still believe that Demon, and I
still dream of the day when you can set aside your hatred, and
live, instead of simply existing to feed the grudges over things that cannot be changed. The day when you can accept the name I gave you."
"…I don't deserve to."
"And I say different. Demon, I am not asking you to forgive. Nor that you forget. I just ask that you learn to endure, to suffer the warships of the world to live. If you could do it for Angband, you can do it for others."
"…Angband isn't a warship," the Demon said in confusion, "she's Angband. A soft but good girl."
Porta cocked an eyebrow at the Demon, but brushed it aside. It meant that the demon didn't see her daughter as a thing to be killed, which was a good thing. With a little luck Liner Demon's view of her wouldn't slide from Madonna to Whore the first time she got bloodied in the coming conflict. In the meantime, she guided the Demon to a nearby chair. The emotional monologue from the normally stoic Abyssal had drained her of energy. That done, the Princess sat back down in her own chair, taking the chance to relax and order her thoughts to other topics.
"Now then. I am curious where you had been Demon. Did Woken Avarice come in by chance?"
"…She did, and she brought some goodies back with her from Avrora. And a reply, from Princess Tanith."
"Marvelous! I'll read the reports from the officers at my leisure. Now, what was their reply?"
The demon handed the folded sheet of stationary to Porta, which the Princess readily opened and read.
"Mm… Articulate if inelegant. Well, from what our sources can tell she
is young… Long talk with others… Perhaps they are an oligarchy then? That is not unwise… Very nice, they agree to the trade. 'Designs will be utilized for a good cause,' well it's not like tugs will be overly useful outside their role, but that is fair. …Pity, I was hoping for feedback on the design drafts."
"To be fair, I don't recall you saying anything specific about that. Besides, you'll no doubt want to fiddle with the KO-Class."
"True. Now then… oh my…"
"Princess?"
"Demon? Do you have the manifest? I would like to see if this is accurate."
The demon nodded and retrieved the items in question: A sheet of paper listing the cargo, and a handful of black and white snapshots of the items in question.
The Princess stared at the manifest in hand, naked shock on her normally placid face. Then she looked at the snapshots of the goblet and carved boat again. A twin set of gold goblets, studded with jewels, a silver jewelry case, a vase of silver and ivory, and raw ivory, worth triple its weight in gold. All in return for a few paltry offerings. Porta pondered what it could mean, thankful that she was already seated…
"I… I had hoped for a favorable response Demon… But this is… Most unexpected… Please, remind me to speak with Canut after the Tournament. I would like to commission something in return for this generosity."
Liner Demon nodded and grunted in affirmation, but said nothing else. Meanwhile, Porta straitened the stack of papers on the side table and sat up straighter.
------
Territory of the PT Boat Princess
Tartarus smiled at the sight of the whale carcass sinking to the depths. The PT Princess and her Imps jumped in joy at the wanton murder of the innocent beast she had brought about, their little hands clenched in chubby fists as they babbled like the infants they appeared as. The Ta-Class was oh so happy that Her Majesty chose her to be among the chosen. Being stuck with the fleet without any murder to be done sounded
boo~ooring. But she still waited for The Order with lustful anticipation.
She
so wanted to know the kind of noises babies made when you strangled them.
Spoiler: All Abyssals Float...
------
"Is there anything else Demon?"
"There is," she replied with a nod, "Reivana has reported in concerning Isley."
"And?"
"She's settling into the temporary quarters nicely. The Royal Navy has had her fleet separated from her though, and while some remain in Portsmouth, others were sent to Belfast, some to Plymouth, a few even as far as Scapa Flow."
The Princess considered that, and nodded.
"That makes sense. Keep them divided and their numbers small, thus they prevent easy communication and organization. Just in case there's some hidden plot. And easily dealt with if there is. Anything else?"
Liner shrugged, but otherwise remained still as she continued her report.
"Her lover, Sirius Black, apparently has been imprisoned until recently. Reivana's still getting all of the details, but from the sound of it he ran afoul of some sort of political chaos in Magical Britain some eleven or so years ago, and was locked away without a trial."
At the last Porta wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Honestly. If whoever did that wanted him out of the way, it would have been better to have
something resembling legitimacy."
"Stab suggested the ones in charge wanted to be seen doing something."
As soon as the words left Liner Demon's mouth Porta jerked forward and gagged.
"D-Demon, please don't say that. I- I think I just threw up a little, in my mouth."
The Demon shrugged again and leaned back in the chair as her sovereign coughed and gagged as nearby Imps collected a glass of water for her.
"If it's any consolation, he's finally getting that trial, and is expected to be cleared of all charges. Also, Reivana said that his family is an old and influential one. Likely the closest the Magical side of Britain has to nobility."
Porta nodded at that around the glass, the taste of bile cleared from her tongue.
"That makes things more palatable. Anything else?"
"Reivana says that she was able to get an address for the Lover's family's town house. Isley offered it on his behalf for an embassy. Reivana plans to visit as soon as convenient to inspect it. Other than that, nothing of real note."
Porta and the Demon shared a glance for a moment, then the Princess nodded and turned to the clock. Time was running apace.
"It is almost Time Demon… Come, we must go to the chart room…"
------
Somewhere North of the Meteor Seamount
Ruritania looked at the scrap of newsprint in hand with equal parts apprehension and dread. Going by the date, the edition was months old. The text had long been marred by age and abuse. But the large image on it was plain as day. And with it came the dread of what was no doubt coming. There, surrounded by humans, was Her Highness, Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess, with the Ocean Liner Demon by her side.
Ruritania was one of the ten Her Highness had hand-picked to break off from the fleet for a deep cover mission. Infiltrate the surrounding fleets of her prepared fallback position surrounding the Meteor Seamount, get close to the leadership, and when the order came, decapitate the fleet in order to sow confusion and panic, allowing the Princess to sweep into the confusion and secure territory in one fell-swoop, and make clear to all and sundry that she was fighting alongside the humans.
Ruritania, once a Ru-Class battleship, was now a Battleship Water Demon. The High Waves Fleet was once under the command of the Battleship Princess Tattio. And once Ruritania, playing the 'wondering orphan' card, proved her worth to the princess, and her loyalties, Tattio welcomed her into the fleet as if she were one of her own daughters, and put her to work in the myriad of raids they pulled on the Humans over the years. And with each attack, in order to carry out her mission, Ruritania served with distinction, winning the praise and esteem of the whole fleet, rising in rank until she was the Second in Command of them all.
Day by day, and year by year, as she interacted with these Abyssals that she had been raised to see as 'barbarians,' 'savages,' and in general as lesser for not being of the Gateway's slips, Ruritania more and more found them to be… Friends.
Then, in summer, 2010, the calculus changed.
It was during a hurricane, with great waves a high wind. They were running low on supplies, desperately so. And against better judgement, Tattio ordered a daring raid against a strongly defended convoy. In the end, they got their supplies. But at a heavy cost. For one thing, the convoys started altering their course to avoid their territory, so in the long run they were hurt. But also, Tattio, the Princess that had led their band since Central Atlantic Princess died, took a 16-inch shell to the face, and they all watched as her headless corpse sank without ceremony to the depths. And with her death, command of the three heavy cruisers, seven light cruisers, and seven destroyers fell to Ruritania.
Ruritania, who had been deceiving them from day one, and was supposed to kill their leader at the orders of who was to them a foreign princess of no account, and abandon them to destruction.
And weeks after that, Ruritania the Ru-Class battleship became a Battleship Water Demon, cementing her rule of the fleet. It was then that Ruritania realized that she had gone native. Even as her friends congratulated her, and she led them in many battles against rival Abyssals and humans alike, inside Ruritania was fraught with turmoil over what to do.
Could she just go home? Take her friends with her? Surely Her Highness would welcome a couple dozen ships, right?
Then again, what if the Princess simply scrapped them? Or sent them on suicide missions? Could she live with herself if she knew that she had sent her friends to their deaths?
But what
could she do? Run? Where? The Atlantic was vast, but not infinite. Even if Her Highness didn't catch them and execute her for her treasonous mutiny, eventually the Humans would butcher them all without quarter.
"Mother? What is it?"
Ruritania was startled from her thoughts at the voice, turning to see the I-Class destroyer that had waded up to her.
"Nothing, Ia darling," she lied with a long-practiced smile, "just… Thinking about our logistics."
Ia, the result of Ruritania's only attempt at construction, tilted her head in contemplation, but did her approximation of a shrug and went back to join her aunts in dismantling the tanker they had captured. The crew had long been slain, the Cultists that had sabotaged the ship had all giddily taken part in the 'sacrifice' before being sent on their way, and the bodies tossed overboard for the fish to eat while the fleet stripped the merchant ship and her cargo for parts and resources.
And that was something altogether different – her daughter. The Princess. Would she use Ia as a tool to secure her loyalty? Or simply kill the destroyer as punishment? Each was equally likely.
And all the while, a tiny voice in the back of her mind daily suggested just
contacting the Princess, explain the situation, and ask for direction, her orders clearly stated that contact for instruction was more than permitted, it was encouraged... But that reasonable voice, every time it spoke up, was drowned out by a hundred voices, panicking over the
What ifs and
Maybes, and
What Thens.
------
11:59 PM, December 31st, 2013, Great Meteor seamount
Porta and the Demon stood at opposite sides of the round chart table, the arcane energies of the Elder Princess casting the room in a pale blue light, radiating from a highly detailed and animated map of the Central Atlantic. Surrounding their tiny speck of ocean, a patchwork of colors marked out the confirmed or suspected areas controlled by the various Petty Princesses and Free Demons that ruled over the Abyss. In the regions that bordered Porta's directly, ten red markers, beacons broadcasting on frequencies not used by either the Abyss or the Humans, pegged the ten she had chosen for this long mission. One that required unwavering loyalty, for the depth of cover required risked her agents going native, or otherwise being swayed from their service…
Sadly, that number had shrunk over time.
Chitter had gone dark years ago, likely by getting caught up in-between one of the flare-ups between the various fleets. Hel had fallen earlier in the year, living with her cover story under Goda all the way to the end. And to Porta's regret, Yorei was now gone in the hours since she had last checked.
The Elder Princess took a moment to meditate on her fallen ones. In her mind, her chronometer counted down the seconds to Midnight. There were still seven of her Chosen still active, more than enough to sow confusion, to spark the powder keg that was the collection of self-important personalities of the Petty Princesses.
Porta took a steadying breath as she took up the microphone in one hand, her other hovering a finger over the activation switch. For years, this channel was one-way, receiving intelligence reports from her Chosen about the fleets they had infiltrated. And at long last, after years of planning and preparation, the communication would go the other way…
Those last ticks of the chronometer seemed longer than the decade in hiding.
12:00 AM, January 1st, 2014
"
Regina. Imperium. Ordine. Lex. Attention all Agents of the Throne. Whatever plans of action you have devised, the time has come.
"
Execute The Order. The Restoration begins Now."
------
Spoiler: Sprung Trap
The PT Imps stared with confusion at the sight before them. One moment, they were celebrating another rousing game of Murder the Monster, with Big Sis Tara winning the most points again, the next Big Sis Tara grabbed the Princess by the neck and started squeezing her. Any thoughts that this was some new game ended with the weird noises coming from the Princess, like one of those drowning meatbags they hunted whenever they found them, and then she started twitching. And then she just… Hung there, limp.
And then Big Sis turned to them…
------
12:01 AM, January 1st, 2014 Territory of Armored Carrier Princess Wobbly, Northeast of the Grand Meteor Seamount…
Mordorim blinked, just barely able to contain her surprise. Her eyes watered, and a small smile graced her face, hidden by the dark of the night.
The time had come to put her plan in motion.
Quietly and as subtly as she could, the old Mo-Class prepped all of her fighters – meticulously maintained all these years – for one last sortie. Oil was changed, fuel tanks were topped off. And torpedoes or bombs installed on all 36 of her complement. One by one, each of the ancient Brimstone Model 9's was raised onto the flight deck, and launched. One by one, each squadron assembled as they circled overhead. Years of arranging similar airshows for the amusement of the Princess – along with the air headedness that seemed to be the unifying trait among this fleet – meant that no one, not the host of Wo-Classes and destroyers, nor the massive CAP circling the fleet, saw this as at all unusual, and the darkness meant that no one noticed the weapons attached to the silhouettes.
The planes moved in the blackness under the New Moon, guided only by compass, intimate knowledge of the fleet's layout, and the phosphorescent glow in the wakes of the vessels in the fleet. Soon, Mordorim gave the signal, shining her spotlights on the Princess. There the torpedo plane and the bomber squadrons split off. Years of planning and practicing the maneuvers guiding the pilots as much as their hands at the stick.
The five torpedo squadrons took up their formation, guided by starlight. Each squadron of four planes in turn split in half, these segments formed up with one in the lead, and his wingman behind and to the left and an exact spacing.
The remaining four bomber squadrons also took up their formation, each one directly behind the other in a single file, flying out in front of the fleet. At the pre-determined time at each pilot's own stopwatch, the planes made a one-hundred eighty turn and turned their engines straight to and beyond the red line, and nosed their planes down. If anyone in the fleet was paying attention, and if they thought something wasn't right, it was far too late for anyone to do anything but watch.
The small two-plane flights of torpedo bombers lined up, each one a larger version of each flight's formation: One after the next, an exact distance behind and two the left, closing in on the Armored Carrier Princess' Port side. The leaders, however, branched off, launching their torpedoes out of alignment, and a few seconds later than they should have. Ensuring that the two torpedoes were guaranteed to hit in the stern. Right where the rudder and propellers were.
And then, the main body launched their own weapons. First one, then the next. Until in all eighteen torpedoes – admittedly of an older vintage than was standard for the Abyss – was in the water.
The Princess screamed in pain when her ankles exploded in agony at a double strike. For possibly the first time in her life, the naked Abyssal was aware of her surroundings, and the nigh-on a score of torpedo tracts already on the way. Even if her rudders were not already sheared off or jammed, or her rudders still functioning, it was far too late for any fancy maneuvers to save her.
On their own, the Devil Fish Mk III aviation torpedo just did not have the amount of firepower to breach the armored anti-torpedo belt of an Armored Carrier Princess. The warhead could only breech the torpedo bulge. This was the reason for the double-team arrangement – The flight leader's torpedo would breach the torpedo bulge, and by the time the wingman's weapon reached the target, the void space was in theory already flooded, and the target had already drifted forward just enough that the weapon could pass through the hole made by the leader and strike the inner hull, doing catastrophic damage against a structure that was not meant to take direct blows like that. Even with that inner hull being armor belt, the damage would still be enough to dislodge or crack the protection, resulting in catastrophic flooding.
And there were nine such coordinated strikes inbound, each one compounding on the damaged already in place.
It was a tactic that could never work in any sane or rational engagement. But against an unsuspecting target, it was perfect. The multitude of compartments were all open, the ship wasn't under General Quarters, everyone was under a normal patrol cruise readiness that bordered on peacetime levels of laxness. The barrage of torpedoes lasted only a minute or so, but by the time it was over, half of Princess Wobbly's boilers were doused by the frigid Atlantic Ocean flooding her machinery spaces, and a strike at her Port electric generators resulted in a major electrical failure, putting the whole carrier into darkness. On its own, this was a disaster that would take a minor miracle to survive.
But it was only one half of the attack.
Just as Wobbly realized the torpedoes were on the way, the sixteen dive bombers, each loaded down with a single two-hundred and fifty-pound bomb, were upon her, all of them flying at one-hundred thirty-eight knots.
Squadron C had actually drifted to the left and up. So they missed the flight deck. Instead they hit a smaller, but more valuable target – the island. Four planes, with a total mass of six-and-a-quarter tons, and loaded down with a half-ton of high-yield explosives on top of that, hit the structure at the craft's full speed, plus the Princess' own forward momentum of her cruising speed of seventeen knots. Under such a barrage, the Admiral's Bridge, the Navigation Bridge, the air traffic control station, and the accommodation block were all obliterated, and the exhaust uptakes were clogged with debris for good measure, eventually snuffing out the remaining boilers.
Squadrons A, B, and D were closer to their target – the one weak point in an Armored Carrier Princess' design: The elevators. Squadron D hit the flight far forward from the attack's target, Elevator 2 amidships. Sadly, the pilots' sacrifices were in vain, having hit the thick armor of the deck, rather than the normal grade steel of the elevator. Fortunately, the light from their fighters' explosions gave ample illumination, giving A and B squadrons all the time needed to make corrections.
They were already on the path to follow D Squadron, and correcting at that point would mean hitting the elevator at too shallow an angle to reliably pierce through it, instead the force would be deflected away. And with surprise ruined, they could not expect to be able to make another pass to try again without being obliterated by the fleet's anti-air fire. Thus, the flight leader of B Squadron, and thus each plot behind him, nosed down even further, aiming for the forward Elevator 1. It was close, but each plane managed to hit the target.
B Leader and his wingman only managed to dent and dislocate the elevator. But the rest of the squadron made it through. And Squadron A had no issues penetrating the soft, tender internals of the Armored Carrier.
The impacts and the fifteen-hundred pounds of explosives did plenty of damage on their own. But between destroying one of the primary water mains, and cracking an Avgas pipe, the damage was rapidly compounded.
The entire attack taking place over the course of forty seconds.
And so, simultaneously flooding from below, burning from above, disabled, and her entire command staff dead or dying, the Armored Carrier Princess Wobbly was – put simply – doomed.
"
FOR THE ATLANTIC EMPRESS!"
And for that extra bit of salt in the wound, Mordorim, fully aware that she was dead anyway once the nature of what had just happened dawned on the fleet, turned into the now slowing and heavily listing princess at her full speed of a blistering eighteen knots, striking her dead on amidships. Already damaged bulkheads belowdecks were further warped, so that even if the crew were to try and close the hatches that had been left wide open, the distorted holes could not be sealed, and flooding was simply a stream rather than a torrent. The violence furthermore ruptured the avgas tanks down in the hold, and the fumes were soon permeating the ship through breaches in bulkheads and through the ship's ventilation ducts.
And if that wasn't enough, the torpedo bombers, having finally completed their circle back, made their own, uncoordinated, suicide dives into the carrier, though by then the Imps manning Wobbly's anti-air defenses has come to their senses and put up something resembling a defense, even downing a handful of the attackers.
And as the fleet looked on in stunned silence, the aviation fuel fumes began to gather in the hanger…
And then the Princess exploded, a great mushroom cloud rising over the double grave, the fire of the combined oil slick expanding from the sinking hulks, illuminating the carnage for the fleet.
------
Sorain, a So-Class submarine, cocked her head to the side as a long quiet channel crackled to life. And after a pause she smiled as her fleet celebrated the new year. They were so looking forward to pillaging the Canaries. On her gun deck, Sorain's officers and crew gathered as she took up position in the middle of the fleet presently underway. Soon enough, the Chief Engineer came on deck, lugging a box. Said box having a plunger in the top and a pair of thick wires coiling out of it and leading inside. As he placed the box on the deck, the periscope rose to its maximum height, revealing what looked to be a makeshift radio antenna strapped to it.
"Er, Sorain?" another submarine asked, "What's that?"
Sorain's smile turned to a smirk, and she raised up one hand, the middle finger pressed to the thumb.
"Heh, nothing much… Just the remote detonator to all of the bombs my boys have been sneaking into everyone's hulls over the past eight years."
The other Abyssal's face turned to confusion, but before she could inquire further Sorain
snapped her fingers, and her Skipper gleefully pulled up on the plunger and
slammed it down. And one by one, bombs that Sorain's crew had been hiding inside void spaces, against or even inside condensers, in discrete corners of powder magazines, and other overlooked but vulnerable areas of every submarine, cruiser, carrier and battleship, even in the Anchorage Water Demon and the Supply Depot Princess that ruled them, detonated. Those that were not obliterated outright soon found themselves taking on water faster than their pumps could remove it.
After the explosions subsided and the screaming, groaning, and cursing began, Sorain and her crew took a minute to admire their work before turning about and made a bee line for the Grand Meteor Seamount. The explosions were no doubt loud enough to catch the surrounding fleets' attentions, and a whole fleet disappearing in one night was bound to raise suspicion. And given how so many of the surrounding Princesses loathed each other, and a mutual understanding that not killing each other in the face of Shipgirl hostilities was all that kept them from turning on each other, the thought of someone betraying that trust was more than enough to stir shit.
As she distanced herself from the sinking wrecks, one could almost hear someone whistling
Seven Nation Army…
------
The Cruiser Water Demon and her fleet observed the convoy moving west. For years she had lusted for the contents held in those fat, slow freighters. The resources they carried, and what it would mean if her and her fleet could get them. Then they could start doing some
real damage to the Meatbags. But she never dared to make anything bolder than pot shots and swarming on which ever one was unlucky enough to be disabled and left behind – The Meatbags and those ShipSluts were just too dangerous… Until now.
"So Neeros," the Water Demon asked, "you say that you and your band can help us take out these guys?"
The Ne-Class scoffed, and her group of cruiser and destroyer mercenaries laughed.
"Sure. We've pulled this shit plenty of times. Just make sure that
we get our cut of the spoils, and these meatbags are as good as fish food."
The Water Demon smiled cruelly.
"Just what I wanted to hear. Hear that ladies? Oil is back on the menu! We're about to make our first step to being more than just some bit-players in the Abyss! We're going to start throwing our weight around!"
Her fleet and their mercenary allies cheered, but when Neeros cocked her head to the side, as if listening to something, a small weight in her gut told the Water Demon that things just got complicated, a notion confirmed by the next words out of the other cruiser's mouth.
"Change of plans dill-weed. A way bigger contract I have been waiting to go through has just gone live. You're on your own."
The Cruiser Water Demon and her fleet gawked at Neeros, speechless. As the merc leader started to turn away she found her voice.
"We had a deal!"
"Yeah, well, you don't really matter. Maybe when the
real Princess evolves herself into the Atlantic Empress and kicks the Meatbags out of the Oceans you can be a footstool or something."
The Water Demon's eye twitched in rage and her vision turned red. The last thing she ever saw was rushing the cruiser, and then the inside of her gun barrel.
Neeros smiled smugly, arrogantly, as the Water Demon's headless corpse sank into the sea. Then she looked up to find the fleet of her former employer staring back with varying degrees of disbelief and rage. She turned her back to the ones she had just betrayed. She was the stronger party – both in numbers and in combat experience – and they all knew it. The Mercenaries dove into the waves, leaving the now leaderless fleet looking at each other in stunned silence. Confusion over who would lead them now, and how they would decide that, beset them…
And who this 'Atlantic Empress' Neeros was talking about was…
------
…
the Hell did that come from…
…she was the princess' favorite, why did she…
…I'm telling you that the eastern force is just gone
damn you…
...Atlantic Empress? What in the world…
…telling you, it was that bitch Rithala! It has to be! Who else would be cowardly enough to…
…ere is no peace to be had! We are betrayed sisters! If we cannot know by who, then we must kill them all! It's the only way to be sure we get the cunts responsible…
…only a matter of time I suppose, wasn't it…
…your shocking but inevitable stab in the back…
…them all! Let the Abyss sort them out…
------
HMNB Portsmouth
Lieutenant Taggart was not what one would consider a 'fun' individual. At University he did not go carousing, nor did he partake in drinking like so many his age. He was a consummate professional, and was exacting in his duties. So, it would be little surprise that he would be found on the fast track up the ranks for all things concerning collecting and analyzing information of hostiles. Such was how he had found himself in charge of but one of the modern descendants of the legendary Room 40 – twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, the "Listening Chambers," scattered across the UK for redundancy, listened to the constant buzz of communications on the channels consumed by the Abyssals ever since Blood Week.
The messages were encoded of course. But the recordings were always fed through supercomputers far more advanced than Victory used at Bletchley Park in WWII for decryption. Sadly, the phenomenon the spooks at MI5 called "BAEB" meant that modern computers had as much effect on Abyssal codes as modern radar-guided rockets did on the Abyssals themselves. But with the signing of the Abyssinian accords, Princess Atlantia also handed over all of the codebooks for her dead sisters.
Frustratingly, it didn't prove to be the windfall everyone had hoped. Oh, they proved to be a major help in breaking the Abyssal Code. Unfortunately, those codes seemed to all be either out of date, or nearly so. The reason was obvious: with time, even the – as the Princess termed them – Bloodlusting Sociopaths would recognize the need to alter the codes as time went on. Her Highness had done all that she could to keep up with the changes, but with the deaths or disappearances of her sisters she had lost her direct avenue for updates.
Still, even with the codes changed, Princess Atlantia's contributions were valuable, and regardless patterns were there to be found for those who knew how to look for them. And one of the simplest patterns that produced vital intelligence was when the transmission traffic increased. As it did in the months and weeks leading up to Midway, so too did an increase in traffic signal possible warnings of an imminent Abyssal Campaign.
"Sir, you ought to hear this!"
Taggart rushed over to the enlisted woman at one of the terminals. She handed him her headphones as she wrote down the data displayed on her equipment.
"Yes… That's a bloody massive mess of chatter. Where is this? When did it start?"
"Just after 1AM Greenwich Mean Time, but it has been getting louder and louder for a good three hours now. As for where…"
She jotted down a series of coordinates, the triangulations based on readings from the old SOSUS system, and started marking them on a map of the Atlantic.
"It seems to be within a thirty-five nautical mile radius from GONDOLIN sir, about six-hundred miles south of the Azores, and it seems to be spreading out."
Taggart looked at the data being fed to him as the computers started to make a print out, when it all started to click.
"
Bugger me," he whispered, "it's started!"
"Sir?"
"You keep an ear on that! Record
everything! I need to call this in!"
------
4:00 AM Territory of the U-Boat Princess, on the South-West of the Meteor Seamount…
The U-Boat princess took some measure of pride in her composure. After all, when her radio became flooded with panicked, angry cries of pain and war – without any signs of the Meatbags being involved – dread at her greatest fears coming to pass was understandable. Her fleet – one of the largest wolfpacks in the Atlantic at twenty-three – needed to think their ruler was above such small things as worry, lest they find her unworthy and she find their many,
many, torpedoes turned on herself, thus she remained in her own quarters in the pen. Finally, after hours most assuredly
not cowering under her blankets, imagining the sounds of assassin's knives being honed in the dark, she was contacted by her most highly trusted advisor and vizier, requesting her presence in the Krieg Hall.
"Kallah, I came as soon as I received your transmission."
The former Ka-Class, now Submarine Demon, turned from the radio, relief and concern waring with each other as she hurried to the door. The Princess stepped aside, allowing the demon to check the hallway without and silently closing the door behind her.
"My Princess, did you speak to anyone else in the fleet?" she asked, pulling the deadbolt into the locked position, "Did anyone see you?"
The U-Boat Princess felt a spike of panic pierce her heart. She knew for a fact that she hadn't meet a soul on her way to the Hall.
But was she sure? After all, Kallah had so often pointed out things that she has
missed so could she truly say that she might have
foggotten.
"You Highness," Kallah interjected, catching the Princess' attention with a hand on her elbow, "please, this place is not safe, our sisters are betrayed, by which parties I know not. All that I know is that there is treason in our ranks!"
"Wh-what do I do Kallah? How could this have happened!"
The Submarine Demon looked levelly at the Princess, and tenderly put a hand on her shoulder.
"Princess… Do you trust me?"
"Yes!" she answered with something resembling conviction, "without any question, you know that."
Kallah looked her Princess in the eye, a small smile crossed her face as she held the U-Boat Princess' hands in her own.
"You do not know how happy that makes me Princess, I doubt you ever will for the rest of your days. Now come to the map, I think I know how best to respond to this crisis…"
U-Boat Princess nodded and walked to the table. How many raids had she plotted from this old map, inherited from Mother? Oh, how simple the war had been in those early days. Mother was always so absolutely confident from her Throne of the Central Atlantic. She thought she ruled her little wolfpack well enough in the months since her passing… Until Kallah came, and showed just how ignorant she had been. The old Ka-Class had shown just what a fool she had been, and had exposed her to just how treacherous the world truly was. It was no question, the U-Boat Princess could not have survived as long as she had if it weren't for her most highly trusted minion-
Without warning, a strong hand clamped over U-Boat Princess' mouth and pulled her back. Then, a sharp, piercing pain lanced through her back. Then another. And another. The cold steel of a knife stabbed into her, leaving behind the burning pain of a wound, compounded by a burst of panic – Assassin! But how?! There was no one in the room, she was sure of it! No one around save for her and… And Kallah.
The Princess' knees collapsed. Weather from the mounting injuries as the assassin's knife continued to stab her in the back, the lungs, and the kidneys over and over and again, or from the shock of the very idea that Kallah was her murderer, the U-Boat Princess did not know. It likely didn't matter. On her knees, the assassin continued to stab her to the point of excessive – a more objective individual would consider it prudence, given how the victim was an Abyssal Princess, Petty or not – until finally the murderer shoved the blade in with all the force she could muster, burying it to the hilt. Then twisted it a full ninety degrees before holding it there for a few seconds for good measure. The pressure pulled the Princess' head back far enough to see her attacker… And the mean-spirited look on Kallah's face.
Finally, the knife was pulled out and Kallah allowed the mortally wounded princess, an expression of horror and confusion plastered on her face, to lay down on the floor. Kallah stroked U-Boat Princess' cheek with a false tenderness.
"Don't worry, this was not out of personal malice, you were never important enough for such a thing. You are simply a stepping stone for the One True Princess to regain control of the Abyss. You were but a pawn for a much larger game."
U-Boat Princess only gurgled a wordless response, blood and oil flowing from her mouth and nose. And with one last, watery sigh, she died. Kallah checked for a pulse. Finding none, she quickly wiped the blood off of her knife with the Princess' clothes. The Demon considered something for a moment, then stuck the U-Boat Princesses fingers into the pool of blood before using them to scrawl an
R and
E onto the floor – nothing like an enigmatic non-clue to add a hint of mystique to a murder mystery – humming apathetically as she went about the business. That done she stowed the blade in her hold and moved to unlock and open the great door leading into the Krieg Hall. Then the smile faded away and was replaced with a look of mourning and horror.
"
BY THE ABYSS!" the Submarine Demon screamed into the darkness, "
PRINCESS! MY PRINCESS!"
Kallah ran to the cooling corpse, and cradled it in her arms as she choked a sob. Taking a brave swallow, the Submarine Demon bellowed out into the halls of the pen, as though praying that someone, anyone, would hear her.
"
HUE AND CRY! THERE IS A MURDER! TREASON!!"
At first there was nothing, but in moments there was the faint rumble of feet as the nearly two dozen submarines of the U-Boat Princess rushed to the Krieg Hall, all of them donning expressions ranging from despair to horror to rage at the sight before them: U-Boat Princess, cradled in Kallah's arms, her blood pooled around them as the Submarine Demon sobbed.
There was the expected results. Screams of horror, more sobs, and Kallah 'stumbled' about in the background, visibly processing her emotions, running her bloodied hands – bloodied when she cradled the princess, naturally – through her hair. Then, someone noticed the scrawled writing, which stirred up additional confusion – just as planned.
"What is this?"
"What is what?"
"Lady Kallah! The Princess, she tried to write something! Maybe it was the attacker!"
Kallah stumbled over to the evidence pointed out. And shook her head in despair.
"And it is to little to go on."
"It's an R and E, a RE-Class was Her Highness' killer!"
"And there are thousands of Re-Class ships in the world dunderhead. Our Princess will go… Unavenged."
At that, the wolfpack were crestfallen. Kallah was right. She usually was. A Yo-Class slumped against a nearby radio console, and the hall was flooded with the sounds of battle.
The poor beleaguered submarine rushed to turn off the radio even as her sisters berated her.
"No, wait… Yolo, turn that back on please…"
The submarine looked to the Submarine Demon in confusion, but Yolo complied. Once again, the sounds of war filled the chamber, sounds of Abyssal killing Abyssal, hearts broken in betrayal, in short, utter pandemonium. The Wolfpack listened on with confusion, even as Kallah's eyes brighten with comprehension.
"This… This is not an isolated incident. All around us, our neighbors have been betrayed, and are turning on each other! Who knows how long it will be before we are swept up in this as well!"
"Then, what do we do Kallah? We cannot fight an entire ocean!"
Kallah seemed caught off guard by the question, and the Wolfpack was kept in tense silent as the Submarine Demon considered their options…
"I think… That I might have an idea. It is a long shot, but I know of a Princess that might be able to shelter us, if she yet lives. Who knows? Maybe our little fleet can be of use to her…"
------
The Elder Princess and her Demon watched as the peace of the region went to Hell. As the pre-dawn glow faded in on the surface, the neighbors quickly turned on each other. Within hours, the sounds of distant battle would begin.
One by one, the surviving members of The Ten reported back. Targets were terminated, chaos was sown, and – miraculously – almost all of them were reporting that they were RTB. Of them, only two failed to report in.
One was Mordorim. All that Porta got in response was an acknowledgement, and a few minutes later her beacon went dead. Which could only mean that she had been sunk.
And the other was Ruritania. Curiously, the battleship had not given any acknowledgement of the signal. And minutes later the beacon signaled that she was moving south and west at a very high speed… And away from the seamount. On that course and speed, the beacon would soon be out of broadcasting range.
"Now where can you be going I wonder…"
The Demon rubbed at the chin of her helm as she too considered the moving little light.
"Treason, perhaps? It
has been nearly a decade. It's likely that she's gone native."
Porta looked to her Second and back at the map again before sighing, her expression a mix of disappointment and sadness.
"Unfortunately demon… That is all too likely I fear…"
"So. What do you want to do with her?"
The Princess rubbed her chin in thought, her eyes glazing over for a few minutes as she ran over her options. Finally, she sighed again and crossed her arms under her bust as she leaned back in her seat.
"It will depend on just how far she has fallen down that particular rabbit hole. If she's as much of a savage as the rest of the descendants of my sisters, then she – and her fleet - has to die. And brutally."
Liner Demon straightened at that, which got herself her Princess pointing a stern finger at her.
"Not by
you. I'm
disappointed with her, not
angry. Besides, that's only if she is being a barbaric pirate. There are other considerations to explain her actions. She could have made friends and is splitting off from their ruler, in which case she is still fulfilling her mission."
"You mean she might have outsiders with her, Abyssals that are not your own."
"…Yes. Which can be troublesome… Or an asset in disguise. There are too many variables that I would be foolish to presume…"
"So. What
will you do about her?"
"…We will wait. And we shall see. If she has truly gone native, then she will fall into the same self-destructive rut as all of the barbarians and find herself destroyed at the hands of either the Humans, or myself. But if she has some other purpose in her defiance, then I will hear them, and judge them on their own merit."
"That is… Disappointingly lenient Princess."
Porta cocked an eyebrow at Liner Demon's choice of words, but said nothing. Instead she leaned forward, her bust resting on the table as much as her elbows while her fingers intertwined at her nose.
"I am at heart a pragmatist Demon. The coming months and years will have challenges enough to vanquish. There is no point in adding another foe to fight if it is possible that I will not need to. I am also being denied a competent officer's abilities. I would know why.
"Besides, 'It is best to be both Loved
and Feared,' and the best way to cultivate that in one's subjects is to be lenient where permissible, and wrothful where required. And that is assuming of course that the rogue won't get swept up in the war and sunk by the humans, thus solving an awkward problem for me."
The pair stood at the chart in silence after that, watching as the icons of the surrounding fleets began to move erratically, listening as all Abyssal frequencies were flooded with chaotic chatter as panicking Petty Princesses, Demons, or newly promoted leaders began to make demands over what the Hell just happened, and why so-and-so attacked such-and-such, and angry words were flung about and responded to in kind. Tempers were flaring, and as the hours ticked by, those fleets began to move, attacking perceived threats, or taking advantage of the fig leaf to attack old rivals.
It was a ring of pandemonium. A hurricane of self-destructive blood orgies, with the Great Meteor Seamount, a small, insignificant patch of ocean, with a tiny fleet of antiquated ships holding it, led by a 'coward' that ran at the first sign of the Meatbag Surface dwellers attacking in force, utterly placid and untouched by the chaos of war in its eye.
Not even worth considering a threat.
Something to be ignored while the 'True Major Powers' danced their minuets…
Vulnerable to a surprise outside of their frame of context.
Just as Porta had planned, years prior…
"Demon. Inform the Chiefs of all Departments. They are to
quietly elevate to DEFCON Alpha.
"The Chief of Construction is to put all construction on hold and disengage the Shipyard from its barbet in the Dungeon. Furthermore, he is to start pulling all of the ships out of mothballs.
Slowly, until I give the order for them all to be activated. Finally, he is to begin preparations to build up my Air Divisions, starting with that braindead Wo-Class Canut brought us last year.
"Next – The Chief of Resources is to redirect Oil production on Antillia to the other facilities and prepare the Refinery for transport.
"And lastly – tell Chief Engineer Lahdross that I want my Throne reassembled. He will have eight days.
"For too long, the peasants of the Atlantic Abyss have played at rulership, like children mimicking their parents in their clothes. Their failures to accomplish anything in Statecraft or in War is proof enough of their inability to command, cast adrift from the rule of the Elder Princesses. It is time to reforge those chains, by bended knee or by sword – it matters not how."
------
Denmark Strait, January 1sit, 2014, 7:05 AM local time
The dark Pre-dawn was illuminated by a fire that burned on the water, an oil slick from Abyssal freighters sinking into the depths feeding it. About them, a dozen or so cruisers lay disabled or sinking. Watching over the carnage she had wrought, a tall Abyssal stood proud, smiling at the carnage. Beside her, a Tsu-Class cruiser, dressed in a cloak to stave off the chill and a stack of parchment in her arms, looked on in amazement.
"That was amazing War Demon! I knew you were strong, but I never thought you could take on a whole convoy like that!"
Battlecruiser War Demon scoffed at the naked admiration the smaller Abyssal showed.
"Oh course I could Tsuru! I am a battlecruiser, and a War Demon at that! Hunting down ones like these is my task! If I am denied the tribute I am entitled to, then I am behooved to take it!"
The smaller Abyssal hurriedly began writing on a blank space, eager to add yet another episode in the life story of this unrivaled Warrior. Battlecruiser War Demon moved to forage for supplies among the sinking hulks, when she paused, and turned to the south with contemplation.
"War Demon? What is it?"
The Battlecruiser War Demon didn't answer for some time, but then smiled a blood-hungry, toothy smile.
"I sense something Tsuru. Another War Demon, free at last to fight on the world stage! AT LAST!
Finally a worthy, noble opponent to test my self upon!"
"That's wonderful!"
"Indeed it is Tsuru. Even know I can only imagine our destined battle! It shall be nothing less than Legendary, retold for all eternity in the Skalds! We shall meet on some battlefield, and I will say, 'BEHOLD Honored Worthy! I am the Battlecruiser War Demon, and I challenge you to single combat!'
"I can hardly wait..."
------
Fun acronyms for Battlecruiser War Demon:
Source.
BAWD, BLEED, BRAD, BRUISE, WAD, WADE
Though I prefer just BWD.
Also, Harry? I've had to do a few 12 Hour Shifts myself, night shifts at that. You have my undying empathy.
