The Black Angel charged towards the last ironclad ship without looking back, as if a mythical dragon had descended behind it, its roaring breath rolling over the sea, dragging everyone into a scorching Hell, unquenchable even by the pouring rain.
Before long, Ascalon fired again, scorching lines streaked through the burning Hell, delivering the final blow to the ironclad ship.
The remaining pirates witnessed it all, standing dumbfounded and at a loss for what to do.
The Vikings rarely encountered such situations. As followers of Odin, they could issue a deep battle cry even when facing giant bears several ters tall, but right now, they couldn’t do anything or think of anything. Absolute fear rendered them unable to react, leaving them to stare blankly at this scene.
Hooks embedded into the deck, and the Black Angel descended.
"Scared stiff?"
The Black Angel extended a hand; the cold iron feathers gently brushed against a pirate beside it, its sharp edge leaving blood on his neck. He did nothing, said nothing.
When battle ceases to be evenly matched, becos hopeless, with not even a sliver of chance for victory, even battle-hardened Vikings feel a semblance of fatigue.
They yearned for a battle that could ignite desire, but Lorenzo offered only black death.
The pirate, expressionless, could sll the charred air and the stench of blood. He could even feel the warmth emanating from the Armor of Original Sin, with blood flowing through steel, heart beating slowly.
The Black Angel withdrew its hand, iron feathers gently shaking, and the head snapped off, falling from the neck.
The battle had ended by now, Lorenzo had successfully implanted fear into these Vikings’ minds; even the longing for the sacred Heroic Spirit Hall couldn’t stir a fighting spirit against the Black Angel.
The pirates were shrouded in despair.
The sound of cannons gradually faded away, and the sea returned to calm, leaving only the howling of wind and thunder.
The Weapon Master lowered the lance in his hand; firepower suppression was no longer necessary as the pirates’ fighting spirit had collapsed, and what remained was to clean up the battlefield.
Bola crawled out from the Weapon Master’s neck, with multiple nerves and circuits attached to him, sitting on the armor’s shoulder, looking into the distance.
"Dawn is breaking..."
A band of gray-blue light rose at the horizon where sky and sea t, displaying a sapphire-like magnificence, with intense white light at its depth.
The faint light pierced through the wind and rain, illuminating the ravaged sea, and the battlefield welcod a brief calm.
Fire burned on the steel wreckage, floating on the sea surface, needing ti before they would fully sink.
The Black Angel stood on the last ironclad ship, watching the stunned, war-spirit-less pirates. Lorenzo awaited Ascalon to reload, finding it unnecessary for him to laboriously destroy the ship himself anymore, simply awaiting Ascalon’s shot to conclude this sudden skirmish.
Though Lorenzo thought this, he still took combat actions. The Black Angel sprinted across the deck, wielding thousands of swords, repeatedly slicing through everything in sight.
Earlier, the close-range shelling nearly gravely injured Lorenzo, not to ntion the latter surround and attack, reminding him that even against a spiritless foe, he must ensure annihilation.
Yet in this one-sided slaughter, the rising sound of waves abruptly shattered the calm once more.
Lorenzo heard that battle cry again, though it had weakened significantly, akin to a whisper.
The Black Angel turned around; the massive Black Teeth approached head-on, its sharp prow ramming through the ironclad ship beneath, creating splashes several ters high.
Fragnts flew, and the pitch-black gun muzzle pointed directly at the Black Angel.
Fire.
The Black Angel reacted instantly upon realizing the cannon’s presence, swiftly deploying the sharp iron feathers, striking the shell before it could exit the barrel. Failing to pierce the cannon, yet it successfully halted the shell’s launch, several steel bars crossed and wedged together; the roaring turned to an explosion, the cannon exploding on the spot, and steel debris raked the battlefield.
Amidst swirling smoke, the Black Angel strode forth, wings gently vibrating, dispelling all dust.
"What on earth are you?"
A weakened voice arose as Zeo wobbly stood up.
Perhaps Odin truly blessed him; the waves brought him here and then cald, allowing Zeo’s weary body to walk stably across the swaying deck.
Zeo gazed at the Black Angel, resembling a descended deity.
Behind it was a burning sea of fire, filled with steel debris and struggling souls, further on the horizon, a clear blue rose, and erupting pure white illuminated the darkness.
Daylight approached.
Lorenzo, through the face armor, scrutinized the man before him; Zeo, half his body burnt, struggled to move, the ax in his only functional hand as he resolutely approached Lorenzo.
"Let die heroically, Demon!"
Zeo shouted to Lorenzo, using nearly all his strength, coughing up blood.
No response ca. A mont later, thick steam surged out, and Lorenzo climbed out from the back of the Black Angel’s neck, standing atop the Armor of Original Sin.
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