Far above, the Night Garden swayed as gigantic waves crashed into its hull. The wraith armada was scattered, but remained unscathed, continuing its swift advance as the towering wall of mist devoured the world behind it.
The forward ships of the ghostly fleet were gone, though, their spectral crews eviscerated by the ruthless blade of the Reaper. Jet had sustained so wounds, but the chilling slaughter she had perpetrated effortlessly overshadowed their severity. And, unlike how any other Awakened would, she was not growing tired. If anything, the more enemies she slayed, the more alive she looked, as if the dark splendor of the unending slaughter filled her with vitality. There were two problems, though.
The first one was that the deeper into the wraith armada she went, the more powerful her enemies beca. The last captain she had killed was definitely strong enough to have been a Great Nightmare abomination, and the ship itself refused to be destroyed in just a few strikes. In the end, she had nearly taken it apart with her scythe before the spectral vessel finally succumbed.
The closer a spectral vessel was to the Dutchman in the formation of the ghostly fleet, the more sinister it seed to be. On top of that, deeper into the armada, the ships had not been damaged by the initial bombardnt of the Night Garden's mighty cannons, so their crews were entirely unscathed when she attacked them.
The bigger problem, however, was that Jet was just one woman. No matter how powerful she was, there were too many ships in the wraith armada for her to take on alone — already, countless vessels were overtaking the area where she rampaged, sailing toward the Night Garden outside her reach.
And the Dutchman itself was drawing closer and closer.
Severing the mast of a ghostly ship and shattering its deck with a devastating strike of the flat side of the scythe, Jet paused for a mont and looked back.
‘..How much longer?’
She seed to have bought her soldiers enough ti. With Jet destroying the forward ships and the tall waves slowing down the advance of the eerie fleet, they managed to reload the cannons in ti. Looking up, she saw the dark chasms of twenty-four enormous barrels staring at her from the living ship's deck.
It was only then that Jet realized how unpleasant it was to be on the receiving end of these dark, terrifying siege weapons. ‘Damnation.’
In the next mont, the cannons thundered, sending twenty-four radiant orbs of essence-infused tal flying at the ghostly fleet with terrible speed.
It was really like a swarm of teors was plumting from the sky.
..The impact was not that different from a celestial calamity, either.
The spectral ships that had overtaken Jet's area of control were erased from existence, exploding into pale flashes of eerie light. The Night Garden had received a bit more breathing room.
But it was still not enough.
Jet knew that there would be no third salvo. The ghost ships would reach her Citadel, and the ancient wraiths would board it soon — with her most powerful warriors lured away by Old Tom, the defenders of the Night Garden would inevitably sustain casualties while trying to repel the attack. And then, the mist would swallow the world, heralding the arrival of the Dutchman. What would happen next, Jet did not know. Pursing her lips, she delivered the finishing attack to the mangled ghost ship and leaped to the next one. Landing on its deck, she slaughtered her way to its stern and climbed the steps there, gazing at the vast wraith armada over the vanishing phantom of the slain captain.
By then, there were already wisps of mist floating over the restless water around her. She could see the Dutchman far better than ever before, too.
Its tall sides, the countless scars marring the battered expanse of its hull, the gaping wounds where it had been breached by untold attacks... its tattered sails, its skeletal masts, the eerie desolation of its vast deck... And the ethereal figure standing at its bridge, shrouded in a torn cloak.
Jet looked at the captain of the Dutchman, and felt him looking back.
From that distance, she couldn't discern much about him. The man — if it was, indeed, a man — was tall, with broad shoulders and an imposing posture. His figure was elusive and ghostly, as if he were there and not at the sa ti. She couldn't see his face, but...
She thought she glimpsed his eerie eyes. Two piercing, sea-colored flas were burning in the pale shadow of his ghastly face, regarding her with a chilling calmness. Sensing a subtle change in the motion of the sea, Jet smiled slightly as she t his gaze. ‘Finally.’
Just then, the world underwent a strange transformation.
The sun plumted into the waves, leaving a trail of light behind it. Darkness enveloped the world, and radiant silver streaks crossed out the sky. Then, the sun shot from behind the eastern horizon, chasing away the darkness — only to drown in the west a few monts later.
The breathtaking spectacle repeated itself several tis, as if soone had hit the fast-forward button and sent ti flowing at an astonishing pace. But it all ended swiftly, and the Stormsea was suddenly enveloped by the darkness of the night. Countless stars ignited in the vast black sky. Which ant...
Jet's smile widened a little.
In the next mont, the radiance of the distant stars grew brighter, and the starlight was woven into a vast silver net. It fell upon the wraith armada, slicing dozens of ships apart and destroying them in re monts. A cold wind blew across the sea, sending Jet's hair flying.
That was Aether unleashing his Aspect. Now that the night had fallen, he could finally call upon the stars to destroy their enemies — and the starlight he summoned seed like the nesis of the ghostly fleet.
The first ti the Night Garden had clashed with the wraiths commanded by the Dutchman, it was the young Saint of Night who had turned the tide.
Jet remained still, looking at the captain of the Dutchman with a cold smile.
He looked at her too as the starlight poured on the spectral vessels of the ghostly armada, piercing them like a rain of silver spears.
‘Well, what will it be?’
Would he press the attack or call a retreat? Was she imagining things... or did she see an echo of a faint, terrifying smile on the face of the mysterious wraith, as well?
A few monts later, the captain of the Dutchman looked away.
The mist swelled, and the fearso silhouette of the ghastly flagship was swallowed by it, vanishing without a trace. The vessels of the wraith armada disappeared, as well, gone like the vestiges of an eerie nightmare.
The wall of mist was torn apart by the wind. Soon enough, the surface of the sea cald down, and nothing hinted that there had been a fleet of phantoms on its surface just a few monts ago.
The battle in the depths seed to have concluded as well, since no tentacles rose from the depths to attack the Night Garden anymore.
Jet lingered for a few monts, then let out a relieved sigh.
It seed that they had survived another day...
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