The night air was thick with the scent of salt and iron, the warship looming like a metal beast over the dark waters. Lanterns flickered along its deck, casting long shadows against the waves. The Imperial insignia was emblazoned across its hull, a bold declaration of their rule over the region. It was an untouchable symbol of their power—until tonight.
From her seat at the wooden table inside Night Raid's hideout, Najenda exhaled a stream of smoke, her only sign of contemplation before she spoke. "Bulat, Tatsumi—you two are going in. Your objective is to infiltrate the warship, disable their supplies, and eliminate key officers. No unnecessary risks. Get in, do the job, and get out."
Tatsumi nodded, gripping the hilt of his blade, his mind already racing through possible scenarios. He had seen enough bloodshed to know the gravity of their missions. A single misstep could cost them everything. Beside him, Bulat adjusted his gauntlets, his armor gleaming faintly under the candlelight. He gave a confident smirk. "Understood, Boss. We won't disappoint."
Leone, leaning against the doorframe, crossed her arms. "You two be careful. We don't need any more funerals."
Bulat chuckled, giving her a thumbs-up. "Don't worry, Leone. This is just another day at the office."
As Night Raid prepared their strike, another operation was unfolding in secret. Miles away, in the dimly lit chambers of a repurposed mansion, Spy stood over a detailed map of the warship, his sharp eyes scanning every detail. Around him, his handpicked team listened attentively, each man ready to act at a moment's notice.
"Zhis is more than just a simple vessel," Spy murmured, tapping his finger on key points of the blueprint. "Esdeath's forces are using it for logistics and troop movement. Zhat makes it an opportunity."
Sniper adjusted his hat, scrutinizing the plans. "So, what's the play?"
"We go in under cover of darkness," Spy continued, a smirk forming under his mask. "Scout, Sniper, Demoman, Heavy, Medic—you're coming with me. We slip aboard, gather intelligence, and assess what advantages we can take from zhis. If we do our job right, no one will even know we were zhere."
Scout cracked his knuckles, a cocky grin on his face. "Sounds like my kinda job."
Demoman let out a short laugh, checking his belt of explosives. "Aye, let's see how quiet we can be before things get… interesting."
Heavy, standing at the back, crossed his arms. "Da. Ve make quiet work. Or loud, if needed."
Spy exhaled, his sharp gaze flickering with amusement. "Let's hope it does not come to zhat. Move out."
Under the cover of night, the RED team moved swiftly. Using the extensive network of informants they had cultivated, they slipped through the Imperial defenses unnoticed. The streets were still, the shadows thick enough to hide their movements. Their steps were soundless, their presence an unseen force creeping toward its target.
The warship's silhouette loomed closer, the steady hum of machinery filling the air. On its deck, soldiers patrolled in pairs, unaware of the forces about to descend upon them. The ship was alive with activity—supplies being hauled, orders shouted, boots clanking against metal. It was a fortress on the water, yet vulnerable in ways its occupants could never anticipate.
As Tatsumi and Bulat closed in from one direction, the RED team advanced from another. Two separate forces, two separate goals, yet both set on shaking the very foundation of the Empire.
The game had begun.
The warship's corridors were eerily quiet, the only sounds being the distant waves crashing against the hull and the rhythmic march of Imperial soldiers stationed above deck. Shadows stretched along the steel walls as Tatsumi and Bulat moved swiftly through the narrow halls, their footsteps barely making a sound against the cold metal floor. The air carried a faint scent of salt and iron, a stark reminder of the battles fought on these waters.
Two guards rounded a corner ahead, barely having time to react before Bulat surged forward, his spear lancing through the first man's chest in one fluid motion. Blood splattered against the steel wall as the soldier gasped in pain, his body going limp. The second soldier opened his mouth to shout, eyes wide in shock, but Tatsumi was faster, slamming the hilt of his sword into the man's throat. The soldier choked on his cry, clutching his throat as he crumpled to the ground, his breath rasping before fading into silence.
Bulat shot Tatsumi a grin, his expression filled with pride. "Nice work, kid. Keep that up, and you might just get the hang of this."
Tatsumi exhaled, tightening his grip on his sword. "Let's just keep moving."
They pressed on, descending a flight of metal stairs that led to the ship's cargo hold. The air grew heavier with the scent of oil and seawater, the dim lighting barely illuminating the crates stacked high along the walls. This was their target. Sabotaging these supplies would cripple the warship's operations, rendering it useless for the Empire's logistics. Tatsumi scanned the area, his muscles tense, his instincts screaming that they weren't alone.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room, the sound bouncing off the metal walls like a mocking taunt.
Bulat's body tensed, his expression hardening. From the shadows, a tall man with slicked-back blue hair stepped into view, his crimson military coat pristine despite the dim, industrial setting. His gaze was locked onto Bulat, but there was no anger—only cold amusement.
"Bulat," Captain Liver said, his voice smooth yet edged with restrained bitterness. "It's been a while."
Bulat narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on his spear. "Liver."
Tatsumi instinctively shifted his stance, feeling the tension between the two warriors. He could sense it—this wasn't just another enemy. There was history here, something deeper than simple allegiance to the Empire. The way Liver regarded Bulat wasn't just that of a soldier facing an enemy—it was personal.
Liver exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "I had hoped you had truly defected for a reason, but to see you side with revolutionaries… I can only assume your heart was too weak to accept the truth."
Bulat scoffed, twirling his spear in one hand, his stance unwavering. "I left because I saw what the Empire really was. I'm not about to be lectured by a man who lets himself be used by them."
Liver's eyes flashed, and without another word, he moved. Water erupted from his sleeves, forming twin whips that lashed out with blinding speed. Bulat met the attack head-on, his spear deflecting the streams with precise parries. The metal floor shuddered beneath their clash, droplets of water slicing through the air like razors. Every impact echoed through the cargo hold, sending vibrations through the steel walls.
"Tatsumi, stay back!" Bulat ordered, blocking another strike before lunging forward.
Tatsumi barely had time to react as a sudden surge of water blasted toward him. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack, but was forced back by the sheer force of the impact. Liver wasn't just an Imperial officer—he was a master combatant, wielding his Teigu, Black Marlin, a powerful weapon that granted its wielder absolute mastery over water. With Black Marlin, Liver could generate and manipulate high-pressure streams with lethal precision, shaping the liquid into deadly weapons that could cut through steel or crush enemies under sheer force. The Teigu enhanced his agility and adaptability, enabling him to unleash devastating attacks ranging from razor-sharp water blades to overwhelming torrents capable of sweeping enemies away.
Bulat didn't hesitate. He activated Incursio, his armor manifesting around him in a flash of energy, the weight of its power settling over him like a second skin. The air around him crackled with energy, and his stance shifted, becoming more aggressive. "If you think I'm the same soldier you knew back then, you're in for a rude awakening."
Liver smiled grimly, his fingers flexing as more water coiled around him like living serpents. "Good. Show me, then."
Their battle reignited, steel clashing against liquid force, their history fueling every strike. Liver's movements were calculated and precise, each attack designed to push Bulat to his limits. But Bulat refused to yield, meeting every assault with unrelenting determination. Tatsumi gritted his teeth, gripping his sword as he searched for an opening. He wasn't about to let Bulat fight this alone. The warship shook from the intensity of their battle, the echoes of their struggle carrying through the corridors, a prelude to the chaos that was yet to come.
The warship's upper decks were alive with movement, Imperial soldiers patrolling in rigid formations under the cold moonlight. The occasional crash of the waves against the hull masked the subtle sounds of infiltration as three shadows slipped through the corridors below, unseen and unheard.
Spy led the way, his every step precise and silent. His practiced hands flicked open a small blade, disposing of a lone sentry with a swift jab to the throat. As the soldier slumped, Spy caught him before he could hit the floor, gently lowering the body out of sight. He wiped the blade clean with a handkerchief before tucking it away.
"Mon Dieu… they are not very attentive," Spy murmured, adjusting the collar of his disguise before glancing back at his companions.
Scout smirked, spinning his bat lazily in one hand. "Yeah, 'cause they ain't expectin' legends like us."
Sniper, crouched near the corner of a corridor, peered through the scope of his rifle. "Keep it down," he muttered. "More patrols up ahead."
The trio worked methodically, disabling key defenses with precision. Spy's fingers danced across control panels, rerouting security measures and planting discreet sabotage protocols. Scout darted ahead, moving like a shadow, knocking out guards with rapid swings of his bat. Sniper provided overwatch, taking out anyone who wandered too close to their operation with a silent, well-placed shot. The warship was massive, but with their level of efficiency, it felt like a playground ripe for dismantling.
As they moved through the storage bay, Scout's eyes widened at the massive stacks of crates lining the walls. "Whoa, would ya look at all this?" He rapped his knuckles against a wooden crate marked with Imperial insignia. "Weapons, food, meds—we could take some of this back with us, y'know?"
Spy shot him a sharp glance. "We are here to sabotage, not to resupply ourselves."
"Yeah, yeah, but hear me out," Scout insisted. "We ain't just takin' it for us—we take it, they lose it. That's how we hit 'em where it hurts. Ain't just about blowing stuff up, we cripple 'em long-term."
Sniper considered it for a moment, then gave a small nod. "He's got a point."
Spy sighed, adjusting his gloves. "Fine. Take what you can—quickly."
The three set to work, selecting critical supplies—rations, ammunition, medical kits—and tucking them into their packs. But even as they worked, Spy couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He paused, scanning the shadows, his instincts honed from years of subterfuge screaming at him to be wary.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the ship, not everything was going so smoothly.
A loud, metallic crash rang through the cargo bay as Heavy's massive frame collided with a stack of supply crates. He let out a low grunt, rubbing his head, while Demoman swayed slightly, taking another sip from his flask.
"Y'know," Demoman slurred, "we're s'posed to be sneakin', right?"
Heavy cracked his knuckles. "Da. But is boring."
Before either of them could decide whether subtlety was still an option, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the dimly lit space.
"Well, well," Nyau purred, stepping into view. His feline grin stretched wide as he tilted his head. "You two look fun."
Daidara followed, dragging his massive blade along the floor, sparks flying where the steel met metal. "Finally, some excitement!" He let out a booming laugh. "Which one of you is gonna give me a good fight?"
Heavy's brows furrowed as he took a step forward, cracking his neck. "You talk too much."
Demoman chuckled, tightening his grip on his grenade launcher. "Aye. Let's shut 'em up."
Nyau's eyes gleamed with mischief as he twirled his flute in his hands. "You seem confident. I like that."
Daidara grinned, raising his massive weapon. "Good. I was hoping you wouldn't run."
Without further warning, he charged. Heavy stood firm, meeting the attack head-on. The clash of steel and muscle sent vibrations through the floor as the two powerhouses tested each other's strength. Sparks flew as Daidara's blade met Heavy's clenched fists, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the air.
At the same time, Nyau lifted his flute to his lips, a haunting melody escaping as he played. A strange pressure filled the air, the sound waves rippling through the space. Demoman's grin faltered for a split second before he scoffed.
"That's yer fancy trick, huh?" He took a swig from his flask. "I'll drink to that."
Nyau frowned as Demoman hurled a grenade at his feet, forcing him to leap backward. "Oh, you're going to be fun."
The warship had been a battleground of silence and subtlety moments ago, but now? Now, it was about to become a warzone