The warship trembled under the weight of battle, the scent of gunpowder and smoke thick in the air. The muffled echoes of distant combat reverberated through its steel corridors, a grim reminder of the carnage unfolding across the vessel. Deep within its labyrinthine passageways, a peculiar duel was about to erupt—one that would defy logic and expectation.
Demoman stood firm, his grin wide, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey, and his single eye locked onto the enemy before him. Across from him, Nyau, the feline-faced sadist of the Three Beasts, smirked in amusement, twirling his flute-like Teigu, Scream, between his gloved fingers. The elegant weapon, deceptively delicate in appearance, possessed the ability to manipulate soundwaves with devastating effects— enhancing physical prowess, or even inducing hallucinations in those unfortunate enough to hear its melodies.. The air between them crackled with tension, as if the ship itself anticipated the carnage to come.
"An interesting choice of weaponry, drunkard," Nyau mused, his crimson eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Perhaps I'll take your skull as a trophy when this is over. A warrior's essence should be preserved, after all."
Demoman barked a laugh, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head mockingly. "Och, a wee rat with a flute? I've fought nastier things in me own bar! Let's see if ye can dance, laddie!"
Without another word, he hurled a grenade. The metallic sphere spun through the air, its fuse burning bright. Nyau's reflexes were sharp—he darted back, nimble as a shadow, landing effortlessly on a steel railing above. The explosion rocked the corridor, flames licking at the walls as shrapnel peppered the floor. But Nyau was unfazed. Raising his flute to his lips, he played a haunting note.
The eerie melody rippled outward like an invisible shockwave. The very air seemed to vibrate violently as the sound reverberated through the ship's narrow corridors. The force was immense, sending debris flying and knocking Demoman back a step. His ears rang, but he merely chuckled, shaking his head as if shaking off a mild hangover.
"That all ye got?" he taunted, slurring only slightly. "Lad, ye picked the wrong Scotsman fer a fight."
Nyau's smirk faltered for the briefest moment. Before he could retort, Demoman reached into his satchel and, to Nyau's bewilderment, pulled out a set of bagpipes. He took a deep breath, then began to play.
The tune? Soldier of Dance. A raucous, unrelenting march of powerful, triumphant notes erupted from the bagpipes, a melody both chaotic and commanding. The tune's warlike cadence surged through the air like a battle cry, drowning out all else with its overpowering presence. It was a song of unyielding defiance, a rhythmic anthem of warriors charging into battle, unafraid of death or destruction. Each note slammed into the walls with seismic force, reverberating through the ship's metal frame, shaking it to its core.
A thunderous, chaotic melody burst forth, its overpowering notes shredding through Nyau's soundwaves like a blade through parchment. The feline-faced warrior staggered, his crimson eyes widening in sheer disbelief as his Teigu's effects were utterly drowned out by the ear-splitting harmony. The ship itself seemed to hum with the sound, vibrating under the force of Scotland's musical wrath.
"W-what?! Impossible!" Nyau shrieked, clutching his ears, his confidence cracking like fragile glass.
Demoman cackled, stepping forward with a gleam of mischief in his eye. "Yer little flute's no match fer the sound o' Scotland, ye wee goblin!"
With a sudden shift, he slung the bagpipes over his shoulder and reached for his prized Eyelander. The massive sword gleamed ominously in the dim light, reflecting the chaos that surrounded them. The grip was familiar in his hands, a trusted friend thirsting for battle. His grin widened, turning almost feral.
"Let's see how ye dance when ye've got no head!" he roared, lunging at Nyau with a wild, sweeping strike.
Nyau barely evaded the first slash, flipping backward and landing deftly on a steel beam above. He glared down at Demoman, eyes blazing. "You miserable drunk! I'll skin you alive!"
Nyau resumed playing his flute, switching to a different tune, one designed to enhance his physical capabilities. His muscles tensed, his movements became faster, sharper. He launched himself at Demoman like a blur, his nails extending into razor-sharp claws.
But Demoman was ready. He swung his Eyelander in a vicious arc, meeting Nyau's claws with a deadly clang of metal against hardened bone. Sparks flew as they clashed, Nyau twisting acrobatically mid-air, striking from unpredictable angles. Yet Demoman was unfazed. He laughed, his wild, chaotic energy making him just as unpredictable.
"Yer a quick little shite, I'll give ye that! But I've fought speed before! Let's see if ye can outrun this!" He suddenly yanked a sticky bomb launcher from his belt and fired. A cluster of bombs latched onto the steel beam just above Nyau.
The feline warrior barely had time to react before—BOOM!—the explosion engulfed the upper part of the corridor, sending metal and debris flying. Nyau tumbled through the air, landing hard against a bulkhead. He groaned, blood dripping from his forehead.
Demoman strolled forward, resting the flat of his Eyelander against his shoulder. "Och, looks like ye lost yer rhythm, lad. Shame. I was just gettin' started."
Nyau growled, forcing himself to his feet, but his limbs wobbled. He tried to play his flute once more, but Demoman was already on him. With a final, powerful strike, the Scotsman's blade arced through the air, aiming for the decisive blow.
Nyau barely had time to gasp before the Eyelander cleaved through the air in a merciless arc. The blade found its mark, slicing cleanly through Nyau's neck with a sickening finality. For a brief moment, his body stood motionless, as if his mind had yet to realize what had happened. Then, his head tumbled from his shoulders, rolling across the steel floor before coming to a stop. His wide, unblinking eyes held an expression of utter disbelief, as if even in death, he refused to accept his fate.
His body swayed for a moment before collapsing onto its knees, his flute slipping from his lifeless fingers. It hit the floor with a faint clatter, the once-feared instrument now nothing more than a discarded trinket. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the warship's cold steel floor, a testament to the battle's brutal conclusion.
Demoman exhaled, his chest rising and falling with a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion. He wiped the blood from his sword with the tattered remains of Nyau's uniform, shaking his head as he let out a deep, satisfied chuckle. "Ach, that's what happens when ye try ta outplay a true musician, laddie."
He took a slow step toward the severed head, nudging it slightly with the tip of his boot. "Look at ye now, all bark and no bite. Bet ye didn't think ye'd be dancin' ta my tune, did ye?"
The ship groaned as explosions rang out in the distance, a reminder that the battle was far from over. Demoman sheathed his Eyelander across his back and reached for his flask, taking a long, victorious swig. The burn of the alcohol was a welcome sensation, grounding him in the moment.
He cast one last glance at Nyau's remains before turning on his heel, striding off into the smoke-filled corridors with the confident swagger of a warrior who had just bested a worthy foe. The echoes of battle still raged around him, but Demoman was unfazed. After all, he had a war to win—and a few more heads to take before the night was through.
The battle began with an ear-splitting roar as Daidara lunged forward, his massive weapon raised high. His eyes gleamed with excitement—he lived for fights like this, against powerful foes who could match his strength. And from what he had seen, this "Heavy" was exactly that. A true beast of a man, standing like a mountain of muscle, unmoving, unshaken. Daidara's grin widened. This was going to be fun.
With a mighty swing, Daidara brought his weapon down upon Heavy's broad chest. A sickening crunch echoed across the warship's deck, sending vibrations through the steel floor. The impact sent a gust of air outward, scattering dust and loose debris. But when the dust cleared, Heavy stood firm. He hadn't moved an inch. His thick, barrel-like torso absorbed the strike as if it were nothing more than a tap on the shoulder.
Daidara's grin faltered for a moment before twisting into something more manic. "Heh… you're a tough one, I'll give you that! But let's see how you handle this!" He reached for his Teigu, Belvaac, its segmented blades clicking into place as its full power surged to life. The warship trembled slightly as the weapon expanded, thickening with a jagged, saw-like edge that pulsed with raw destructive energy.
With a battle cry, Daidara swung again, this time channeling the full might of Belvaac into the strike. The force of the blow sent a visible shockwave rippling through the air, denting the metal beneath Heavy's feet upon impact. This time, Heavy grunted, his body shifting slightly from the force.
Daidara laughed, exhilarated. "Oh? Not so unshakable now, are ya?" He spun his weapon and launched another flurry of brutal swings, each one carving deep gouges into the surrounding metal as he drove Heavy backward, step by step. Sparks flew, and the sheer force of the strikes sent tremors through the entire warship.
For the first time, Heavy frowned, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself. "Hmph… big toy." He flexed his fingers, his stance shifting slightly, acknowledging that this might require more than just brute force.
Daidara saw the change and seized the opportunity. With a wicked grin, he twisted Belvaac's handle, activating a hidden mechanism within the Teigu. The jagged edges of the segmented blade began spinning like a vicious buzzsaw, humming with destructive energy. "Let's see you stand still after this!" he bellowed, surging forward with newfound speed.
Heavy raised an arm to block, but this time, the weapon bit deep. Sparks and blood flew as the blade tore into his forearm, carving through his flesh in a way no attack before had managed. Heavy grunted, his first real expression of pain flickering across his face.
Daidara cackled. "Gotcha now, big guy!" He pressed forward, hacking and slashing with relentless fury. Heavy stepped back, his powerful arms raised in defense, but each strike left fresh gashes, each one forcing him to yield more ground. "Not so unstoppable after all!" Daidara roared, his confidence swelling as he went in for a finishing blow.
But in his excitement, he overcommitted.
Just as he swung for Heavy's neck, the larger man twisted his body at the last moment, letting the blade skim past his shoulder. Before Daidara could react, Heavy's massive hand clamped onto the weapon's shaft, halting it in place with sheer brute force. The Teigu whined as its spinning segments ground against Heavy's grip, but it was too late—he had a firm hold.
Daidara's eyes widened. "What—?"
Heavy yanked Belvaac forward with earth-shattering strength, pulling Daidara off balance. In the same motion, he slammed his free fist into Daidara's exposed gut with the force of a battering ram. The smaller man's body folded inward, all the air forced from his lungs in a single, gasping wheeze. His grip on his weapon weakened.
Heavy did not relent. He twisted, using his monstrous strength to rip Belvaac from Daidara's grasp entirely, snapping its segmented mechanism in half as if it were a brittle twig. The Teigu sparked and sputtered, its once-deadly hum fading into silence.
Daidara staggered back, clutching his stomach, his eyes filled with shock. "No… no way…!"
Heavy cracked his knuckles, blood dripping from his arm, but his smirk was triumphant. "Now… my turn."
With terrifying speed for someone of his size, Heavy's massive fist shot forward, striking Daidara square in the stomach. The sheer force sent him skidding backward, boots screeching against the steel floor, sparks flying in his wake. A second punch followed—this time to the ribs—lifting Daidara off his feet for a split second before slamming him back down with a painful crunch.
Daidara gasped, feeling something inside him crack. His breath hitched as pain blossomed across his torso. This wasn't just strength—this was raw, unrelenting power. And it was all directed at him.
Coughing, Daidara staggered to his feet, clutching his side. "Strongest opponent I've ever fought," he admitted under his breath, wiping blood from his lips. His fingers tightened around his weapon. He had to turn this around, somehow—
But Heavy wasn't finished.
Reaching forward, the behemoth grabbed Daidara by the collar and hoisted him into the air like he weighed nothing. For the first time in his life, Daidara felt small. Insignificant. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he struggled in Heavy's grip, trying to pry the iron fingers from his neck.
Heavy's dark eyes locked onto his, devoid of mercy. His voice came in a low rumble. "I break little man."
With that, Heavy reared back and hurled Daidara with earth-shattering force. The warship quaked as Daidara's body crashed through a steel wall, sending a cascade of twisted metal and debris flying in all directions. The impact left a deep indentation in the reinforced structure, cracks webbing outward like shattered glass.
A few tense seconds passed before Daidara stirred. He groaned, his fingers twitching as he tried to push himself up. Blood dripped from his lips onto the cold steel floor. His vision swam, his chest burning with agony. Every breath felt like fire.
He gritted his teeth, attempting to rise. He had to keep fighting—
Heavy cracked his knuckles and exhaled, unimpressed. He stepped forward, looming over his battered opponent like a specter of doom.
"Not so strong."
Daidara coughed, blood splattering onto the deck as he struggled to lift himself. His limbs trembled, his strength failing him. But before he could fully rise, he heard it—the unmistakable sound of a minigun's barrels spinning up.
Heavy had retrieved Sasha.
Daidara barely had time to react before the thunderous roar of gunfire filled the air. A storm of bullets tore into him, punching through flesh and bone with relentless force. He barely managed a gurgled gasp before the sheer power of the onslaught slammed him back against the mangled steel wall, pinning him there like a broken marionette.
Heavy didn't stop firing until the belt ran dry.
As the last bullet casing clattered onto the deck, silence settled over the battlefield. Smoke curled from Sasha's barrels as Heavy slung her over his shoulder, staring at what remained of his opponent.
"Now, is done."
The warship trembled beneath the weight of battle. Fire and steel clashed in chaotic harmony, the night illuminated by flashes of gunfire and the eerie glow of Teigu energy. Bodies lay strewn across the decks, some still, some writhing in pain. Smoke coiled through the corridors, curling around the combatants like a living entity. The scent of blood and burning metal thickened the air, making every breath feel heavy with the weight of war.
From the shadows, Spy adjusted the cuffs of his suit, glancing at the carnage with detached amusement. With a flick of his wrist, his knife found its home in the neck of a high-ranking officer, the man barely making a sound as he crumpled to the floor. "Such a shame. You could have lived longer if you were more... careful," he muttered, wiping the blade clean. Nearby, Sniper perched atop a precarious railing, his rifle spitting silent death as he picked off officers with practiced precision. Each shot was a calculated whisper of finality, removing key figures before they could rally their forces.
Their work was methodical, efficient—ensuring the warship's fate was sealed before the battle could even conclude. Every kill sent ripples of disarray through the ranks, confusion spreading like wildfire.
Not far from them, Medic stood on the edge of the fray, his unsettling grin widening as he observed the battlefield like a scientist admiring his own experiment. "Ach... ze beauty of destruction... such chaos!" His fingers twitched, itching to test his UberCharge on something... or someone. The sheer violence unfolding before him was intoxicating—a symphony of suffering orchestrated with perfect brutality. "Perhaps a few test subjects vould be useful... hmmm?" he mused aloud.
But amidst the orchestrated destruction, one battle dwarfed all others.
Bulat and Liver clashed with earth-shattering force, their blades colliding in dazzling arcs of steel and water. Each swing was precise, each movement infused with personal history. The deck beneath them cracked and buckled under the pressure of their blows, saltwater spraying in violent waves as Liver manipulated his Teigu.
"You were always strong, Bulat," Liver said, his voice even but firm. "But your sentimentality has made you weak."
Bulat scoffed, deflecting an overhead strike. "If fighting for something greater than myself is weakness, then I'll gladly be the weakest man alive!"
Liver's expression hardened. "Then die with that belief!"
His strikes came in brutal succession, each swing heavier than the last. Bulat countered, his movements deliberate, but he was slowly losing ground. The poison had already begun to spread through his veins, sapping his strength with each passing moment. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let it show, but Liver could see the slight hesitation in his stance, the faltering of his breath.
Then, a misstep.
Bulat's breath hitched, a searing pain blooming through his chest as the venom took hold. His vision wavered for a fraction of a second—enough time for Liver to capitalize. The former general's smirk was grim, almost regretful, as he stepped back and watched his old comrade falter, strength rapidly fading from his body. The once-mighty warrior staggered, his sword trembling in his grasp.
"Bulat!" Tatsumi's voice cracked with desperation as he watched his mentor weaken before his eyes. His fists clenched, helplessness washing over him in waves.
Bulat turned his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, pained smile. With trembling hands, he reached for Tatsumi, pulling him closer. "Tatsumi... listen to me," he rasped. "You have to take Incursio. It's yours now." He weakly tapped the armor, his grip faltering. "Protect our dream... protect the innocent."
Tatsumi's eyes widened, tears threatening to spill. "No! You can still fight! We can—"
Bulat shook his head, forcing a final smile. "No more time... You're strong, Tatsumi. Stronger than you know." His body shuddered, breath growing shallow. "Live... and make this count."
"I won't leave you!" Tatsumi shouted. "There has to be a way—"
And then, the world shifted.
A deep, resonant hum filled the air as Incursio's core pulsed in response to Tatsumi's resolve. The armor enveloped him, molding to his form like a second skin. Power flooded his veins, his senses sharpening beyond human limits. The sheer force of his transformation sent a shockwave through the battlefield, causing even the most hardened warriors to pause. The armor gleamed under the moonlight, exuding an aura of raw, untamed power.
The REDs, watching from the periphery, stilled.
Spy's eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "Intriguing." His sharp eyes studied the transformation with keen interest, already calculating its strategic applications.
Sniper gave a low whistle. "Now that's somethin' you don't see every day." He adjusted his hat, shifting his stance ever so slightly as if preparing for whatever came next.
Heavy rumbled in approval. "Good armor. Strong boy." His massive arms crossed over his chest, the glint of respect in his usually indifferent eyes.
Medic, however, had a far different reaction. He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming with something far more insidious. He had seen death, and he had seen rebirth. But this? This was a transformation worth studying. "Mein Gott... zis is magnificent! Ze fusion of armor und flesh... so seamless! So powerful!" His fingers twitched eagerly. "I must see how it vorks!"
Tatsumi, unaware of his silent audience, clenched his fists as his new power settled into place. His breathing was steady, controlled, but the sheer energy within him was bursting at the seams. He turned his gaze back to Liver, the hesitation from before completely erased.
Liver took a step back, momentarily thrown off by the sudden transformation. "Impossible...! That armor—"
"It's not impossible," Tatsumi cut him off, his voice filled with newfound determination. "This is what Bulat believed in. And I won't let his sacrifice be in vain."
A tense silence settled before the battle reignited, but this time, the tides had turned.
The warship trembled as waves crashed against its battered hull, the scent of salt and blood thick in the air. The sky was alight with fire, burning wreckage falling into the churning sea below. Amidst the chaos, two warriors stood locked in battle—Tatsumi, clad in Incursio, and General Liver, his Teigu surging with relentless power.
Liver's strikes came fast and precise, arcs of water lashing out like whips with every swing of his blade. Tatsumi barely managed to parry, his armored frame rattling under the sheer force. Each impact sent a shockwave through his body, his grip tightening on his weapon. He gritted his teeth, pushing forward, searching for an opening, but Liver was relentless, pressing him back with calculated efficiency.
"You've improved, but you lack discipline!" Liver barked, unleashing a torrent of pressurized water. The blast sent Tatsumi skidding across the deck, his boots barely finding purchase on the slick, blood-stained wood. Liver was strong—far stronger than he had anticipated. The force of his attacks wasn't just overwhelming; it was suffocating, like drowning in the middle of a storm. Tatsumi's mind raced, struggling to think of a counter.
Tatsumi steadied himself, gripping his blade tighter. "I won't lose!"
Summoning every ounce of resolve, he lunged forward, feinting left before twisting his blade toward Liver's exposed flank. The general deflected with practiced ease, but Tatsumi had anticipated it. Using Incursio's agility, he pivoted, delivering a crushing knee to Liver's gut. The older warrior coughed, staggering back for the first time in the fight. Seizing the opportunity, Tatsumi spun and slashed upward, forcing Liver to leap backward to avoid a fatal blow.
Liver grinned, wiping blood from his lips. "Good... but not good enough."
Before Tatsumi could react, Liver activated his Teigu at full power. Water surged violently around him, rising in towering waves before spiraling into a massive vortex. The entire warship groaned under the weight of the attack, the structure barely holding as water flooded the lower decks. Tatsumi was nearly thrown off balance as the vortex spun faster, debris and shattered remains of the ship caught in its spiraling fury.
"This is the end!" Liver roared, the storm reaching its peak. The raging waters formed a spear-like projectile, poised to strike Tatsumi down in an instant. He had only seconds to act.
Tatsumi refused to back down. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he channeled Incursio's power, feeling the armor grow lighter, his reflexes sharpening. His blade gleamed in the firelight, and with a powerful leap, he surged forward, cutting straight into the storm itself.
"For Bulat!" Tatsumi roared, charging headlong into the vortex.
Steel met water in a final, decisive clash. With a mighty swing, Tatsumi carved through the spiraling current, slicing apart Liver's attack before driving his blade forward. The general gasped as the weapon found its mark, a deep wound tearing through his side. He staggered, his strength failing him, eyes widening in disbelief as his own Teigu collapsed around him, the water dispersing into the ruined deck.
Liver looked up at Tatsumi, his expression unreadable. "Well fought..." he murmured, before collapsing onto the warship's scorched planks. His breath was ragged, the fight drained from him. The proud general of the Empire had been defeated.
Tatsumi stood over Liver's fallen form, his breathing heavy. Incursio's power still coursed through his veins, the rush of battle clinging to his senses. Liver had fought until the very end, refusing to yield even as his strength faded. Now, the former general lay still, his body resting amidst the wreckage of a warship that had once carried the Empire's might. Tatsumi tightened his grip, forcing himself to move forward. There was no time to dwell—not yet.
A short distance away, Bulat lay slumped against the shattered remains of a railing, his once-proud frame now weak, his breath shallow. Tatsumi dropped to his side immediately, panic flashing in his eyes. "Bulat! Stay with me!"
The older warrior chuckled weakly. "You did well, Tatsumi..." He coughed, a trace of blood staining his lips. "You're strong... and you'll only get stronger."
Tatsumi shook his head, unwilling to accept what was happening. "We can still get you out of here. We just need to—"
"No." Bulat's voice was firm, despite his failing body. He placed a trembling hand on Tatsumi's shoulder. "It's your fight now. You have to carry on."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Tatsumi clenched his jaw, nodding through the sting of grief. He would honor Bulat's legacy, no matter what.
But there was no time to mourn. The warship shuddered beneath him, its structure failing under the relentless destruction. Fires raged across the deck, sending plumes of black smoke into the sky. Tatsumi took one last look at Bulat's lifeless form before forcing himself to move. His legs felt heavy, his breath ragged, but he could not afford to falter.
Navigating the crumbling battlefield, he dodged falling debris and leaped over gaping holes in the deck. The sounds of distant fighting echoed behind him—Night Raid's remaining members still securing their escape. Incursio pulsed with energy, enhancing his agility as he darted through the wreckage. A sudden explosion rocked the ship, nearly sending him overboard. He barely managed to grab onto a twisted railing, the heat of the inferno licking at his back.
Through the smoke, he spotted the extraction point—a broken section of the warship's hull where Najenda's escape boat waited below. The others were already on board, shouting for him to jump. Summoning every ounce of his strength, Tatsumi sprinted forward and launched himself into the air, feeling the wind rush past him before he crashed into the boat's deck with a heavy thud.
Akame reached for him immediately. "Where's Bulat?!"
Tatsumi gritted his teeth, unable to answer. His silence was enough. Akame's eyes darkened, but there was no time to process their loss. The ship groaned one final time before collapsing inward, sinking into the depths of the ocean. The mission was over, but the cost was immeasurable.
As they sailed away, Tatsumi sat in silence, watching the remnants of the warship disappear beneath the waves. His hands trembled, his heart heavy with the weight of his promise. He had survived, but at what price? The battle was won, but his war had only just begun.
Unseen by Night Raid, a shadow moved in the chaos. Spy crouched nearby, watching with keen eyes. As Tatsumi finally turned away, retreating with Incursio's power keeping him safe, Spy signaled his team. From the smoke emerged Medic, his expression unreadable as he approached Bulat's unmoving form.
"Zhis one..." Medic murmured, pressing two fingers to Bulat's neck. A grin slowly spread across his face. "Ah. Still fresh."
Heavy stepped forward, lifting Bulat's body with ease, cradling the fallen warrior as if he weighed nothing. "What do we do with him?" he asked in a low rumble.
Spy exhaled a trail of smoke from his cigarette, his gaze locked on the departing figures of Night Raid. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he turned back to his team. "Take him. Our good doctor has plans."
Heavy adjusted his grip on Bulat's limp body, lifting him with careful precision as Medic ran a quick scan over his vitals, his gloved fingers twitching in anticipation. "Fascinating specimen," the doctor mused, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Zhis vill be quite ze experiment."
Scout, perched nearby, kept watch for any stragglers while Sniper scanned the horizon. "Hope this ain't more trouble than it's worth," Sniper muttered, his sharp gaze flicking to Bulat's corpse. "Empire or rebels, don't see why we'd be savin' their lot."
Spy exhaled another slow breath of smoke, his eyes narrowing. "It's not about saving. It's about control. And besides... something tells me he might be useful."
As the warship burned and crumbled into the waves, the REDs vanished into the night, carrying with them a secret that would one day shake the battlefield once more. Meanwhile, Heavy and Scout's squads arrived on a steamboat, swiftly maneuvering through the wreckage. With practiced efficiency, they began hauling valuable supplies from the sinking warship, loading crates of weapons, rations, and other precious resources onto their vessel. Their movements were precise and methodical—another silent victory in the shadows, unnoticed by the warring factions above.