The lightning faded, leaving the sea momentarily illuminated—dozens of distorted shapes writhing beneath the surface before sinking back into darkness. The song faltered, not gone, but disrupted, like a melody forced off-beat.

Noel didn't press the advantage.

He stood still near the center of the deck, Revenant Fang humming softly in his grip, lightning crawling lazily along its edge. His eyes weren't on the creatures retreating into the water—but on the pattern they left behind.

"Hold positions," he called out, voice steady and sharp. "No one advances."

They listened.

That alone marked the shift.

Captain Gustave remained at the helm, hands firm on the wheel, posture unchanged despite the chaos around him. Water slammed against the hull again—but the ship didn't turn, didn't falter. He didn't even glance back.

"Maintain course," the captain said calmly. "The moment we drift, we lose control."

Elyra's magic pulsed across the deck in response.

Sigils flared faintly beneath boots and blood-slick planks, anchoring the surface itself. The subtle pull of mana stabilized footing, countering the roll of the ship and the slick sheen of seawater and ichor.

"Deck secured," Elyra announced. "You won't slip unless you want to."

That mattered.

Noel felt it immediately—the difference between fighting chaos and standing on ground that obeyed you.

Another wave surged, creatures attempting to climb again—but not in a rush. Not blindly.

They came in rhythm.

Two tendrils struck the railing. A third followed a heartbeat later. Then the song swelled—right on cue.

Noel narrowed his eyes.

"…You're timing it," he muttered.

Near the mast, Charlotte and Elena continued working in grim coordination. Soft light sealed puncture wounds while living vines wrapped shattered limbs, binding flesh and bone together just long enough.

"Twelve injured," Charlotte reported without looking up. "No fatalities since stabilization."

Elena added quietly, "And none are worsening."

That, too, mattered.

A creature lunged from the starboard side—only to be met midair by a wall of shadow.

Noir intercepted it with brutal precision, her massive form slamming into the monster and dragging it back down. She didn't chase. She didn't linger. Seconds later, she was back at Noel's side, shadow coiling protectively around him, violet eyes fixed on the sea.

A shield. Not a hunter.

The song rose again.

Noel watched.

The attacks weren't aimed at the hull. Not at the sails. Not even at the crew en masse.

They struck where hesitation formed. Where fear lingered. Where balance—mental or physical—could be broken.

Noel exhaled slowly.

"…I see it now," he said under his breath.

He lifted Revenant Fang, lightning gathering—but didn't release it yet.

"They're not trying to sink us," Noel said aloud. "They're trying to scatter us."

His grip tightened.

"And that means," he finished calmly, "we're already winning."

The sound changed.

Noel noticed it first—not because it grew louder, but because it grew sharper. The overlapping whispers that had once pressed against the deck like a tide began to thin, separating into distinct threads.

A sailor near the port side staggered, grip loosening on his spear. His eyes unfocused for half a heartbeat.

"…Captain?" he murmured, turning slightly. "Did you just—"

"No," Gustave snapped without looking back. "Hold your position."

The man hesitated anyway.

Another voice rose nearby—panicked. "I heard it too. He told us to pull back—said the line was breaking—"

"It's not," Elyra cut in sharply. Her sigils flared brighter along the deck, mana anchoring boots to blood-slick planks. "Eyes forward. Do not respond to voices you can't see."

The sea answered with a surge.

Two creatures struck in perfect timing—one from beneath the starboard hull, another breaching near the bow. Their movements aligned with the pulse of the song, limbs snapping forward as if following a conductor's cue.

Selene moved.

"Gravition Hold."

The air distorted, pressure folding inward around the breach point. The creature's ascent slowed, then stalled completely—its limbs buckling as invisible force crushed its momentum. It didn't die. It didn't need to.

It was out of rhythm.

The second creature missed its timing and slammed uselessly against the hull, sliding back into the water.

Noel felt it then.

For just a second, the noise faded. The screams. The deck. The weight of responsibility. In their place came stillness—cool, endless, quiet. The sea below looked calm. Welcoming.

'You're tired,' something suggested gently. 'You don't have to fight the pull. Just let go.'

His fingers loosened around Revenant Fang.

Pain exploded up his arm.

Noel gasped as sharp pressure clamped down on his forearm—teeth, not deep enough to break skin, but hard enough to shock his system. Shadow flared purple-black in his periphery.

'Stay with me,' Noir growled inside his head, feral and furious. 'That wasn't yours.'

Noel sucked in a breath, mana snapping violently back into place. Lightning crackled instinctively along Revenant Fang, arcs dancing across the blade and into the wet planks beneath his feet.

The sensation vanished.

The pull recoiled.

Noel's eyes widened—not in fear, but realization.

"…It flinched," he murmured.

The song wavered near him, thinning where lightning crawled across the deck. The whispers distorted, losing clarity.

Electricity wasn't just hurting them.

It was disrupting the signal.

Noel straightened, grip firm once more as lightning gathered deliberately this time—not as a strike, but as a field.

Lightning spread from Noel's stance in controlled arcs, crawling across the wet planks like living veins.

He stepped fully into the open.

"Everyone—hold position," he said, voice steady and carrying despite the storm of sound. "No one advances unless I say so. Flanks stay tight."

The chaos obeyed.

That alone said everything.

Noel raised Revenant Fang, electricity no longer screaming wildly but humming—dense, disciplined. The blade pointed toward the sea, not in challenge, but in judgment.

"Voltage Needle."

The spell snapped free—thin, precise. A single line of lightning pierced the water where the song felt sharpest, not deepest. Beneath the surface, something convulsed. The whispers faltered there first, collapsing into static.

Noel didn't stop.

Another needle. Then another. Not rapid-fire—measured. Each strike silenced a specific node, a point where the song tried to anchor itself to the ship.

"They're linked," Noel said, more to himself than anyone else. "Break the links. Not the bodies."

"On it," Marcus growled.

He slammed his palm into the deck.

"Blazing Pillar!"

A column of azure fire erupted near the starboard railing, incinerating two creatures mid-ascent and leaving nothing but scorched metal and steam. He followed immediately, stone forming in front of him.

"Stoneguard!"

Rock surged up, forming a solid barrier between the crew and the water as another wave surged below. The impact rattled the ship—but didn't breach.

Garron was already moving.

He didn't bother with spells or formations. He intercepted anything that made it over the rail, crushing skulls, tearing limbs free, and hurling bodies back into the sea before they could cling. He was careful about one thing—none of them landed near the edge.

Noel lifted Revenant Fang higher.

"Chain Flash."

This time, the lightning wasn't aimed to kill.

It plunged into the sea and spread outward in a wide, branching lattice, lighting the water from below like a shattered mirror. Shapes recoiled en masse, their movements losing coordination as the electric field scrambled whatever bound them together.

The song collapsed into dissonance.

Not silence—but noise without harmony.

Noir prowled the perimeter, shadow flowing with every step. She intercepted anything that tried to push through the disrupted field, tearing it down and returning immediately to Noel's side—never straying, never chasing.

For the first time since the attack began, the monsters hesitated.

Then they started to pull back.

One by one, shapes slipped beneath the surface, their glowing eyes dimming as distance broke the lightning's reach. The sea darkened again, waves settling into uneasy swells.

The deck didn't erupt into cheers.

No one was stupid enough for that.

Instead, there was a collective exhale.

A pause.

Blood smeared the planks. Lantern light reflected off crimson streaks mixed with seawater. Several sections of railing were bent inward, metal warped by force and heat. The ship had taken damage—but it was still moving. Still intact.

Charlotte sat back on her heels near the mast, breath shallow, hands trembling faintly as the last of her light faded from a sailor's chest. He was alive. Barely—but alive.

Elena knelt beside her, roots and vines sealing cracks along the deck, reinforcing weak points, patching what could be patched before the sea tried again.

Elyra moved methodically, checking anchors, reinforcing sigils, ensuring the formation didn't loosen now that adrenaline faded.

Noel walked toward the helm.

Gustave hadn't moved an inch.

Hands steady. Eyes forward. Course unbroken.

"That wasn't the main force," Noel said quietly.

Gustave didn't look at him. "No," he agreed. "That was a test."

Noel's jaw tightened.

Behind them, Roberto stood near the railing, staring out at the dark water. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes followed the retreating ripples with something close to recognition.

The sea calmed and stayed still.

The sea stayed still.

Not the fragile calm from before—but a heavier one, like a breath held after pain. The ripples left by the retreating creatures spread outward and vanished into the dark, as if nothing had happened at all.

Slowly, tension bled out of the deck.

Weapons lowered. Spells faded. The lantern light revealed the cost in full now—blood smeared across the planks, scorched marks where magic had struck, splintered railings bent inward by brute force. Several sailors lay where they had fallen, breathing shallowly, faces pale but alive.

'Ascendant-class,' Noel noted grimly. Almost all of them. 'That wasn't random, shit.' he thought.

"We survived," Marcus muttered, wiping blood—not all of it his—from his arm. "I'll take that."

"For now," Garron replied, cracking his neck. "They didn't press the advantage."

"That's what worries me," Elyra said, already moving. Her voice was calm, but sharp. "All wounded crew to the center. Stabilize first, treat second. No one rests near the edges."

Noel nodded and raised his voice just enough to carry. "Follow Elyra's orders. We don't spread out. We don't assume this is over."

The crew obeyed immediately.

Only then did Noel turn toward the mast.

Charlotte was still kneeling there, shoulders tight, her breathing uneven as she steadied a sailor whose pulse fluttered dangerously. Sweat beaded at her temples; her hands shook faintly as the last traces of light faded from his chest.

Noel hesitated.

He rarely did that.

"…Charlotte," he said quietly. "Can you—"

The words stalled in his throat.

He hated asking this of her. Hated pushing her when he could see how exhausted she already was.

Charlotte looked up.

She read everything on his face in an instant—the restraint, the worry, the guilt.

And she smiled.

A small, warm smile. Steady. Reassuring.

"Of course," she said softly. "I'm okay, Noel."

Before he could argue, she rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders once as if shedding the fatigue itself. Light gathered around her again—not harsh, not blinding, but gentle and resolute.

Radiance spread outward in a controlled wave, threading through the wounded—closing punctures, knitting torn flesh, easing pain without forcing bodies beyond their limits. Groans softened. Breathing steadied. Panic faded.

Noel watched, jaw tight.

'Every time it pains me looking at her doing this.' he thought.

When the light finally dimmed, Charlotte swayed just slightly.

Noel was there instantly, steadying her by the arm.

"I said I'm okay," she murmured, amused.

"I know," he replied. "That doesn't mean I stop worrying."

She smiled again.

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