"Move it!"

  Bert Hull and the kitchen crew scrambled toward the lower hatches, not forgetting to drag Sam along. Sam stood frozen for a split second, staring at the distant horizon.

  He heard the roar of engines—a frenzied, mechanical growl that grew louder by the second. There were no lights, only the sound; it felt as if thousands of unseen predators were screaming toward them.

  "Activate anti-aircraft searchlights!"

  The command echoed from the bridge. Instantly, the dark sea was lanced by hundreds of high-power beams, cutting through the night toward the horizon.

  "Mother of God..." Bert Hull gasped as the sky ignited.

  Thousands of fighter planes swarmed the heavens, roaring toward the fleet like a cloud of angry hornets descending on a carcass.

  "Flak guns! Man the AA guns!"

  Screams mingled with sirens and the rhythmic thunder of boots on metal. Hundreds of warships began hauling up anchors to maneuver. Anti-aircraft turrets swiveled violently toward the sky, muzzles hungry for the approaching steel.

  "All hands on deck! Engage the enemy!"

  The order was absolute. Bert Hull and the kitchen staff, who had been about to retreat below, spun around to grab weapons.

  Sam watched as the sailors were handed submachine guns. They looked remarkably similar to the Thompson guns used by American soldiers in WWII, but they were oversized—nearly the size of a heavy machine gun by human standards. It made sense; everything for the Pig-men was scaled to their giant physiques. Much like the Fury, which was technically a destroyer in their navy but possessed the displacement of a human-era battleship.

  Within moments, the crew of the Fury was battle-ready. Some lined the railings; others hunkered down behind massive sandbag fortifications. Across the fleet, searchlights tracked the incoming swarm with relentless precision.

  "FIRE!"

  The sky turned a blinding crimson. Tens of thousands of tracers, large and small, tore into the night, weaving a colossal curtain of fire. The lead wave of planes was caught in the net; they erupted into fireballs, spiraling into the dark water below.

  But the planes were like a plague of flies. Thousands more dived, their machine guns spitting lead.

  The deafening howl of engines, the rhythmic thumping of cannons, and the whistle of falling bombs threatened to burst Sam’s eardrums. He clutched his head and dove for cover behind a massive main turret. Seconds later, the spot he had just vacated was stitched by a line of fire, leaving glowing holes in the deck plating.

  "Damn them! A sneak attack by the Sun Empire!"

  "It’s the Sun Empire Air Force!" the sailors roared, their weapons chattering in a frenzied rhythm.

  Sam tried to bolt toward an AA emplacement, but a bomb struck it directly. The explosion turned the crew into charred meat and sent shrapnel whistling past his ears. He pressed himself flat against the vibrating deck, shielding his head.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  In the distance, a destroyer was hit by a string of bombs, transforming into a floating pyre. Sam could almost hear the screams over the cacophony.

  "Damn the scouts! Damn Intelligence! How did they get this close?!"

  A massive sailor stood tall, hoisting a medium machine gun and sweeping the sky with tracers. Suddenly, a burst from above stitched across his torso, shredding him instantly. The gun—nearly as large as Sam himself—clattered to the deck nearby.

  Sam glanced at the massive aircraft carrier. Its crew was fighting back with terrifying efficiency. Its concentrated fire turned dozens of attackers into falling stars before they could drop their payloads.

  "All engines full! Move the Fury to the rear!"

  The deck shuddered as the ship began to maneuver, desperately trying to find clear water. The entire fleet was breaking formation to escape the concentrated aerial assault. But the ships were sluggish compared to the nimble aircraft. Above, the planes split into sections, hounding the fleeing warships.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "The Sea Demon is down! She's sinking!"

  A cry of despair went up. Far off, a warship engulfed in flames began its slow tilt into the abyss.

  "Help! Someone help me!" "Save us!"

  In the water, hundreds of sailors screamed for mercy. Others floated motionless, lost to the first wave.

  Sam managed to crawl into a hatchway. He hid there, watching the chaos. If a plane dived, he would retreat down a few steps; he stayed near the exit, knowing that if the ship went down, being trapped below deck was a death sentence.

  A massive shockwave suddenly rocked the Fury. The aircraft carrier had suffered a catastrophic hit. The blast flattened ships within a several-hundred-meter radius. Sam grabbed a railing with white-knuckled grip to avoid being blown overboard.

  "The flagship is gone! Those sons of bitches!" Bert Hull screamed, his body swaying as he clung to a support beam, a machine gun still clutched in his right hand.

  Hundreds of planes had swarmed the carrier, relentless until a bomb pierced its magazine. The resulting explosion turned the night into day, sending a pillar of fire into the clouds. Thousands of sailors were swallowed by the inferno.

  Nearby, a sailor was torn apart by strafing fire. His handheld anti-aircraft launcher slid across the deck toward Sam. Sam saw a bomber circling back, its belly-bomb destined for the Fury.

  "To hell with this!"

  Sam lunged for the weapon. It was over two meters long, resembling an oversized anti-tank rocket from his own time. The projectile at the tip was as thick as a man's calf.

  He hoisted the launcher. It was incredibly heavy, and his knees buckled, but he forced himself upright, aiming at the diving plane.

  He squinted through the iron sights. The bomber grew larger in his vision. Sam held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

  Fwoosh! A tail of fire propelled the massive shell straight into the path of the diving bomber.

  BOOM! The fighter turned into a ball of scrap and flame, careening past the Fury and slamming into the sea. A geyser of water erupted ten meters into the air.

  From the command bridge, the Captain narrowed her eyes, watching the small human on the deck...

  The battle raged for over two hours until the enemy planes, their magazines empty, began to retreat. As the first light of dawn broke, it revealed a scene of utter devastation. Only a few dozen charred, smoking husks remained of the once-mighty fleet.

  It reminded Sam of Pearl Harbor—a surprise aerial strike that had crippled a Pacific giant in a single morning.

  "Captain!" "Captain on deck!"

  The sailors clearing debris snapped to attention as their leader appeared.

  She was over 2.5 meters tall, her powerful frame clad in a tight black uniform that accentuated an hourglass figure. Her platinum hair flowed down to her waist, and her face was concealed by a black metallic mask, leaving only her eyes visible. Her nameplate read: "Juliana Mpire." Beside it were four blood-red boar heads.

  Bert Hull stood at attention, his face blackened by soot. "Looks like the Boss got a promotion," he whispered.

  She cut him a sharp, lethal look. In the middle of this slaughter, you choose to say that? Bert immediately lowered his gaze, avoiding her razor-sharp eyes.

  "Damage report," she commanded. Her voice was like rolling thunder behind the mask.

  An officer with three blue boar icons ran forward. "Princess!"

  At the word, her eyes turned predatory. The officer went pale; he had made a grave mistake.

  "Hang him from the mast for three days to improve his memory," she snapped.

  Two guards immediately seized the officer and dragged him away. He didn't dare beg for mercy.

  Sam watched from a distance, struck by her authority. "Princess"—she was royalty. But there was something else. To Sam, Juliana felt different from the other Pig-men. She felt... more human.

  "Report, Captain: 20 sailors dead, 30 wounded. The aft main battery is disabled. Engine room sustained minor damage; we are still seaworthy. Furthermore, per the laws of war, you are hereby promoted to Admiral of the 9th Fleet of the Tahi Empire. The Fury will serve as the temporary flagship."

  "Understood," she replied, her voice devoid of joy. It was as if the rank meant nothing to her.

  "Your first command, Admiral?"

  "Rescue survivors and return to base. We have suffered a humiliating loss. Certain people in the Capital will answer for this—especially those at the Intelligence Bureau."

  "Report: We have captured 15 enemy pilots," the officer continued.

  "Keep the highest-ranking one. Mince the rest for human feed," she said coldly, her eyes fixed on the debris-choked sea.

  Then, the new Admiral of the 9th Fleet turned and walked slowly toward Sam. Her sea-blue eyes locked onto his.

  "Bert. This human is yours, isn't he?"

  Bert Hull looked at her—admiring the curves that, to his species, were the pinnacle of beauty—and bowed. "From this moment on, he belongs to the Admiral."

  Juliana remained silent, but behind the mask, it seemed her lips curled into a knowing smile. "You are very wise, Bert."

  Bert remained at attention. The fighter was no longer his.

  Sam felt a bitter sting in his chest. He was being handed over like a prized pet to a higher master. He suppressed the emotion. Survival first. Get to the AnD Center. Find the answers.

  Juliana loomed over him like a giant. Sam met her gaze. A strange, inexplicable sensation filled him.

  "Master's heart rate is spiking. Shall I adjust?" Ade asked.

  Sam ignored the AI. He was mesmerized by Juliana. She was terrifying, yet she felt strangely familiar. A faint, elegant scent drifted from her—high-end perfume.

  Juliana reached out and stroked Sam's head, the way a human would pet a dog. Her large, four-fingered hand was surprisingly soft. Sam felt a bizarre sense of peace. Is this how pets feel when they’re comforted? He felt a flash of self-loathing for becoming so docile. But what else could he do? Bite her? Snarl?

  "You belong to me now. Do you understand?"

  "He can talk. He definitely understands," Bert Hull chimed in. Juliana shot him a look that told him she hadn't asked him, and he shut his mouth instantly.

  "Understand," Sam replied, looking up at her.

  "Good. Your place is on the bridge."

  Juliana turned and walked toward the command tower. Sam looked around one last time, then slowly followed behind her, like a loyal hound following its master.