Ao3 Lower Decks Novels & Stories

LYDIA POV The plunge through the abyssal shaft ended with a bone-jarring impact that sent violent shockwaves through the dragon-iron keel of the Imperial Vanguard. We crashed into the shallow, bioluminescent lagoon bordering the sunken metropolis of the First Era. All around us, thirty-one surviving warships of the allied fleet hit the water in rapid succession, their sails snapping shut as the vertical current dropped them into the massive, dry air-cavern ten miles beneath the ocean floor.

The Salt Dock Breach The planks of Pier Seven groaned under our advance, the waterlogged fir timbers slick with a greasy lacquer of brine, fish scales, and old diesel oil. We moved like shadows against the rotting walls of the storage sheds, our canvas duster coats absorbing the horizontal prickle of the coastal downpour. Below the structure, the black ocean thrashed against the barnacle-crusted pilings, a heavy, rhythmic sloshing that filled the foggy air with the stench of decaying kelp. Six of our elite Obsidian Phalanx scouts flanked us in a wide, loose sweep, their matte-black armor completely invisible against the gray maritime mist.

Before Nero can fully immerse himself from his imagination of jumping into the upper deck using his top-notch agility, Audrey already made up her mind. "Since he was the last one to arrived, I will take the advantage to choose which bed I prefer. I will be using the lower deck..." Audrey believes on a first come first serve basis so she did not stand on ceremony anymore. She will be taking the lower deck since it is more convenient. [Little girl, I want the upper deck....] "No Nero. It would be a hassle. You will have to literally climb up and down of your bed every single day. Besides not only it is time-consuming but it would also be tiring at the same time."

and return the solar system to its "Default-State." Avery Vane-Thorne stood on the command deck of the Ares-Prime, the flagship of the new "Tri-World-Fleet." For the first time, "Sovereign-Pilots," "Amethyst-Navigators," and "Technocracy-Engineers" sat at the same consoles, their distinct "Standards" woven into a single, functional "Combat-Frequency."

Dax asked, completely unfazed. "Worse," I said, my fingers flying over my keyboard as I decrypted a fresh packet of data pouring in from the coastal sensors. "The Ark in the Mariana Trench isn't an aerial fortress like Neo-Angeles. It's designated as Abyssal-One. It's a high-pressure, deep-sea manufacturing hub. And they aren't sending drop-ships." I hit a key, throwing the coastal radar onto the main holographic projector. The western coastline only thirty miles from our grounded crater was lighting up like a Christmas tree. But the signatures weren't in the sky. They were emerging from the ocean.

Her onboard marketplace, restaurants, and areas for leisure and entertainment excelled above all others. “She looks new because they recently remodeled the entire weather deck to attract more high-end passengers,” Crystellia said. “You should see the updated HB-containment system on the promenade deck. It keeps commuters comfortable even when they cross through unshielded sunlight.” Bjorn smiled. Crystellia understood the expectations of traveling rich folk. But was she aware of the below-main poor-borne section consisting of kitchens, laundries, crew-cabins, and group sleeping quarters for lower-class citizens? He had read of a deck set aside for storing cables used to group-roost those wit

She dropped through the structural lattice of the lower deck, bypassing the heavily guarded main platforms entirely. ​The cellar deck was a dark, wet labyrinth of hanging pipes, structural beams, and rushing sea spray. Lyra deployed her landing parachute at the absolute last second, the nylon snapping open with a violent jerk that slammed her boots directly onto the grating of the maintenance catwalk surrounding the thermal siphon.

They took three villages, much closer together than they liked, and turned sail back to Concordia. The slave pens below deck were overcrowded and poorly tended as the ship was minimally staffed without the blood slaves that normally accompanied them and with many vampires remaining behind in order to tend to the sick and dying of Concordia. Going below deck was a miserable affair as a result, stinking of urine, faeces, vomit and stale bodies, echoing with crying children, weeping women, angry men, and their fervent prayers to the One God for deliverance. Thaelen spent as much time as he could on the deck, working himself into exhaustion in order to try to alleviate the burden on his soldiers

Decking and exoframe and chitin shards fell inwards as the batteries imploded. It ate up more and more of the ship and left a massive gaping wound on its starboard side before the demimatter energies were sated. Dozens of decks were out for all to see, open to the void of space. It looked almost as though something large and unseen took a bite right out of the ship.

"Meet me on the lower orbital flight deck, Alpha King. Let us see if your dark surface magic can withstand the blade of a Dragon Prince!" The holographic channel snapped shut, dissolving into sparkling crimson dust. Ten minutes later, the outer pressure gates of the Vance Aegis’s massive lower flight deck groaned as they slid open. The flight deck was a vast, open platform stretching three hundred meters into the void of space, suspended high above the swirling blue oceans and white clouds of Earth. A translucent dome of black anti-magic shadow—broadcast directly from the ship's engine core—was all that separated the platform from the freezing vacuum of space, keeping the atmosphere pressuri