Canon Ships Mga Nobela at Kwento

He glanced back and Rowling was gaining on them and the two ships coming for them may cut them off before they reach the passage. “Fire the left Cannons at those ships. We need to slow them down!!” He yelled to Logan who was walking across the lower deck. “Fire left Cannons!” Logan yelled. “Left cannons fire!” The man yelled down into the hull. The raddaling of the cannons being prep for fire and then the sequence of booms as each of the four cannons were fired shook the Evening Star with force. Jack glanced at the incoming ships as they tried to swerve their ships out of the line of fire. Since they were pointing towards him they couldn't fire at him. They would need to turn, same as Rowlin

Chapter 50: The Shadow Lord's Departure The harbor stretched before him like a promise of violence made manifest, its waters black as midnight beneath the pre-dawn sky. Forty-seven warships rode at anchor in formations that spoke of military precision and unlimited resources, their hulls gleaming with magical reinforcements that could deflect cannon fire and turn aside the most sophisticated naval magic. Each vessel flew the silver shadow of House Nox, but these weren't the modest coastal patrol ships his ancestors had maintained. These were instruments of conquest, designed to carry war across oceans and challenge powers that had never faced serious external threats.

It was a brutal, atonal sound that vibrated the fillings in my teeth. From the labyrinth of the docks, three massive warships detached. They were galleons, identical to the ones we had sunk ten years ago, but heavier, plated with thick, riveted iron along their hulls. Their gun ports snapped open in perfect, mechanical unison. Dozens of black cannons slid out, tracking our approach. "Captain," the helmsman called out, his voice perfectly steady despite the artillery pointing at his chest. "Orders?" Torin looked at the massive cannons. He had swallowed their fire once. He would not do it again.

Marlee shook her head and said. “Then… Then what should we do?” “Continue moving forward! If it’s a blessing, then it’ll be good. But if it’s not, we can’t avoid the disaster anyway. Now that we’ve reached this point, we can’t escape. So let’s hope that the other party’s request will not be too excessive.” After receiving Marlee’s orders, the whole merchant ship began to change. Energy cannon barrels appeared around the merchant ship, arming the merchant ship like a hedgehog.

They all looked like they were itching for a fight, and some were even visibly trembling from the anticipation. "Aye, sir," replied one of the officers. "The railcannon's primed for a full power shot." A sly grin curled up from the captain's lips. Terra Nach Mar railcannons were among the best capital ship weapons in the universe. Their ability to penetrate armor was second-to-none, and the captain was confident that a barrage of five rail shots at a hundred percent would puncture even a battleship's thick hide. If they targeted the battleship's power generator, broke through the armor, and then destroyed it, then the fight was as good as theirs.

​Ibrahim stood near the bow of the lead vessel, his indigo robes fluttering around his shins as he spoke in low, measured tones with the fleet captain—an old salt-trader whose eyes were sharp and clear behind a web of weathered wrinkles. ​"The Vane naval cutters have established a blockade around the main deep-water harbor," Ibrahim said, stepping back onto the pier as he gestured toward the open horizon. "They are scanning for steel hulls and high-frequency transponders. But these shallow-draft canoes can navigate the mangrove creeks where their deep rudders will run aground on the mudbars. The corporation built a cage for ships, but the delta belongs to the canoes."

The black horizon of the Pacific didn’t just rumble; it bled. Through the dense, wet curtains of the harbor fog, the silhouette of *The Leviathan* materialized like a prehistoric leviathan cut from matte-black steel. The naval destroyer sat three miles out, a ghost ship commissioned by the absolute peak of corporate desperation, its heavy forward cannons slowly rotating toward the coordinates of the free port of Blackridge. They weren't here to negotiate an asset recovery. They were here to execute a scorched-earth liquidation.

Tristan and Saoirse entered. The conversation stopped. Tristan walked to the head of the table. He wore a new coat—black leather reinforced with Aether-resistant lining, designed by Helena to dampen his emissions. He looked like a general. A very dangerous, very unstable general. "Report," Tristan said. "The fleet is fueled," Thorne said. "We have fifty ships combat-ready. Another twenty support vessels." "The Sovereign’s main cannon is online," Vane added. "Though we only have enough charge for three shots. After that, we’re throwing rocks."

"That’s hundreds of ships. Cargo, cruise liners, private yachts..." "Filter it," I snap. "Filter by arrival and departure. I want a ship that arrived just before we did and left the day after the photo was taken. And then," I lean in, placing my hands on the desk. "I want to know which of those ships is in New York right now." Wong’s fingers fly across the keyboard. The clatter of the keys is the only sound in the room. The list on the screen populates. It’s long. MSC Divina. Maersk Alabama. Cosco Shipping Pisces.

with his bloodied arm, testament to a wolf sharpshooter who had almost ended him before a cannon shot from Grey Thunder had blown him into the water. "High Marshall, reports from the ships: 6 ships sunk, 4 ships currently taking in water with the crews engaged in heavy fighting with the werewolf borders so repairs are totally out of question, 5 other ships are currently battling it out with the Werekult boats; we've been able to sink 5 of theirs so far with 2 of their ships critically damaged,