Driller Ship 소설 & 이야기

The interior of the shipyard was a sprawling, industrial hellscape of towering crane scaffolds, smoking fuel reservoirs, and the frantic, chaotic scramble of thousands of retreating cartel enforcers. The Aethelgard Tyrant rose out of the central dry-dock cradle like a monstrous mountain of non-reflective black steel. Its massive long-range railgun turrets were turning erratically, their automated target-finders completely blinded by the purple data-rime we had printed across the harbor. "Intruder registry detected!" the ship’s synthesized voice boomed from the overhead sirens, its binary frequency screeching with systemic panic. DRY-DOCK CRADLE COMBUSTION: PROTOCOL ACTIVE.

Kael led the way, the Hush-Blade acting as a silent compass, pulling him toward the stern. ​"Why are we going down?" Elara whispered. "The exit is above us." ​"The drill is powered by a central turbine," Kael said. "If we can’t stop Lyra on the shore, we stop her power here. If we shatter the main shaft, the drill won't have enough torque to pierce the granite seal of the Vein." ​They rounded a corner and skidded to a halt.

“The wave reached them.” On the screen, the first drone suddenly vanished. Then another. And another. Daniel laughed. “They’re popping like balloons.” The drones could not handle the pressure shift. Their metal frames crushed instantly. Within seconds, dozens of them disappeared from the radar. Elizabeth whispered, “It’s working.” But the wave was still spreading. It moved toward the Leviathan carrier. Sophia watched carefully. “That ship is stronger.” Victor nodded. “It might survive.” The pressure wave reached the carrier. For a moment, the radar signal stayed stable.

Although Peltratria laughed as he said that, he picked up the pace. As they got closer to the door, Chasm recognized this type of ship as a transport instead of any sort of fighting machine. Before he had a chance to get a good look at the carrier, a set of steps whooshed down to the ground. Rhylent walked up and into the vessel behind Norwell and Peltratria.

Through her spyglass, the scene at the shipyards was a vision of absolute ruin. Three massive, copper-plated Draconian war-barges had bypassed the outer reef guards entirely, using the Dawn-Gild's leaked coordinates to slam their white-hot reptilian prows directly into the grand merchant vaults. The dry-docks where the secondary hull lines of the Royal Navy were being laid down were already ablaze, the seasoned northern pine timbers turning into lines of running charcoal under the pressure of the Saurian Janissaries' magma-weapons.

The local mariners, hardened men with missing limbs and haunted eyes, warned Rear Admiral Luisa Brent to turn back. "No one returns from those waters, Admiral." Luisa only smiled. She ordered the long-range anti-ship missiles readied. The beast surfaced three days later, a coiled serpent with glimmering sapphire scales, its maw wide enough to swallow a fishing vessel whole. The ANS Dawnbreaker, one of Fleet 02’s destroyers, locked on immediately. Two missiles streaked across the sky. The first hit the creature’s midsection, blasting through muscle and bone. The second struck its eye, detonating deep within its skull.

"Excellent. Prepare to advance." The crew scrambled to obey, ready to pillage yet another vulnerable ship trapped at port. Their own vessel plunged onward, waves crashing over the deck. Drago remained fixed at the wheel, a malevolent force of nature guiding his ship of thieves and cutthroats. He lived for the thrill of the hunt, and for the spoils it brought him. The ship rounded the rocky edge of the island, the town's lights flickering through the downpour. Drago's grin turned savage as he spotted his prey--a ship, sails furled, docked and unaware of the danger approaching.

“Four minutes left. Let us go.” Four whole minutes pass and the one lone scout upon the hill of the six-mile mark has been torn to shreds like a wild animal has ripped it apart from limb to limb. Its stomach is opened, seeping out of its origin. Its face is torn up so badly that she is unrecognizable. The trident that was once the foundation upon which she built a soldier’s life upon is broken in two. Catarina stands at the apex of this hill that overlooks most, if not all, the wildlands. Her mouth is covered in blood. The same liquid coats the neck and upper breast of her armor. Norvin is off to the side kneeling down and scoping the area before them. In the distance, far from their positio

Their stingers themselves were bent up or torn apart or turned to slag. A group of guns focused on one of the battleships and flung round after round into one of its turret housings. They practically blasted it to pieces until it was reduced to scrap, then continued to hollow out what they could. They drilled deep into the battleship itself, and dug violently into its belly. There, countless Drogar crewmembers were annihilated, along with the systems and modules all around them. Everything was blasted apart with such ferocity that the battleship came extremely close to being severed in half.

"I will burn every server in the East before I let her turn him into a 'Functional Asset.'" The Strategic Drift The barge captain—a "Broken Asset" named Miller who had lost his family to a corporate purge in '09—approached them. He moved with a "calm, loyal" silence, his face a map of scars and sea salt. "We’re crossing the 'Digital Dead Line' in twenty minutes," Miller grunted, pointing toward a stretch of the New Jersey coastline that was uncharacteristically dark. "Once we hit the marshes, the 'Dragonfly' drones can't find us. The methane from the bogs messes with their thermal sensors. But we have to ditch the truck."