Mistblade sat astride Motor, pressing the No. 7 ball forward. Maple Syrup and Rita flanked Motor on each side, guiding his frame gently downward. Fat Goose sat behind Mistblade, back turned, facing the sea ahead, braced for the apprentices rushing their way.
All of them had gone limp, bodies relaxed. Mistblade only made sure the No. 7 ball kept moving, pushing Motor steadily toward the seabed, then stopped moving altogether.
The apprentices who hadn't managed to sink their ships followed them down, sniping from the edge of their attack radius.
Even as volleys streaked from above, they didn't strike back. Their freshly spawned bubbles absorbed everything.
[Mistblade]: Two minutes left.
[Fat Goose]: Is that enough?
[Rita]: It's here!
A vast black shape glided in, lunging first at the apprentices still throwing spells above.
