Bismarck's HP was being shaved away fast.
Abyssal Zumwalt felt a jolt of elation.
From the second ring of the encirclement she fired missiles without pause—like a string of firecrackers—blasting at Bismarck. The silver-white flight rig beneath her also spat straight lances of laser from the "mini-sun" at its core, raking for the kill.
Bismarck wasn't a stationary target. She fought while drifting south, her form a blur of afterimages. But the Abyssal flagships had the luxury of saturation fire: forty against one. A friendly shell here or there didn't matter to them; every hit that landed on Bismarck shoved her one step closer to the abyss.
Strictly speaking, the paper-thin, low-HP Abyssal Zumwalt should have stayed in the outermost ring, far from a possible Bismarck counterbite. But seeing Bismarck seemingly out of answers, she let the urge to deal damage override caution and crept into this dangerous range.
She hadn't completely dropped her guard—watching for carrier planes and missiles from the south while tracking Bismarck's movements.
Nothing unexpected happened.
Ten minutes in, Bismarck's half-transparent shield finally cracked apart with a snap.
Her ship rig was battered too: one main gun blew a barrel—an immediate one-third cut to her firepower.
The Abyssal flagships' spirits surged.
Any other shipgirl would count it a miracle to last a single minute under such a beating. Dying on contact would be normal.
Bismarck holding ten minutes was earth-shaking—but she was, at last, moderately damaged.
And once moderately damaged—below half HP—her shield skill could no longer be used.
Now even the nameless Abyssal flagships "playing support" could chunk her. As for Abyssal Musashi—one overhead smash with those magma-horned dragons could tear ten HP off Bismarck at a time—one fifth of what she had left.
Drop under one quarter and she'd be heavily damaged—combat power gutted by seventy, eighty percent or more. In the worst case, like Saint George earlier, she'd be a sitting duck waiting to die.
Just as it seemed Bismarck would be cut down here, Abyssal Friedrich der Große barked a warning:
"Everyone, no reckless glory-hunting. Fall the line back—sink her with bombers and torpedoes!"
Abyssal Zumwalt stiffened, then felt real respect for Friedrich.
Any Abyssal flagship would crave Bismarck's head—what an honor that would be. But Friedrich spotted the blood-rush and immediately reined them in, choosing the safest kill: no greed.
And she wasn't being timid. Many shipgirls have skills that raise damage output as HP falls, some even ignore the penalties of moderate/heavy damage. With Bismarck already fighting like a demon, who knew what else she had?
Zumwalt obeyed at once, easing back.
The Abyssal vanguard had long since pressed in, and more than a hundred thousand black, cloud-thick Abyssal bombers were wheeling overhead. They hadn't had clean angles while the melee churned below; now, as the flagships fought while yielding space, attack lanes opened.
Abyssal Musashi covered the withdrawal—both magma-horned dragons firing in tandem. Bismarck slipped one beam; the other smashed full into her left shoulder. A port-side turret shattered outright—she dropped into heavy damage.
And above, the swarming bombers dumped their loads.
Abyssal Zumwalt watched, nerves taut.
No friendly carrier planes. No missiles inbound. Whatever rescue plan the enemy had—Bismarck was finished.
As the tidal wave of bombs swallowed Bismarck, Zumwalt clenched her fist in triumph.
And then—
In the instant her mind finally relaxed—
Death bared its fangs.
U-47, the blue-haired little wolf, surfaced less than a hundred meters behind the Abyssal ring—point-blank to the back of their heads.
Torpedoes—launch!
[End of Chapter]
[100 Power Stones = Extra Chapter]
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