The echoes of the Dawn's Hope's explosions still rolled over the water, the death cries of a wounded leviathan, full of venom and spite. The twisted, collapsed forward turret and the thick, rust-dust-choked smoke pouring from the wound were a resounding slap to the Empire's arrogance—a desperate, rust-colored flower of hope blooming in despair.
The tribe's cheers were deafening. Orcs beat their chests, roaring in victory, the pent-up fear and pressure of recent days finally finding an outlet. Even the usually stoic bear-orc chieftain, Gareth, wore a fierce, grimly satisfied grin.
But the joy of victory was as fleeting and fragile as the morning mist on Rust Island.
Liam knelt on one knee, coughing violently, each breath a sharp stab deep in his chest. The surface of his Boiling One armor flickered erratically, like a guttering candle in the wind. Forcibly channeling and merging steam energy, Beast Spirit power, Volcanic Ore energy, and even the restless Rust-Corrosion had taken a toll beyond imagination. Worse, the curse, held at bay with such difficulty, seemed agitated by that insane "resonance," growing more frenzied. He could clearly "hear" the subtle sounds of metallic structures within him being eroded and gnawed. A deep, bone-weary ache and sharp pain radiated from the bone beneath his left shoulder blade—a sign the corrosion was digging deeper.
Elara held his arm, the warmth of her palm betraying a slight, almost imperceptible tremble. Her face was paler than before. Maintaining the mental link with Sharp-Eye while fending off Cecilia's vicious psychic attack had pushed her already blood-loss-weakened body to the brink. Her silver eyes held no victory joy, only profound worry, fixed on the new, deeper rust stains appearing on the joints of Liam's armor.
"We... we did it?" a young orc artisan muttered, staring in disbelief at the smoking behemoth in the distance.
"No." Liam's voice, filtered through his helmet, was hoarse and heavy, like rusty gears grinding. "We just angered a wounded, far more dangerous beast. Breaking one fang doesn't mean we're safe."
As if confirming his worst fears, a low, thunderous steam whistle sounded from the horizon. One, two, three... a continuous, chilling rhythm, a cold announcement of impending death, contrasting sharply with the Dawn's Hope's lone roar of fury.
Behind the thinning, yet more sinister, rust-colored haze, one colossal, mountain-like shadow after another slowly revealed its menacing outline.
Not one ship, not two... an entire fleet!
They rose like steel coffins from a deep-sea graveyard, arranged in a stern battle formation. Their cold metal hulls reflected the bleak, watery sunlight piercing the mist with a lifeless glare. Larger caliber heavy guns, denser clusters of secondary batteries, and the forest of antennas and tall observation towers on their bridges—all proclaimed this was a destructive force capable of crushing a kingdom. The main strength of the Empire's Seventh Fleet had finally bared all its fangs.
"It's the Unyielding, the Iron Curtain... and the Purifier!" Elara's voice held a tremor of despair as she recognized the distinct silhouettes of the flagships. "The Imperial Council... they aren't here for capture or deterrence. They're here for a 'Cleansing'! They intend to erase Rust Island, and everything on it, from the world!"
"The Rust-Cleanse Cult's influence runs deeper than we thought," Liam said, forcing himself to stand upright despite the pain, his armor groaning in protest. His gaze swept over the tribespeople below, their cheers dying, replaced by a deeper, colder fear. "They fear not just the Emberstrider, but the Rust-Corrosion itself. This power they can't understand or control."
The new fleet didn't rush to open fire. Instead, with the leisure of a cat toying with a mouse, they began to deploy outward, forming a vast, encircling arc—a slowly tightening iron vise meant to lock down Rust Island completely. Smaller, swarm-like shipborne cutters were launched. They were fast and nimble, weaving through the reefs, clearly charting precise hydrographic maps and designating final firing coordinates.
Simultaneously, a new, more unsettling change began.
Several relatively smaller but peculiarly designed vessels, sheathed in a silver-white material resembling ceramic or a special alloy, moved to the front of the fleet. Their prows lacked heavy guns; instead, they featured massive, complex devices like horns or mirrors, edged with crystals glowing with a faint blue light.
"Those are... 'Rust-Purge Vessels'!" Elara's pupils constricted. "Weapons the Empire developed using technology dug up from ancient ruins, combined with the Cult's rituals! They project a high-frequency 'Cleansing Field'! It doesn't destroy, it... 'pacifies' or even 'strips' rust-corrosion energy! It's power they reverse-engineered from studying Ragnarok! To think they've advanced this far!!"
As if to confirm her fears, the device on the prow of one Rust-Purge Vessel suddenly flared. A soft yet penetrating beam of milky-white light shot out like a sword, striking a dense patch of rust-wood forest along the coast.
There was no explosion, no fire. Within the beam's area, the twisted, resilient rust-woods, which contained faint traces of rust energy, seemed to have their souls sucked out. They visibly lost their dark metallic luster, turning brittle and yellow, before crumbling into dust carried away by a faint breeze! Even the metal scraps on the ground grew dull and inert.
This sight was more chilling than outright destruction. It meant the Empire possessed the ability to fundamentally dismantle Rust Island's defenses, both natural and man-made.
"They want to sterilize this land. Wipe it clean," Liam's voice was icy. The appearance of the Rust-Purge Vessels shattered his original plan to rely on the corrosive environment for a protracted fight. The enemy not only held overwhelming firepower but had now found a way to counter their greatest asset.
As if misfortune wasn't enough.
"My King! The volcano... something's wrong with the volcano!" A fox-clan scout, tasked with monitoring the mountain, scrambled over, his face a mask of genuine terror this time. "The ground tremors are intensifying! The sulfur smell is choking! The smoke from the summit has turned dark red! The resonance probes we buried on the slopes... the crust pressure is skyrocketing! The energy readings are off the charts! It... it could erupt at any moment!"
As if to punctuate this desperate announcement, a deep, subterranean rumble vibrated through the ground, like the roar of a great beast stirring in its cage. In the distance, the island's central volcano, long dormant, now continuously spewed a thick column of smoke laced with dark red sparks, staining the already gloomy sky with an eerie hue. The true "Twilight of Rust Island" had fallen.
Before them, the Empire's fleet advanced step by step. Behind them, an apocalyptic natural disaster loomed. Internally, morale was crumbling, their leader was grievously wounded, and their core combat strength was depleted. Rust Island and its defenders were pushed to the absolute brink, plunged into unprecedented darkness.
Gareth, his eyes bloodshot, approached Liam, his voice ragged with despair. "My King, what do we do? Fight or flee? Fight with what? Against a whole fleet and a volcano? Flee... the Emberstrider isn't finished! Where could we even go?"
All eyes fixed on Liam. This cursed human youth, who had repeatedly led them to create miracles, was now their final beacon of hope.
Liam took a deep breath. The air was hot, laced with the sting of sulfur and metal corrosion, burning his lungs. He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over Elara's worried yet determined face, over the resolved, death-accepting looks in the eyes of Gareth, Warrick, and the other warriors, over the young artisans' faces mixed with fear and a flicker of hope.
His eyes finally lifted past them, fixing on the volcano vent spewing its ominous, dark red glow, and on the information woven from Rust Island's ancient legends and Imperial secrets that Elara had shared.
"We... won't flee." Liam's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to every ear, carrying a strange calmness that seemed to resonate with the very ground beneath them. "Or rather, there is no escape."
He raised his right arm, the one not yet fully claimed by rust, and pointed toward the hellish mouth of the volcano.
"The Empire's Cleansing, the volcano's eruption... their goal is destruction. Annihilation. But we are different." A near-mad fire kindled in his eyes, the desperate, all-or-nothing resolve forged in utter extremity. "We will find rebirth within this destruction!"
"Elara, you mentioned one of the Empire and the Cult's top secrets—the speculation that this volcano's core might contain fragments of the ancient 'Eternal Ember.' The source of the Rust-Corrosion, and the key to maintaining this land's strange energy balance."
Elara stared at him, instantly understanding his intent, her face losing all remaining color. "You want to... enter the core before it erupts? To seize the 'Eternal Ember'? Impossible! That's just a legend! Even if it exists, the temperature and concentrated rust energy there would obliterate you—armor and all—in an instant!"
"Legends often stem from forgotten truths. Obliteration... perhaps." A cold, mocking smile touched Liam's lips, aimed at fate and his own dire situation. "But staying here is also a death sentence. The only difference is whether we're blown to pieces by naval guns, purified to ash, or swallowed by lava. If death is certain either way, why not choose the path that... might just pry open a sliver of hope?"
He turned to Chief Artisan Warrick. "The final energy core interface for the Emberstrider... it's prepared?"
Warrick stared, then nodded fervently. "It is! As you designed, a high-grade energy conduction matrix is reserved at the heart of the main keel! We planned to power it slowly with the Beast King's core and the best Volcanic Ore, but—"
"No 'buts'." Liam cut him off, his gaze returning to the volcano. "If we can obtain the Eternal Ember, even a fragment, the limitless energy it contains wouldn't just instantly activate the Emberstrider, giving it the power to truly fly, even fight the fleet. More importantly..." He paused, his voice lowering but gaining undeniable force. "...It might temporarily 'satiate' the curse inside me. Buy us precious time."
It was an insane plan. To breach the core of an imminent volcano, seize a legendary source of power, use it to power an unfinished airship, and pacify a lethal curse. A single misstep at any point meant utter damnation.
Yet, under the twilight of Rust Island, beneath the guns of the Imperial fleet and the threat of volcanic eruption, insanity might be the only rationality left.
"I'm coming with you!" Elara stepped forward without hesitation, gripping his arm tightly, her silver eyes shining with an unyielding light. "My Silver Wolf Spirit is sensitive to energy fluctuations. I can help you locate it. And... the Pact binds us. We stand or fall together."
Liam looked at her, saw the resolve in her eyes, and the deep-seated, fearless devotion hidden within. He knew he couldn't refuse, nor did he need to.
"Gareth." Liam turned to the bear-orc chieftain. "You lead all warriors and artisans. Spare no effort, speed up the final outfitting and reinforcement of the Emberstrider! Especially the defensive armor and those backup steam ballistae! Use every available resource, even if you have to tear down every metal hut in the tribe! We must be ready to fly before the volcano erupts!"
"Yes, my King!" Gareth thumped his chest, the fire of battle rekindling in his eyes. "They'll have to get through our dead bodies before Imperial fire interferes with the ship's completion!"
"Warrick, run final checks on the energy conduction lines. They must be flawless. If we succeed in bringing back the Ember, the connection must be instantaneous!"
"Understood!"
Orders were issued rapidly. The tribe, once shrouded in despair, was injected with a potent stimulant, spinning back into frantic activity. Fear remained, but it was now overridden by a powerful, survival-driven momentum.
Liam and Elara didn't pause for a moment. There was no time for detailed preparations. Liam forced his body's remaining strength, the Boiling One armor emitting a low hum, its joints venting scorching steam. Elara took a deep breath, the faint silver phantom of her wolf spirit flickering behind her, driving back her physical weakness and fatigue.
Like two arrows loosed from a bow, they left the bustling tribal camp behind, racing at top speed toward the island's center, toward the volcanic vent that growled with low, ominous rumbles and spewed its baleful plume.
Behind them, the thunderous roar of the Imperial fleet's first, warning salvo echoed as they finalized their encirclement, mingling with the increasingly rapid and violent tremors from the heart of the volcano.
In the twilight of Rust Island, light and shadow intertwined. Destruction and hope were compressed to their utter limits. All bets were placed on those two figures charging toward the gates of hell, and on that desperately assembled airship named "Emberstrider."
The gears of fate, amidst the roar of steam and rust, accelerated toward an unknown end.