Chapter 371 - 371: War with the Native Gods (ii)

The boiling waters of Sector Seven churned as the three Apostle-class leviathans finally breached the defensive line. These creatures possessed scales resembling reinforced steel plating and ignored the corrosive spores melting the smaller galleons.

The lead beast surged forward through the dark water to snap its jaws around the Weaver of Tides.

The Weaver shifted his physical form into a whirlpool to evade the lethal bite. "My currents cannot restrain targets of this scale."

"We do not need to restrain them," Old-Shell responded from the seabed. "We just need to crack their shells."

Old-Shell locked his legs into the sand and angled his back-mounted cannons upward. Armor-piercing artillery shells launched from his carapace and flew directly down the charging leviathan's open throat. The internal detonations ruptured the creature's stomach to send dark blood billowing into the surrounding ocean.

The Ash-Drake seized the opening to express its extreme hatred for the freezing saltwater.

The reptile swam over the wounded leviathan and unleashed a concentrated beam of thermal fire straight into the torn flesh. Scalding heat cooked the monster from the inside out until the beast went limp and sank into the trench.

The remaining two leviathans recognized the underwater trap and breached the surface to escape the boiling zone. They raised their glowing dorsal fins above the waves to charge a retaliatory strike against the shoreline.

Gorak watched the towering targets emerge from the surf. He grinned and raised his crystallized right arm. "They want to breathe. Deny them."

Gorak punched the wet sand with his mutated fist. A branching web of blue lightning raced across the beach to strike the churning ocean. The conductive saltwater amplified the voltage to blanket the bay in electricity. Both breaching leviathans shrieked as the current coursed through their wet scales and locked their muscles in a rigid spasm.

"Finish the job," Rubedo ordered through the neural tether from his orbital sanctuary.

Sludge leaped off Old-Shell's dome and rode a pressurized water jet provided by the Weaver.

The Mud-Skipper landed perfectly on the snout of the nearest paralyzed leviathan. He shoved a handful of concentrated acid cores straight into the beast's blowhole before diving back into the sea.

The alchemical vials detonated a second later to dissolve the creature's respiratory system into a fountain of green sludge.

The final leviathan broke the electrical paralysis and turned its glowing fins toward the beach. It attempted to fire a pressurized hydro-cannon at the Vanguard infantry.

Gorak signaled the automated turrets stationed along the coastal ridges. The magical artillery spun to life and unleashed a synchronized barrage of explosive munitions. The shells struck the glowing dorsal fins to shatter the biological charging mechanism.

A volatile chain reaction blew the final beast into floating pieces of roasted blubber.

The Vanguard infantry cheered from the shoreline as golden experience light showered over their ranks. The native gods had promised an apocalyptic invasion but only managed to provide an entertaining target practice session for the ground troops.

Up in the sanctuary, Rubedo watched the kill-feed update on his crystal console. He opened the Omniscient Eye to establish a direct visual feed back to the Native Gods' colosseum. Aegir and Ignis-Vael stared at the severed connection in complete shock.

"Your warning was rather underwhelming," Rubedo told the ancient deities through the projection. "Feel free to send more tribute whenever you wish to upgrade my troops."

Aegir gripped the armrests of his pearl throne inside the grand colosseum. The scrying pool in the center of the chamber rippled before going dark. His prized leviathans were dead. The Vanguard had turned the apex predators into floating debris.

Ignis-Vael paced across the petrified coral floor. The magma dripping from his shoulders scorched the stone. "This player mocks the ancient pantheons. We offered him a chance to pay tribute. He turned our envoys into fodder."

A third deity descended from the vaulted ceiling on a localized storm cloud. Skysu, the Sky-Sunderer crossed his arms. "Your oceanic beasts lacked discipline, Aegir. We must stop sending isolated hunting parties. We need to deploy the full host."

Aegir turned to his High Priest standing near the dais. The multi-armed crustacean humanoid bowed in reverence. "Sound the abyssal horns," Aegir ordered. "Wake the sleeping broods in the deep trenches. Gather a hundred thousand trench-crawlers and fifty thousand magma-drakes. We will drown his coastline in a tide of claws and fire."

High Priest Krell scurried away to execute the command. He traveled down into the darkest ravines of the ocean floor and blew a horn crafted from a hollowed leviathan tusk.

The sound echoed through the underwater volcanic vents. Thousands of armored crustacean warriors pulled themselves from the mud. Magma-drakes erupted from the boiling fissures, snapping their jaws in anticipation of the slaughter. The native gods prepared to show the Vanguard the true terror of the server.

Days later on the physical plane, the western ocean blackened with the encroaching horde. The Vanguard stood ready along the coastal ridges. The native gods threw their combined armies against the shoreline in a coordinated assault.

The attempt failed just as spectacularly as the first.

The industrial might of the Red Spiral operated with flawless efficiency. Automated turrets unleashed a continuous barrage of explosive munitions. The artillery shells shredded the front lines of the trench-crawlers before they could even touch the sand.

Gorak cracked his knuckles and looked over at Krug. "More target practice."

Gorak punched the wet sand to send branching webs of crystallized lightning through the surf. The attack electrocuted thousands of trench-crawlers in a single strike. Krug swung his greataxe to generate a localized singularity, crushing a dozen magma-drakes into a compact ball of scales and bone.

Eon sat on the beach nearby. The ten-year-old boy chewed on his tungsten-alloy ring while watching the battle. He found the flashing lights highly entertaining.

Suddenly, he sneezed and a spatial rift tore open above the ocean, accidentally swallowing an entire battalion of diving magma-drakes into a pocket dimension. The invasion collapsed into a comical slaughter.

The Vanguard infantry leveled up repeatedly without taking a single casualty on the shore.