“We’ve been hit!” Roa reported. “A skiff and a corvette! What should we do, Boss?”
“Whatever,” Jerkhan snapped. The command channel was still in complete chaos, and he finally resolved to tell them everything he thought about them. Steel leader’s deep voice easily drowned out the rest.
“Shut up, [censored]! We need to leave, or we’ll die! I’m going to open portals, anyone who can, follow me! [Censored], forward my message to the general channel!”
“[Censored], Russian, are you with them?”
“[Censored]!”
Spitting out in anger, Jerkhan sharply spun the steering wheel. He still had a chance to save his juggernaut and some of the fleet, and he was going to use the hell out of it.
Turn off the Colossus, remove the load from the reactor. Pull all mounted fliers to the ship. Attack and destroy the two ships latched onto the Stormbringer at any cost.
“Raise sails! Send the engines into overdrive, throw red ellurite into the reactor! Accelerate! Start heating the spelljumper!”
A ship as large as a juggernaut was hard to control. It was a giant mechanism that required all crew members to work together in unison. Jerkhan was furiously pulling it out, constantly throwing glances at the indicators of speed, spelljumper counter, and ellurite charger, the latter only one-third full.
Seeing one of their main targets about to escape, the enemy redoubled their efforts. They surrounded the Erebus, trying to finish it off in a blaze of explosions and moving the epicenter of the entire battle to the weakening flagship. The Stormbringer would be next, and Jerkhan was doing the best he could to prevent it.
Three skiffs sent to block him burned one after another. A fast clipper fell behind, losing its rigging, as fifty Steel Guards sacrificed themselves in a suicidal boarding. All of the juggernaut’s systems worked in overdrive, turning in peak performance. At that pace, they would irreversibly overheat in several minutes, but the game was worth it. The Stormbringer, using the train of smaller ships like a shield, finally gained enough speed. The spelljumper icon lit up — they could finally open an Astral Portal.
“Where should we go, Boss? We have three signals!”
“Dorsa!” Jerkhan roared.
* * *
The departure of Jerkhan and the ships that joined him became the catalyst for Pandorum’s defeat. Their defenses collapsed, and the fleet broke into several parts pressured from all directions. The events had unfolded so quickly that the alliance leaders never got the chance to restore the chain of command, and after the loss of the Darwin, Gor’s wipe, and the Stormbringer’s flight, there was nothing to restore in the first place. Panic broke out with everyone running away to save their skin. Pandorum’s armada had been quite disparate from the beginning; other than the Pandas themselves, more than half of the players belonged to their allies and vassal clans. They became the first to waver, not seeing any reason to lose expensive ships and equipment. The battle was already lost, Pandorum’s star on the decline.
Later, the media reporting on Sphere of Worlds would say that it was the largest and also the fastest-moving battle in the history of Sphere. More than five hundred ships and twenty thousand people took part in it. Pandas, deprived of their leader, suddenly transformed into paper tigers. The coalition of the Northerners, NAVY, and Hird needed less than two hours to turn their might into a mere memory. Two juggernauts, fifteen galleons, more than a hundred and a half of lower-class ships, tens of thousands of deaths, millions of gold in gear — instead of vengeance, Pandorum suffered the most crushing defeat in their history.
The formerly strongest alliance in Sphere was sent into a deep knockout. Only history would tell if they would survive that fall and rise again or perish in obscurity. For the time being, humiliated and defeated, they retreated, hoping to defend their remaining holdings. Reconquering the Astral Plane was impossible, and their morale was at an all-time low. They had few ships and no more ellurite, not to mention potential problems with finances and allies.
The winners, on the other hand, were celebrating.
The Astral space between Atrocity and the Silver Stronghold hovering nearby was full of swirling debris: charred hulls, fragments of rigging, masts and spars, lost gear — all that remained after the battle. Dozens of players on skiffs or birdies kept scurrying around them, looking for precious loot. Of course, the best items had already been taken, but many held out hope that fortune would smile at them.
Once again, something was booming above Pandorum’s former castle, but this time, it was fireworks. The fleets of the Northern Alliance, NAVY, and Hird came together to have fun, as their leaders finally permitted them to rest after weeks of non-stop fighting.
“We’re invited, too,” Cey-Rus told the First Maiden, who was intently watching the colors bursting in the sky above the shard. “Let’s go.”
“No. We’re not players, don’t forget that. We need to keep our distance,” Romanova replied. “Let Cat hold the fort for us.”
“Cat. What is he banking on in this game, I wonder?” Cey-Rus smirked.
“Cat? He wants to slap fate in the face with a trump card,” Svechkin replied, leaning over the railing and gazing at the pink mist of the Astral Plane. “I’m more interested in what the Magister is banking on. We have three Keys, and he’s sitting on the down-low, although he must realize that Cat’s making his own play. Why?”
“Because it suits him,” Romanova suddenly spoke up. “It’s a Xanatos Gambit!”
“What?”
“A Xanatos Gambit. Whatever happens, it will play in the Magister’s hand. Whatever we do, whatever Cat chooses, it will benefit him. One way or another, all paths
