The ship fired every turret and machine gun available at the squadron of jet fighters. Tracing lines of fire shot out toward their numbers, and the jets blossomed out in every direction.
Jessie shouted something. The alarm wailed. Trails of white followed the jets as they roared closer--the trails split in two--and one flashed like--
A rocket! Those were rockets!
"Shields!" I ordered.
One of the technicians punched in the commands, and the space around us glimmered a transparent blue, just in time for the enemy rockets to somehow lock onto us and explode against our mana shields.
The ship rocked violently against the barrage of hits--how was it so powerful?--and the lights flickered for a moment. We were still airborne, and the smoke of the attack trailed behind us.
Jessie blinked on. "Redrim. Those are anti-ship missiles. If we can get our hands on one--"
"Too busy," I said.
The enemy jets roared past us and spread out in every direction. If those rockets were indeed anti-ship weapons, then we were in a bad spot.
"Vil!" I shouted. "Use an explosive round."
"It won't work," he said. An enemy jet flew past and hit us with another missile. The ship shook, Vil grunted, and his screen blinked. "The explosive rounds only detonate on impact. I don't think we have a countermeasure for something like this."
"Fuck."
The ship rumbled with another missile hit. The bridge pulsed with red light. "Admiral!" said one of the techs, "We have a breach in bulkhead A-5! The air has depressurized."
I grit my teeth. The port side flashed and shook with another explosion, and the enemy jet raced by with a victorious howl.
> Heart of the dragon activated.
Several more missiles screeched toward us and froze at the magic circles that surrounded the hull, then flipped, then shot back toward the firing jets.
I nearly salivated as I watched their own tracking rockets follow them through the clouds--
Pap-pap-pap.
The enemy jets shat out a buncha torches. The missiles missed! Those were anti-anti-ship missile torches of some kind. I had to have them!
> Heart of the Masochist activated.
Several more missiles slammed into our flanks. The ship rocked. The manashield blinked as the attacks brute-forced their way through, and as my punishment built, my arousal peaked, and the strength of this ship and its functions increased substantially.
Soon, the manawall protection--which could only dampen 50% of incoming attack damage--had been boosted to 90% for the duration of my Masochist binge.
More rockets slammed against our side, and the shield shimmered in response. The damage was minimal. Now we had the upper hand. Now we could fight back.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Three of the jets merged into a formation. They intended to drive missiles into our side like a spear! They fired their weapons--
Red-tipped anti-ship missiles. The manawall couldn't deal with stacking damage like this. It would destroy us!
> Parachute activated.
The stern parachute deployed, and the entire ship yanked hard. People and equipment and crew lurched forward in their seats, stuff fell off counters and tables, but the ship slowed fast enough that--
The missiles turned tightly to catch us--
And zipped on by.
"Redrim," Jessie said, "I've come up with a new shell." The ship rocked with another explosion, and the view of her face flickered with static. "I'm dropping it in now."
> New recipe unlocked: Flak Shell
"Vil," I shouted.
"On it," he answered.
The tank turrets fired new shells that shot out toward the enemy planes and exploded in the air nearby, blossoming black smoke and throwing shrapnel. It was hard to tell how effective it was in damaging the jets, but judging by how they yanked around to avoid them, I knew it would be a useful tool for aerial combat.
Or at least flying-trash-battleship-versus-jet combat.
"Redrim!" Jessie yelled. "Get me a fucking jet! I will literally suck your dick for a jet."
We shook and rumbled with another barrage from another group of jets, and the turrets thump-thump-thumped their flak cannons to counter.
"Goddamnit, Jessie, we've talked about this. I don't have a dick."
"I will literally make you a dick, and I will literally suck it if you get me a fucking jet. We need a jet blueprint, Redrim."
The ship jolted, and a boom echoed through our feet. Metal groaned and snapped, and I felt it throughout the ship--something wrong.
"Damage report!"
"Portside Rocket Engine losing speed!" answered a tech.
The ship began to list; we were tilting left.
Something exploded with a roar, and the wind whipped against us.
"Engine three has exploded!" she shouted. "Fuel is spilling out."
Damnit. We lost this fight. We would need to make an early landing just to refill the reservoir.
"Deploy chutes," I ordered.
Parachutes deployed.
The huge white parachutes fluttered out, dozens of house-sized lengths of fabric, and we slowed to a feather's fall.
The enemy jets, however, were still fighting against our constant flak barrage. Now the skill was littered with black stains--clouds of thick smoke that popped and spread and erupted with shrapnel--some even plinking against our hull, but now those jets were in disarray.
One pulled tight in a long turn to lance us with another missile.
This was the one. Jessie needed that recipe, and I needed a new dick.
"Disable shields!" I ordered. "Disperse Smoke!"
White smoke shot out from the mana dispersal system all around the hull, and soon we were covered in a thick fog that reached far, just far enough that when the enemy jet fired its weapon and tried to pull away--
It flew right into the smoke of us.
"Disperse Freeze!"
The freeze spells ripped throughout the hull, reaching into the smoke and creating a spiderweb of ice.
And the jet?
Frozen in my icy web.
> Heart of the Kraken activated: x1.
A single Kraken tentacle spat out from a magic circle, and I willed it to shoot through the ice, shattering layer through layer, soon finding our prey--the frozen jet, glittering as the sunlight reflected around the frozen smoke--and I gripped it, yanked it out--the glass top of the cockpit shot open, and the pilot said, "Fuck this," and jumped off, and I tossed that fucking thing right down the main recycling chute on the deck.
> +1 F-16 Fighting Falcon
>
> New recipes unlocked.
>
> New form unlocked.
The enemy jets made one last pass to fire missiles into us, but we were, at the moment, just a big fuzzy orb of ice, and the missiles shattered chunks off, but we were undamaged.
We couldn't fire back. They couldn't hurt us, so they just left. Maybe they were running out of missiles, maybe fuel, maybe they just got bored.
Once we knew it was safe, I dispersed a fire spell to melt away the ice, and we descended back into the ocean with a healthy little splash.
Except we weren't necessarily in an ocean anymore. Not one made of water.
We were floating, of course, and it was cool like water, but the liquid we were swimming in was more of a mulchy, pasty, old styrofoam layer that had turned into something between a solid and a liquid.
It was--no way--it was garbage. A sea of it.
I had heard of this place from old cautionary tales and informational recycling pamphlets during my youth. A trash oasis in the ocean, filled with the garbage of the ancients. Empty milk cartons, shampoo bottles, balled-up fabrics bleached by the sun.
This was trash island.