The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 88 - Fire on the Red Sea

The Red Sea shimmered like a blade under the morning sun—beautiful, deceptive.

Khisa stood at the prow of his ship, eyes locked on the Ottoman vessel and its two escorts slicing steadily through the water. Far to starboard, Tesfaye’s ship was fanning out in silence, sails angled to create a pincer. The plan was simple: trap, board, extract, survive.

But the plan didn’t account for how damn big the Ottoman warship was.

"Close enough for cannon range," warned Simba, gripping the railing beside him. "They’ll fire soon."

Khisa nodded, his eyes never leaving the enemy’s deck. It bristled with soldiers—at least eighty, some armed with matchlocks, others preparing to roll heavy cannons into place.

"Wait for the signal," Khisa muttered.

A flaming arrow from Tesfaye’s direction streaked into the sky—now.

"ALL SHIPS—FORWARD!"

Drums pounded. Sails snapped. Khisa’s ship surged ahead, Shadows gripping ropes, bows, and blades. The distance between the fleets vanished in seconds.

The Ottomans noticed.

A ripple of confusion passed over their decks—then orders were barked, and chaos turned to retaliation. The first cannon boomed.

Water exploded near Khisa’s hull. The next shot tore through the side of their second ship, sending timbers and limbs flying.

"Push through!" Khisa roared. "We need that ship intact!" fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

The Abyssinian ship to his left collided with one of the Ottoman escorts, boarding lines flying. Screams rose, steel clashed. Arrows hailed down from the Ottoman main deck, cutting down three Abyssinian soldiers before they ever touched the planks.

Khisa’s ship rammed the side of the warship—hard.

The world tilted as he leapt aboard with Musimbi and a dozen Shadows behind him. They were immediately met by musket fire—Wasike grunted and spun sideways, blood spraying from his side. A Shadow pulled him back behind the mast as Musimbi surged forward with a savage yell, knocking one gunner overboard with her spear.

An explosion lit the deck to their rear—a cannon struck Tesfaye’s ships. The hull split. Men screamed as fire and saltwater swallowed them.

"We’re losing ground!" Faizah yelled, slashing through a soldier, her arm already bleeding.

"Focus on the cargo hold!" Khisa shouted. "We need the weapons!"

He pointed toward the lower deck hatch, now guarded by elite Ottoman Janissaries (Members of the Ottoman infantry). They weren’t surprised anymore—they were furious, coordinated, and heavily armed.

The Shadows charged.

One fell instantly, an Abyssinian soldier—a musket ball tearing through his throat. Another dropped his sword and clutched his leg, shrieking. Musimbi engaged one of the Janissaries directly—blades rang against armor, sparks flying. She drove her spear upward—but slipped on blood.

She fell backward—straight toward the railing.

"Musimbi!"

Faizah dived—a blur of black and silver. She hit the deck hard, rolled, and caught Musimbi by the wrist just as she teetered off the edge. For one breathless second, Musimbi dangled over the sea.

Then Faizah pulled her back with a scream of effort, blood pouring from her own reopened shoulder wound. Musimbi gasped, shook her head, and they both charged back into the fray—together.

Below deck, Khisa fought his way down a narrow stairwell with three Shadows. The air was thick with gunpowder and sweat. Two more Ottoman soldiers met them in the corridor—one raised a pistol.

Too slow.

Khisa’s axe caught his chest mid-draw.

They reached the hold.

It was full. Crates of rifles. Powder barrels. Blades. The weapons Abyssinia needed. And worst of all...

A slow-burning fuse snaked across the floor.

"They’re trying to destroy it all!" one Shadow screamed.

"Cut it!" Khisa bellowed.

A Shadow lunged, stomping the fuse out just inches before it reached the barrels.

"Find the captain’s log!" Khisa ordered. "We take what we can and sink the rest!"

Above deck, Tesfaye’s ship took a direct hit—but instead of retreating, he made a bold call.

"Reroute power to the sails!" he shouted. "We’re going straight for their rudder!"

His helmsman hesitated. "We’ll crash!"

"We crash smart. Do it!"

Tesfaye’s vessel pivoted, catching a gust at full tilt. It slammed into the Ottoman warship’s rear flank, crippling the rudder and throwing their cannon alignment into chaos. Ottoman gunners screamed as their aim was thrown off—giving Khisa’s side the opening they needed.

Tesfaye staggered across the flaming deck, smoke trailing from a fresh cut above his eye. He locked eyes with Khisa across the battle and gave him a single nod.

Khisa emerged with the log in hand, blood dripping from his side. "Blow the cannon deck. We’re done here."

The Shadows set charges, lit them, and leapt back to their ship.

The warship exploded in three violent bursts.

Wood rained down. Black smoke choked the sky. The remaining Ottoman escort broke away, fleeing into the southern horizon.

The sea around them was littered with fire and bodies—friend and foe alike.

Khisa stood on the deck, barely able to breathe. Musimbi leaned on Faizah, face pale. Simba was being stitched by one of the healers, groaning but alive.

They had won. But it hadn’t felt like victory.

Khisa opened the captain’s log.

He read quickly—flipping through coordinates, names, trade routes. Then he stopped.

His voice was barely audible.

"They’re not just going to Massawa."

Faizah looked up, blinking blood out of her eye. "Where then?"

Khisa closed the log, eyes dark.

"They’re arming a campaign across the Indian ocean. Heading for Zanzibar, then Mzansi. This was the first shipment. There are more. If they succed, the effects will devastate us for generations."

A heavy silence settled on the scorched decks.

"What exactly does that mean for us Prince Khisa?" Tesfaye asked, his forehead bleeding.

"It means, this war is officially bigger than just us, we can’t fight the war here and even attempt to save other kingdoms. If we allow them to lead their ships south, war will litter this continent even more than now. People all across here will be sold off, lands taken from us. They are not giving us time to grow." Khisa said, his frustrations seeping through.

Khisa looked to the south, where smoke still drifted and the sun hung red and low.

"This war just opened its second front."

"What should we do? It’s hopeless isn’t it?" A soldier said, his voice shaking.

Khisa sighed deeply, this just got so much harder. They just couldn’t catch a break.

"I honestly have no idea. As much as I want to say we should stay at sea and keep raiding their ships, we simply cannot do that. Our fight is already overwhelming as is. We are fighting three powers with an army that is barely holding together.

It’s difficult to say, but they are on their own right now. The only thing we can do is fight the war on this front. If we manage that, maybe we can buy time for them."

Silence reigned over the blood-soaked decks. The sea, moments ago a battlefield, now whispered with the sounds of dying fire and lapping waves.

Khisa turned, walking slowly to the ship’s edge.

Floating in the water below was a child’s sandal—small, delicate, completely out of place in the carnage.

He didn’t know whose it was. Didn’t need to.

His hands clenched.

So many lives lost... just for greed. For control. For someone else’s empire.

He looked up at the distant southern sky, dark clouds gathering beyond the horizon.

"Why can’t everyone just be kind?"