The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 96 - Fire on the Horizon

A loud series of horns and drums sounded at the crack of dawn at the Assab Port.

It only meant one thing—enemies spotted at sea, and in large numbers.

Khisa and Tesfaye burst out of their tents, adrenaline already surging. The training kicked in. No panic. Just action. They immediately began issuing orders. This drill had been run countless times. Everyone knew their positions: archers, gunmen, sailors.

"Get on the ships! Move out! You have your orders. Those who stay, protect the port with your lives!" Khisa shouted.

The soldiers roared in response.

Soldiers erupted into action. Crates of gunpowder and bullets were flung open. Rifles were handed out, swords sheathed at hips, and shields slung over backs. Shouts echoed as men and women scrambled into disciplined formations. In moments, the once quiet port became a hive of focused fury.

"Musimbi ! Simba ! Faizah! Stay behind and protect the princess. You’re in command of the port. Hold the line until we return!"

"Tesfaye!" he turned, eyes sharp. "Get the Prince. He’s coming with us."

The port, asleep just moments ago, was now a hive of energy. Men hauling barrels of gunpowder to the ships, others lining up in squads. Archers ran uphill to man the cliffs. Drummers beat out rhythms of war.

"Prince Khisa!" came a breathless voice. Princess Azenet, her face pale with worry, clutched her robe.

"What is happening?" she asked.

"Enemies spotted at sea. We must move quickly to stop them from landing," Khisa said, pausing only a moment. "Stay with Musimbi. She will protect you."

"Please... be careful."

Khisa took her hand gently in his.

"I will be victorious, Princess," he promised, pressing a hand to the ring she gave him tucked on a leather cord around his neck. It was a grounding weight, and he clutched it tightly before turning.

Then he ran.

In total, Assab had 20 vessels—some captured from earlier raids, others built with Khisa’s own designs. Three of them, in particular, were built for speed and agility, crafted from Abyssinian cedar and reinforced with brass fittings.

Across the horizon, slicing through morning mist, came the Ottoman fleet. Ten massive ships led by the cowardly but brutal Commander Bashir, their sails black with red crescent moons. Crewed with soldiers and pirates, the vessels were fitted with cannons and harpoons, their decks swarming with armed men.

Leading them was Commander Bashir, a cruel and cunning man. His face, half-covered with a gilded mask, watched the coast through a spyglass. "There’s movement," he muttered. "They’re ready for us. Good. Let’s burn them anyway."

Khisa boarded The Flameborn, his flagship. He raised his axe overhead, the sun glinting off its polished steel.

"Ready the guns! Stay calm! Wait for my signal!" he bellowed. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Cannon fire erupted from both sides. The sea exploded in plumes of water and fire. One of Assab’s stolen galleons took a hit, sending splinters and a mast into the sky. Men screamed, smoke covered the waves.

On Tesfaye’s ship The Red Fang, the Abyssinian commander roared orders.

"Target their front ship! Load double shot! We take the wind from their sails!"

Tesfaye’s command was a storm. His cannons fired with precision. The first Ottoman ship veered left, struck dead-on. Flames poured from its side.

Aboard The Flameborn, Prince Tadesse was frozen, eyes wide as explosions lit up the sky and men screamed all around him. A young soldier near him—barely older than a boy—was torn apart by shrapnel. Blood splattered his face.

"Load the damn cannon, Prince, or die standing there!" Khisa barked, pointing with his axe.

Tadesse’s breath caught. His knees nearly gave out. His hands shook as he reached for the iron ball, struggling to load it. His ears rang. The heat, the smoke—it was too much.

A pirate swung aboard, blade raised—headed straight for Tadesse.

Then—flash of silver.

A figure leapt between them. Jelani, a Shadow, her face streaked with blood and soot. She twisted mid-air and cut the pirate down with one clean slash.

"You better move, pretty boy!" she snarled. "This is war."

Tadesse gasped, falling back. He crawled behind the cannon, blood pounding in his ears. His chest tightened. What am I doing here? I’m no soldier. This is madness. He slammed his fist against the deck, tears threatening. "I should’ve never come to Assab."

Khisa ducked as cannon fire shattered the deck near him. He pulled his pistol, firing once, hitting an Ottoman soldier leaping over the rail. Then he charged forward, axe swinging in brutal arcs.

His movements were fluid, calculated—each strike landing with force. He kicked a pirate into the sea and used the butt of his axe to knock another senseless. Around him, Shadows moved like ghosts. Silent. Deadly. Two of them—Barasa and Irungu—leapt to another ship mid-battle and took out its gun crew, disabling their forward cannons.

Across the water, Tesfaye boarded an enemy vessel with a war cry. He bashed his shield into a pirate’s face, then turned and signaled his archers on the cliffs. A volley of fire arrows rained down, igniting an Ottoman sail. Smoke curled up, casting a crimson glow.

On shore, Faizah, Musimbi, and Simba stood at the ready. A group of pirates had made landfall in small rafts.

"Hold the line!" Faizah called. "Protect the port!"

The three Shadows moved into position, cutting down invaders before they could step fully onto the beach. Musimbi hurled a spear, pinning a pirate to a tree. Simba slammed two together with a brutal hammer swing.

Arrows rained from the cliffs. Gunmen fired from behind crates and barrels.

Musimbi took the lead. "Hold the line! Not a single one steps foot past this beach!"

A pirate lunged toward Azenet, but Faizah stepped between them, slashing the man’s chest open in one fluid motion.

Simba slammed another to the ground with his shield and stomped on his chest. "These aren’t warriors—they’re dogs."

More soldiers rushed in from the inner camp, pushing the pirates back toward the water. One by one, the invaders fell.

After hours of brutal combat, fire, and loss, the sea calmed. Four Ottoman ships were burning. Two more surrendered.

Bashir, on his command ship, realized too late the mistake. "Retreat! We’ve underestimated them!"

The rest fled under Bashir’s cowardly retreat. Victory belonged to Assab—but at a cost. Blood and ash painted the sea.

Khisa stood at the bow, clutching the ring around his neck again. "We did it," he whispered to himself.