"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The sky crackled with the fury of a coming storm, a twisted omen to the chaos unfolding below. The black sea churned violently beneath the warships, as if even the ocean itself recoiled from the battle taking place upon its surface. Waves smashed against the hulls, frothing with salt and blood.

From the high cliffs of Raven’s Perch, more Arrowstorm launchers unleashed their devastating cargo. Blackened skies split open as a second volley of Voidfire arrows descended with a hiss like screaming banshees. The flaming bolts weren’t just fire—they were void-touched, hungry, sentient in the way they twisted and turned mid-air, seeking flesh.

Below, the deck of Tempest’s Embrace erupted into pure hell. One after another, Rhiannon's crew were struck, their bodies instantly consumed in voidflame. The fire was not hot, but cold—unnaturally cold. It stripped flesh from bone in mere seconds, leaving behind nothing but ash and screams.

“FUCK!” Rhiannon bellowed from the helm, clutching the railing as another explosion of flame incinerated the deck below her. “What the fuck is this sorcery?!”

Voidfire arrows rained down relentlessly. Her men screamed as they tried to dodge, to shield themselves, to leap overboard—but there was no escape. The voidflame burned even through the sea. It clung to the souls of those it touched, devouring them completely.

On the cliffs above, Seraphis stood with a calm, measured gaze, watching the destruction below with cold calculation. She raised a hand, fingers signaling the next barrage. “Second wave, fire.”

The crew at her side obeyed without hesitation. With mechanical precision, they reloaded the Arrowstorms. Runes etched into the sides of the siege weapons glowed with pulsing magic. Another round of black arrows was loosed with a deep THWUMP, sending trails of death arcing toward the ship below.

Lysara stood next to Seraphis, her arms crossed. “You really pulled out the Voidfire? They won’t even have bones left to bury.”

“They came to threaten my island,” Seraphis said evenly. “Let this be their warning.”

Down below, chaos ruled. Rhiannon, through sheer force of will, rallied the survivors. “To arms! Archers, return fire! Aim for the cliffs—shatter those launchers! Stormbringers, MOVE!”

Arrows were nocked and launched upward, but the angle was steep and the return fire weak. A few bolts struck the stone of the cliffs, but none hit the siege weapons. The rain of voidfire continued unabated.

Rhiannon grabbed a wounded crewmember, dragging him behind what little cover remained. His leg was missing, eaten away by flame. She gritted her teeth and tore a cloth from her coat, binding the wound roughly.

“Hold on,” she growled. “You’re not dying yet.”

But even as she worked, the shadows of another volley streaked overhead.

The impact sent splinters of wood flying, shaking the deck. Another dozen pirates were lost in an instant.

Her second-in-command, a broad-shouldered man named Varek, appeared by her side. “We can’t hold this, Captain! They're not using normal magic!”

“Then find me a way up that fucking cliff!” Rhiannon snapped, tossing aside a burning tarp. “We scale it or we die here!”

Varek hesitated. “Captain… it’s not just arrows. The flame—it eats the soul.”

Rhiannon’s jaw tightened. Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of her sword. “I know.”

Up above, Seraphis turned to one of her captains. “How many remain?”

“Maybe a third,” the crewman replied. “Their archers are trying to counter, but they don’t have the range.”

Seraphis nodded. “Good. Let the third wave fall.”

More runes pulsed, igniting the tips of fresh arrows. The machinery creaked and snapped as another coordinated barrage of death descended.

The sea turned black with ashes. Even the water hissed in defiance of the dark magic unleashed upon it.

Rhiannon’s ship groaned under the weight of the damage. Mast scorched, sails shredded, bodies scattered.

But still, she stood.

Blood on her cheek. Smoke in her lungs.

Fury in her eyes.

She would not fall here. Not like this.

“Shield the wounded!” she shouted. “Magic barriers! Fire mages, I want counterblasts NOW!”

Mages among the crew raised trembling hands. Runes shimmered in the air as glowing domes of energy formed to intercept the incoming arrows. The next volley struck those barriers—and some exploded harmlessly against them.

Rhiannon allowed herself a sharp grin.

That was something.

But only for a moment.

A single Voidfire arrow pierced the barrier like a knife through silk.

It struck a mage clean in the chest.

And he was gone in an instant.

The barrier collapsed.

Rhiannon’s grin vanished.

Up on the cliff, Lysara watched in grim fascination. “They’re using magic shields now.”

Seraphis narrowed her eyes. “I saw. Tell the Arcanists—shatter their counter-circles. Get me one last perfect volley.”

The crew obeyed, running to a trio of cloaked figures whose hands were already aglow with ethereal flame.

Back below, Rhiannon surveyed her ruined deck. Fewer than thirty of her once-proud crew remained. Blood ran in the grooves between boards. The ship groaned like a wounded animal.

And still, she would not retreat.

She couldn’t.

Stormbringers did not run.

She looked to the cliffs. Could barely make out the silhouette of the woman behind the attack.

Seraphis.

The name her raven had whispered before.

The name the winds now carried like a curse.

Rhiannon’s glare intensified. “So this is how you want to play it, Raven Queen. Fine. You win this round.”

She staggered across the deck toward the helm. “Helmsman! Ready the smoke bombs!”

The injured man groaned. “Aye, Cap’n…”

With a hiss, twin canisters were thrown overboard. They struck the water and exploded into thick, black mist, spreading like a shroud over the sea.

“Set sail. We move into the storm. They can’t track us if we vanish into it.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Varek asked, limping toward her.

“No. But it’s better than waiting to burn.”

The ship, damaged though it was, began to creak forward—rudder turning, catching wind, pulling away under the cloak of smoke and fury.

On the cliffs, Seraphis watched silently as the mist began to engulf the waters.

“She’s retreating,” Lysara noted.

“She’s regrouping,” Seraphis corrected.

Her tone was calm, but her eyes burned with insight.

“She’ll be back.”