The boiling waters of Sector Seven churned as the three Apostle-class leviathans finally breached the defensive line. These creatures possessed scales resembling reinforced steel plating and ignored the corrosive spores melting the smaller galleons.
The lead beast surged forward through the dark water to snap its jaws around the Weaver of Tides.
The Weaver shifted his physical form into a whirlpool to evade the lethal bite. "My currents cannot restrain targets of this scale."
"We do not need to restrain them," Old-Shell responded from the seabed. "We just need to crack their shells."
Old-Shell locked his legs into the sand and angled his back-mounted cannons upward. Armor-piercing artillery shells launched from his carapace and flew directly down the charging leviathan's open throat. The internal detonations ruptured the creature's stomach to send dark blood billowing into the surrounding ocean.
