Otaku Translation: Carrying the Bases of Starcraft C116

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Chapter 116: The Day of Collapse

The sea churned like the end of days, waves crashing in chaos. Explosions erupted everywhere—cries of sailors, the groaning creaks of steel structures snapping apart, and the dull thuds of countless heavy objects plunging into water filled the air. Clothes, shoes, hats, photographs, bed linens, toiletries, even life-jacketed bodies floated amidst debris. Each wave lifted them skyward before slamming them back down with merciless force.

The ship's hull was methodically sliced open by Sentry disintegration beams, splitting it slowly as massive chunks of twisted metal sank into the abyss below. A crewman clinging desperately to an antenna atop the mast finally lost his grip, falling into the water where he was swallowed by a vortex created by Stalker particle cannons evaporating seawater.

Thick streams of lubricants spilled from engine rooms and mechanical bays, spreading across the surface in slick, iridescent pools that shimmered unnaturally under the dim light. Crowded inflatable rafts bobbed on the swells, packed with shivering soldiers who clung together in terror, watching helplessly as titanic vessels capsized around them, spewing bubbles before disappearing beneath the waves forever.

A flag bearing the emblem of "Celtic" fluttered on the surface, soaked through, battered by waves, smeared with oil, and eventually sucked into a swirling maelstrom like refuse flushed down a drain. Overhead, a seagull-shaped attack helicopter buzzed past, attempting to lower its ladder to rescue a major officer clinging to a railing on the half-submerged deck of a frigate. Suddenly, the water bubbled violently, and a perfectly spherical orb of silvery energy surged upward like a speeding soap bubble, striking the underside of the chopper with a sharp pop.

The electrostatic membrane shattered, unleashing a blinding flash of compressed antiparticle lightning brighter than the sun itself.

KABOOM! An earsplitting explosion followed as the helicopter’s belly seemed hollowed out by an invisible hand. Broken hydraulic lines sprayed arcs of sparks, while the pilots' lower halves were instantly vaporized, exposing their crimson innards. Blood rained onto the overturned frigate below, splattering the face of the waiting major officer, followed by fragments of organs and intestines reeking of gore.

“Ugh…” The major turned pale, doubling over as violent retching overtook him.

BZZZZT! Without control, the stricken helicopter nosedived at a 45-degree angle, its spinning rotors slicing through the water. A nearby raft couldn’t evade in time; seven sailors aboard were shredded into pieces, their remains flung about by the turbulent airflow.

The major gagged harder, nearly vomiting up every ounce of bile in his stomach. This grisly scene was but one fragment of carnage across a battlefield stretching kilometers wide—a mere outtake from what could only be described as a blockbuster disaster film. Particle beams lanced upward from beneath the waves, creating whirlpools that brought down hovering helicopters one after another, each impact sending cascading walls of water crashing across the already tumultuous sea.

A few desperate helicopters tried retaliating, dropping depth charges into the depths. But their blind attacks did little more than stir up bursts of displaced water, further endangering survivors floating helplessly above. The Protoss forces remained utterly unscathed.

Mist hung thick in the air, mingling with raindrops. Dragoon phase-split projectiles streaked upward, tracing graceful parabolas before landing “shyly” on the aft deck, communication tower, and anti-aircraft missile systems of the remaining destroyer.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. Three muffled detonations echoed as clouds of antimatter particles spread outward, neutralizing charged particles along their paths. Within the radius of radiated energy, everything disintegrated into dust.

From afar, the Antolin missile destroyer resembled a scoop of melting ice cream, gouged repeatedly until three gaping craters—each spanning hundreds of square meters—had cleaved the vessel into sections. Survivors still alive in the lower decks stared dumbfounded at the massive “skylight” above, cold sweat dripping steadily down their faces.

On the edges of the upper deck, charred steel beams bore the corpses of crewmen whose bodies had been severed in half. Blood pooled and trickled downward, dripping rhythmically onto the lower deck below.

“Ahhh… AHHH…” Moans echoed—the cries of men missing limbs or wracked with pain, trying vainly to cope with both physical agony and existential dread.

KABOOM! KABOOM! KABOOM! Consecutive explosions rocked the ship. Crew members felt the deck tilt sharply as metal screamed in protest. Water rushed in through breaches carved by phase-split missiles, flooding the rear compartments. Heavy equipment slid uncontrollably toward the stern, hastening the inevitable descent.

Nakamura Neji stood frozen, gazing out at the carnage outside. What had begun as a celebration now felt like a funeral. The scent of champagne lingered faintly in the air, but no one present had the heart to raise another glass, let alone laugh or dream of Mond City’s sunny beaches. Fear etched deep lines across every face. Izumo, once proud and formidable, now drifted precariously like a leaf caught in a storm-tossed ocean.

“Sonar team! What the hell are you doing? Why didn’t we detect the enemy approaching?” Nakamura shouted, his usual composure shattered. He trembled visibly, resembling the quivering katana blades mounted on the weapon rack behind him.

“C-Captain, the sonar system can’t lock onto the targets…”

“Can’t lock on?” Nakamura’s expression darkened further. These enemies possessed overwhelming firepower—and worse, stealth capabilities. His limbs went numb, a chill creeping over him as despair settled heavily in his chest.

“What about the underwater reconnaissance drones? Surely they must have seen something?”

A crewman manning the monitor array glanced up hesitantly. “Captain… most of the underwater cameras are destroyed…”

Crash. Nakamura’s wineglass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. Rose-colored liquid pooled into a messy stain.

---

Meanwhile, fifteen kilometers away from the naval fleet, Tang Fang sat quietly atop Overseer, his gaze fixed on the patrol routes of the submarine squadron. While the mixed squadrons of Stalkers, Sentries, and Dragoons assaulted the surface fleet, snipers targeted the escort submarines below. Beneath the waves, far removed from the spectacle above, the underwater battle unfolded—an exclusive view shared only by Tang Fang through his tactical interface.

Twenty-four nuclear submarines lurked below, outnumbering the destroyers above. Yet this fight was silent, devoid of smoke or fire. Only muffled explosions and roiling currents marked the destruction. Submarines struck by Stalker particle cannons plunged nose-first into the seabed, stirring clouds of silt that fouled the once-clear waters. Others hit by Dragoon phase-split shells exploded, gaping holes torn in their hulls as seawater rushed in, drowning entire crews within moments.

Zealous hunters and Sentries moved like surgeons wielding scalpels, carving fiery wounds into disobedient patients. They watched as internal systems faltered, stopped, or exploded outright. Remnants of flesh scattered with the currents, devoured eagerly by scavenger fish, leaving behind skeletons wrapped in bloody sinew.

Even those fortunate enough to don powered armor and escape drowning met grim fates. Whether struck by Stalker particle cannons, Dragoon phase-split rounds, or Sentry disintegration rays, none survived. It was overkill—each strike ensuring nothing remained but ash and memory.

The submarine assault concluded far quicker than the surface battle, thanks to the absence of aerial interference and reconnaissance drones. Tang Fang intended to leave no survivors. Grant’s warning about the Hatto Spaceport ion cannon loomed large in his mind. Though such weapons were unlikely to target civilians due to international repercussions, who knew how Aldrich might act when cornered? Would he turn to Ramsden for aid?

For his own survival, Tang Fang orchestrated carefully. He commanded schools of illusory fish to obscure enemy vision, directed Dragoons to eliminate reconnaissance drones, ordered Stalkers to pick off airborne threats, and left Sentry units to dismantle larger ships piece by piece, consigning them to the depths like offerings to a watery grave.

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