Pax Propter Vim [Azur Lane Fanfic]

Chapter 25

Note : This chapter contains a lot of words, profanity, unhinged and some of the character, may or may not took a lot of drugs before shooting, so... Don't do drugs, kid and enjoy :)

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USS Zumwalt – Bridge, Military Harbour, Formosa Island (Taiwan).

9 January 1942.

Evening painted the bridge in the warm glow of tungsten and the restless blinking of consoles. Outside, the harbour lay still but not silent—distant cranes creaked like old bones, water slapped the hull with tired rhythm, and the sky churned with the fading memory of stormclouds. War had a scent here—diesel, metal, and coffee going stale in neglected mugs.

Zumwalt stood near the center console, her hands folded neatly, not because she was calm, but because if she didn't, she might squeeze something until it snapped. Her eyes flicked over the silent radar screen, then lingered on the glass reflecting her faint outline—tall, composed, and almost serene. Almost.

Behind her, the hatch let out a groan of protest—Hornet again. She swaggered in like she'd been born on a battlefield and raised in a barfight, cradling two very cold, very unauthorized cans of beer.

"You do know that’s my fridge, right?" Zumwalt asked, her voice as calm as the eye of a typhoon, and twice as dangerous if you didn’t read the signs right.

Hornet popped one open and took a long swig, then grinned wide. "You put the good stuff too close to the front. Rookie mistake."

Lexington, already halfway through scolding her junior for the third time today, turned from her seat near the comms. Her voice had the power of a sermon, the tempo of a drill sergeant, and the maternal sharpness that cut like a bayonet. "Hornet, I swear to everything sacred and structurally sound, if you steal from Zumwalt again, I will personally tie you to a torpedo and send you on an express ride to the Mariana Trench."

Hornet, utterly unfazed, leaned back against a console and winked. "Wouldn’t be the weirdest Monday I’ve had.'

Enterprise, sitting near the viewport with her hat tipped low, reached out and lightly stroked the center of Zumwalt’s back—slow, rhythmic, grounding. It was the kind of gesture you’d only notice if you knew them. No words needed. Just presence. Support, quiet and unwavering.

Zumwalt’s lips barely moved. "I count eight beers missing this week."

Hornet lifted a finger. "Technically only six were yours."

Lexington’s exasperated sigh could have powered a wind turbine.

But beneath the sibling squabble and sarcastic banter, the air was taut—wound tight by the weight of their meeting earlier with Halsey. Kyushu loomed in the future like a storm on the horizon. The Sirens—once a shadowed threat whispered about in briefing rooms—had finally bared their fangs.

Japan was unraveling.

The betrayal on Kyushu had changed everything. Sirens had turned on their one-time allies in a spectacle of carnage and chaos. No mercy. No logic. Just raw, crystalline brutality. It wasn’t just a strategic disaster—it was a massacre. And now, Azur Lane was moving in. Swift. Relentless. They had to be.

A beat passed. The clink of Hornet’s can touching metal echoed a little too loud in the silence that followed.

"You think they’ll listen?" Lexington asked softly, referring to the brass, to the planners, to the men who still believed this war had rules.

"No." Enterprise said, her voice low and dry, like the strike of a match. "But we’ll move anyway."

Zumwalt didn’t speak. Her gaze had drifted back to the harbor lights, blinking like old memories.