The duck-shaped airship descended with all the subtlety of an apocalypse.
Massive propellers spun lazily, keeping the ridiculous airborne menace aloft. Tiny duck pilots honked from observation decks, raining down leaflets that read: "SURRENDER YOUR BREAD OR PERISH."
Daric caught one leaflet midair and crushed it in his fist.
"Bread?" he muttered darkly. "You want bread? I'll GIVE you bread."
Kaelen, ever the practical one, surveyed the battlefield.
"They're armed to the beaks," he said grimly.
Indeed, the airship bristled with ballistae that launched giant, inflatable bread loaves—somehow both hilarious and horrifying.
[New Objective: Board and Destroy the Airship of Honks.]
[Warning: Casualties will include dignity.]
Daric cracked his knuckles.
"Time for some..." he donned sunglasses he found in his pocket, "...fowl play."
Kaelen groaned audibly.
—
Phase One of the Very Questionable Plan involved Daric and Kaelen sneaking aboard using a medieval-era hot air balloon patched together with goat hair, duct tape, and sheer hope.
The buff goat operated the manual crank.
"If we die," Kaelen said, adjusting his frying pan helmet, "I'm haunting you."
Daric saluted. "As is tradition."
They launched.
And by launching, they ascended so slowly a passing butterfly overtook them.
Still, within a teeth-clenching hour, they floated close enough to the airship's underbelly.
Daric hurled a grappling hook.
Missed.
Tried again.
Hooked onto a dangling rope ladder covered in motivational duck posters.
"Dream big. Waddle hard," Daric read, climbing grimly.
—
Phase Two: Sabotage.
They crept along the airship corridors, dodging patrolling ducks who somehow wore monocles and tiny gold medals.
Inside the command deck, they overheard high-level duck strategy:
"HONK HARDER!"
"MORE BREAD-BASED MUNITIONS!"
"INITIATE OPERATION QUACKTASTROPHE!"
Daric and Kaelen exchanged a long, weary look.
Sabotage options were slim.
Option A: Set the engine room on fire.
Option B: Release the captive war geese tied up in the lower decks.
Option C: Both.
Daric, being Daric, chose Option C.
They snuck into the engine room first, pouring every flammable liquid they could find onto the gears, followed by some suspicious green liquid labeled "Definitely Not Explosive, Nope."
Then they raced to the geese pens.
There they found dozens of angry, muscle-bound geese flexing their wings like bodybuilders.
Kaelen hesitated. "Are we sure about this?"
"Nope!" Daric shouted gleefully, pulling the release lever.
The war geese erupted out of the pens with a deafening battle cry that sounded suspiciously like "YEEEEEEEEE."
Chaos exploded across the ship.
—
Phase Three: Escape (and Look Cool Doing It).
Fire burst from the engine room.
Geese suplexed ducks off the railings.
Sirens blared: "CODE HONK! CODE HONK!"
Daric and Kaelen sprinted for the edge, tying a rope to a nearby mast.
"Ladies first," Kaelen said dryly.
Daric saluted sarcastically and leaped.
They zip-lined away just as the airship detonated in a spectacular explosion of feathers, bread, and overcooked duck stew.
They landed (painfully) in a haystack a quarter-mile away.
Lying there, covered in straw and pride, Daric checked the notifications:
[Airship of Honks Destroyed!]
[Essence Gained: 50,000.]
[Title Unlocked: Lord of the Skies (And The Haystack).]
[World Event Update: Duckpocalypse — Remaining Forces 10%.]
Daric cackled triumphantly.
Kaelen patted him on the back. "You're officially the deadliest thing with opposable thumbs."
—
That night, celebrations raged through the villages.
Songs were sung. Statues hastily carved. Someone even made Daric a new chamber pot helmet plated in gold.
For once, Daric allowed himself to relax.
No honking. No burning. No poultry vendettas.
Until...
Another notification appeared.
[Hidden World Boss Awakening: The Feathered King.]
Daric groaned so loudly it registered on the Richter scale.
"I just wanted to eat a sandwich," he moaned.
Kaelen merely handed him a new shovel, gleaming ominously in the firelight.
"Get ready, hero," he said, grinning. "Tomorrow, we ruffle some royal feathers."
Daric sighed, grabbed the shovel, and took a big bite of his sandwich.
If destiny wanted round twelve, it would get round twelve.
He just hoped it involved fewer geese.
(But knowing his luck... it absolutely would not.)