Evan's voice was filled with weakness, anger, sorrow, and hope.
"Yes."
Evan let out a long breath.
Damn, I thought Tzeentch had spent centuries plotting against my flagship.
It turned out to be the C'tan's doing. The invasion of Atris had simply given it the opportunity it had been waiting for, and it had burst out through the Warp Portal torn open by the flagship.
In retaliation, the main gun deserved to fire at least eight hundred or a thousand shots.
"The main gun is operational, but we don't have many 'reserve rounds' left."
The entire output of the Drukhari slaughter line was being used to maintain the C'tan's psychic cage, so the main gun's energy supply had reverted to the Exodites.
But...
The flagship had suffered severe damage. One face of the octagonal warship had been mostly destroyed. The hole was enormous, encompassing Psychic Shield modules, the Exodites' cells, the Space Manta storage bays, a shipyard...
Wait.
Evan's heart lurched. "Which shipyard was destroyed? Don't tell me it was the Gloriana..."
"Those two ships are fine, and so is the Eternal Mountain. But half the Exodites were killed by that bizarre shard as well. We have roughly ten reserve rounds left for the main gun."
Meanwhile, the Lamenters stared at the Mother of Tears and began questioning their lives.
All right, C'tan, I don't blame you anymore. It must have been you Lamenters!
All those years without bad luck, and you were saving up one hell of a disaster for me!
As for the mere ten reserve rounds remaining, Evan wasn't particularly alarmed. At worst, they could double production and build another Drukhari Slaughter Production Line.
"All right, I don't need to spell out our task now, do I?" Evan struggled to sit up on the hospital bed, and