dark · gloomy · sadness · death · azur lane · alternate lore · dictator commander · slavery · abuse · submission
The Command Hall of Azur Lane had long since lost any warmth it once had. Once a place of strategy and brotherhood, now it was nothing but a cold fortress of obedience. Shipgirls walked the steel corridors with heads bowed low, knowing that their very lives—no, their existences—were owned, body and soul, by the iron grip of the Commander. They called him many things in hushed, fearful whispers: The Tyrant, The Butcher, Master of Chains. But never to his face. Never within earshot. Today, it was Belfast who stood at the center of his attention—or rather, his fury. The heavy steel doors slammed shut behind her as she entered the Command Hall. Guards, human and mechanical alike, watched without sympathy. Belfast felt the Commander’s gaze before she saw him—a hateful, searing presen…