No One's PoV

A young man about 6'3" tall and 18 years of age, could be seen slaving over a blueprint, adding and editing it.

The young man ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. His eyes darted across the intricate lines of the blueprint spread before him, a creation born purely from his imagination.

"No, no, that won't work," he muttered to himself, erasing a section of the ship's hull with quick, frustrated strokes. "The drag coefficient, and the hydrodynamics would be all wrong."

He stepped back, stretching his tall frame to ease the ache in his back from hours of hunching over the drafting table. The blueprint depicted a sleek vessel unlike anything currently sailing the seas - a fusion of advanced technology and elegant design that existed only in his mind.

"If I could just figure out how to stabilize the anti-gravity propulsion system," he mused, tapping his pencil against his chin. "Then maybe..."

His voice trailed off as he leaned in again, adding a series of complex equations to the margin of the blueprint. The young inventor's eyes lit up with sudden inspiration.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, hurriedly sketching a new component near the ship's stern. "A quantum flux regulator, and a temporal stabilizer. It could work. It has to work."

As he continued to refine his fantastical design, the room around him faded away, his mind fully immersed in the world of possibility unfolding on the paper before him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The young man stepped back from his drafting table, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. He gave the blueprint one final, appreciative look.

"Perfect," he whispered, his voice filled with pride and excitement. "She's ready to sail the seven seas... and maybe beyond."

Stretching his arms above his head, he decided it was time for a break. He made his way to his computer, booting it up with a yawn. As the screen flickered to life, a notification caught his eye - a new email from an address simply labeled "Unknown."

Curiosity piqued, he opened the message. The text shimmered on the screen, seeming to dance before his eyes.

"Greetings, Young Dreamer,

Your mind has crafted wonders beyond the realm of the ordinary. The ship you've designed? It's more than lines on paper. It's a key—a key to unlock the door to adventure that stands before you.

Are you prepared to step beyond the boundaries of the known? To traverse the oceans your imagination has charted? Your blueprint isn't just a dream—it's a map to your destiny.

Uncharted waters and hidden realms await your arrival. Worlds beyond your wildest fantasies beckon. But the choice, as always, remains yours.

Are you ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime?

Simply say 'Yes,' and your adventure begins.

Yours in nautical anticipation,
The Unknown"

The young man's heart raced as he read the message, each word igniting a fire of excitement within him. Without hesitation, his fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a single word.

"Yes!"

As soon as he hit 'Send,' a strange sensation washed over him. He looked down at his hands, eyes widening in disbelief. His skin began to glow with an ethereal light, reminiscent of the transporter effect from his favorite sci-fi show, Star Trek.

The room around him started to fade, replaced by shimmering particles of light. His last conscious thought before the world dissolved completely was a mix of exhilaration and anticipation.

"This is it," he thought, a grin spreading across his face. "The adventure begins!"

And with that, the young man vanished from his room, leaving behind only the fading glow of otherworldly energy and a blueprint of an impossible ship.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​
————-
No One's PoV

Pearl Harbor, the sight of numerous tragedies and death. Also my home. Chuckle, just to think over 80 year's ago I would have been dreaming about sailing with my sister's and two brothers...... Sigh, oh how I have missed those time's.

The USS Missouri, former Flagship of US Navy and the Last Battleship to be ever made by the US of A now sat idle by in his berth. Now a museum he simply sat idle waiting for something, anything to take him away.

Missouri usually sat alone in his berth. The closest ship to him on the regular was USS Arizona and she was long dead after she was hit from those bombs years ago. There was also a few Independence Class LCS and a few Arleigh Burke Class ship's would pass by him from time to time but.....

"Warships come....."

"And Warships go..."

"But Mighty Mo stays forever!!!!"

Halsey and Murphy where the worst of them but it was in all good fun. Missouri would laugh with them after words since they are relatively good company. Nathan James how ever was a bit more responsible, but he knew when to have a good laugh.

"Chuckle. Alright you two , back it up. We sortie in a few hours."

"Roger, Roger."

"Alrighty. I'm ready for some action."

Missouri called out to them."Carful around North Koreans. From what I hear there not the most friendly as of now. "

Halsey responded. "Don't worry about us young boys now Mighty Mo. We'll be fine."

"Indeed we will. But Missouri I've got some news for ya."

That had Missouri's interest peaked. He looked at James with a raised eyebrow. "Hmmm, what could that be?"

"Just over heard my Captain say that some Battleships are being recommissioned. I think you're on the list Mo." This caused excitement for Missouri. "Really!?"

"Probably because of how chaotic Europe is right now."

"And we get to see you finally move from that berth of yours."

"Yeah, me too. I think I'm getting a bit rusty. Just then the tourist where being ushered of Missouri's ship by Marines and Navy personal "Guess those rumors are true." Missouri muttered. Just then a group of tug boats came and hooked up to me.

"Alright Missouri, ready to go?" One of the random tug boats asked him. "Oh you know it."

Over the next few months Missouri was reactivated. He was given new guns such as the Mk 8 rail guns for my secondaries.
————
3 Years Later

Missouri was resting in the harbor as the war in Europe had came to a close, so now Missouri was relaxing as his engine's cooled. All was quiet, and all was still with the only noise where the breeze and waves crashing against his hull. Missouri was now resting at his berth that used to be his berth place when he was a museum. Soon he was being towed into a secluded berth where multiple scientist's and people in suits awaited him.

"Alright people let's do this quickly." The scientist then help up two cubes. A blue one in his left hand....

........ And a lava like one in his right.

"If anything happens, brace yourselves for impact!" Was all he yelled to his fellow scientist's and the guard's on the pier. "I feel like this won't do anything." Another scientist said to a Guard that was nearby.

"Who knows, but still keep your guard up." Was all the Guard said. Scientist 1 wasn't the most sane person, but he was always an oddball when it came to things. Anyways he than inserts the cubes in into Missouri's B Turret. After some time the scientist's and the guard's thought it was a failed experiment when the massive ship started glowing a brilliant shade of purple lava, before the ship was gone in a bright flash. They searched for hours, but it can was for not as they didn't know that the massive Battleship was now on a new journey as a side effect of the cubes.
———
Waking up Missouri was surprised by the new scene in front of him. No longer was he at his berth in Pearl anchored to the sea near his family and friends. Now he was in the middle of the Ocean with no idea on how he got there and where he was.

"Hmmmm. This is odd. One minute I'm sleeping in my berth at port, then I wake up here.... The question is, where is here?" As he pondered his question he started examining himself realizing that he wasn't translucent anymore. He also had his old paint job back when he was in WWII. "The fuck is going on here!?"
———
No One's PoV

A young kitsune stood silently on the deck, her red kimono fluttering in the sea breeze. Her fox ears twitched atop her head, sensitive to every explosion and gunshot that rang out across the waters. At just 21 years old, she had already seen more battles than she cared to count.

Around her, sailors scrambled to their stations. They shouted orders and status reports, oblivious to her presence. To them, she was invisible - a spirit of the ship, bound to its fate but unable to intervene directly.

She watched as aircraft zoomed overhead, their engines roaring. Artillery shells whistled through the air, sending up plumes of water where they struck the sea. The staccato rhythm of anti-aircraft guns provided a frantic counterpoint to the deeper booms of the main guns.

Her golden eyes narrowed as she assessed the situation. The enemy was pressing hard, and her crew was fighting valiantly. But she could sense their fear, their desperation. As the spirit of the ship, she felt every hit, every near miss. She longed to help, to lend her supernatural abilities to the fight. But that was not her role.

Instead, she stood watch, a silent guardian. Whatever fate befell the ship and its crew, she would face it with them. For now, all she could do was bear witness to their courage and hope it would be enough to see them through.

The kitsune's tails swished anxiously as the battle intensified. She paced the deck, her bare feet silent against the steel.

"Ganbatte, minna-san," she whispered, encouraging the crew. "Fight hard, everyone."

A massive explosion rocked the ship. She stumbled, feeling the pain of the wound in her very essence.

"Damage... big damage," she muttered in broken English. "Not good. Very not good."

Water began to flood the lower decks. Men shouted in panic, rushing to contain the breach. The kitsune closed her eyes, sensing the ship's fatal wounds.

"Mō dame da," she sighed. "It's over."

As the ship began to list, she made her way to the highest point of the deck. The crew fought valiantly to save their vessel, but she knew it was futile.

"Gomen nasai," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Could not protect you."

The ocean rose to meet her as the ship slowly capsized. Chaos reigned around her - men diving into the water, lifeboats being lowered, the enemy continuing their relentless assault.

Just as the waves were about to engulf her, a soft glow caught her eye. Amidst the smoke and spray, a shimmering doorway appeared, hovering just above the roiling sea.

"Nani...? What is...?" she murmured, confused.

The door beckoned, offering escape from the sinking ship. With one last look at the brave sailors fighting to survive, she stepped towards the glowing portal.

"Sayonara," she whispered. "Goodbye, brave ones."

As the ship slipped beneath the waves, the kitsune passed through the door. In a flash of light, she vanished, leaving behind the chaos of battle for an unknown destiny.

The glowing door closed behind her, leaving no trace of the ship's guardian spirit as the waters closed over the sinking vessel.
——-
The thunderous roar of artillery and the piercing whine of aircraft engines filled the air as Bismarck stood silently on the deck of her ship. At 21 years old, she cut an unusual figure - a young woman in a customized Kriegsmarine uniform, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind. But none of the frantic sailors rushing about the deck seemed to notice her presence. For Bismarck was not truly there - at least, not in any physical sense. She was the spirit of this ship, bound to it since its christening a year prior.

Bismarck watched with a mixture of pride and melancholy as her crew fought valiantly against the approaching Allied forces. The English Channel churned beneath them, grey waves capped with white foam slamming against the hull. Dark plumes of smoke rose on the horizon where other ships had already met their fate.

"Achtung! Feindliche Flugzeuge nähern sich von Steuerbord!" The frantic shout of the lookout pierced through the cacophony of battle.

Bismarck's ethereal form moved effortlessly across the deck, passing through sailors as if they were no more substantial than fog. She made her way to the starboard side, her incorporeal eyes scanning the skies. There - the glint of sunlight on metal. A squadron of British fighters, diving out of the sun.

"Nein, nein," Bismarck murmured, her voice lost in the wind. "Too close. They come too close."

The ship's anti-aircraft guns roared to life, spewing tracers into the sky. Bismarck could feel every vibration, every strain on the metal of her vessel. It was an extension of herself, and in moments like these, the line between ship and spirit blurred.

Below decks, in the heart of the Battleship, Bismarck could sense the engineers working feverishly to keep the engines running at full power. The acrid smell of oil and sweat permeated the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fear. These men were her family, even if they didn't know it. She had watched over them for countless nights at sea, singing silent lullabies to soothe their homesick hearts.

A nearby explosion rocked the ship, sending sailors stumbling. Bismarck remained steady, unaffected by the physical world. She turned her gaze to a young seaman who had lost his footing, sprawling across the deck.

"Auf die Beine, Kleine," she said softly, knowing he couldn't hear her. "There is fight still in you."

As if hearing her encouragement, the sailor scrambled to his feet, returning to his post with renewed determination. Bismarck allowed herself a small smile. It was moments like these that gave her purpose, that made her eternal vigil worthwhile.

The battle raged on, minutes stretching into hours. Bismarck moved about the ship, a silent guardian watching over her crew. In the bridge, she observed the captain barking orders, his face a mask of grim determination. She longed to offer words of comfort, to tell him how proudly he led his men. But such was the curse of her existence - forever present, forever silent to those around her.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Bismarck found herself at the bow of the ship. The wind tousled her hair, a sensation she could almost remember from her mortal life. She gazed out at the horizon, where the silhouettes of Allied ships loomed ever closer.

"Der Tod kommt für uns alle," she mused aloud. Then, switching to the broken English she had picked up from captured Allied sailors, she added, "But not today, I think. Not today for my brave boys."

Just then, a massive explosion rocked the stern of the ship. Bismarck felt it like a physical blow, doubling over as pain lanced through her spectral form. Alarms blared throughout the vessel as damage reports flooded in.

"Wassereinbruch im Maschinenraum!" The panicked cry echoed across the deck.

Bismarck raced to the stern, passing through bulkheads and decks as if they weren't there. In the engine room, she found chaos. Water poured in through a gaping hole in the hull, and engineers fought desperately to stem the flood and keep the engines running.

"Nein, nein, nein," Bismarck repeated, her voice rising in desperation. "Not like this. Not my ship. Not my boys."

She reached out, trying in vain to help, her hands passing uselessly through tools and debris. In that moment, Bismarck felt the true weight of her incorporeal existence. All her power as the spirit of this mighty warship, and she could do nothing but watch as her family fought for survival.

Above, on the main deck, the battle continued unabated. Anti-aircraft guns thundered, filling the sky with flak. Bismarck could hear the ping of shrapnel against the hull, feel every impact as if it were against her own skin. She moved between decks, watching as her crew fought with everything they had.

In the medical bay, she paused to watch the ship's doctor tend to the wounded. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, but Bismarck could see the fatigue in his eyes, the tremble in his fingers as he stitched a sailor's gaping wound.

"Du bist ein guter Mann," she said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. Though he couldn't feel her touch, the doctor seemed to straighten slightly, finding a reserve of strength to continue his work.

As night fell, the battle began to wane. The Allied ships pulled back, perhaps to regroup for another assault come morning. Bismarck's ship limped onward, damaged but not defeated. She stood once more at the bow, watching the stars emerge in the clearing sky.

"We live, meine Lieben," she said, her German and English blending together. "We fight again tomorrow."

A young sailor approached the bow, coming to stand unknowingly beside Bismarck. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, exhaling a plume of smoke that passed right through her spectral form. Bismarck studied his face - barely more than a boy, with fear and exhaustion etched into every line.

"Keine Angst, Kleiner," she said softly. "I watch over you. Always I watch."

The sailor shivered suddenly, as if feeling a ghostly presence. He glanced around nervously before shaking his head and returning his gaze to the horizon. Bismarck smiled sadly. It was the closest thing to interaction she could hope for.

As the night wore on, Bismarck made her rounds of the ship. She paused in the crew quarters, watching over the exhausted men as they snatched what little sleep they could. In their dreams, she sang old German lullabies, hoping to give them some measure of peace before the dawn brought renewed battle.

In the captain's quarters, she found the man hunched over his charts, plotting a course through treacherous waters. The weight of command sat heavily on his shoulders.

"Stark sein, Kapitän," Bismarck murmured. "Your men need you. I need you."

As if hearing her, the captain straightened, a look of renewed determination crossing his face. He stepped out onto the deck, ready to lead his men through another day of war.

And so Bismarck vigil continued. A spirit bound to steel and sea, watching over her family of sailors as they navigated the perilous waters of war. Unseen, unheard, but ever-present - the guardian angel of a German Battleship.
————
As dawn broke over the Atlantic, Bismarck stood at the helm of the mighty battleship Bismarck. The events of the past few days had been a blur of combat, evasion, and desperate maneuvering. Now, as the grey light of morning revealed the silhouettes of British warships on the horizon, Bismarck knew in her spectral heart that the end was near.

"So viele," she murmured, her ethereal voice lost in the wind. "Too many for us, I think."

The crew of the Bismarck, unaware of their ship's guardian spirit, rushed to battle stations. Alarms blared throughout the massive vessel, and Bismarck could feel the vibrations of hundreds of feet pounding along her decks and corridors.

In the bridge, Admiral Lütjens stood rigid, his face a mask of grim determination. "Alle Mann auf Gefechtsstation! Wir werden kämpfen bis zum letzten Mann!"

Bismarck moved through the bridge, passing through the officers as they hurried to comply with orders. She paused beside the admiral, studying his face. "Tapferer Mann," she said softly. "But bravery may not be enough this day."

The first salvo from the British ships arrived with a deafening roar. Massive shells screamed overhead, sending up towering plumes of water where they struck the sea around the Bismarck. Bismarck felt each near-miss as if it were a physical blow, wincing at the concussive force.

"Feuer erwidern!" The order rang out, and Bismarck's mighty guns answered with a thunderous volley of their own.

For hours, the battle raged. Bismarck moved throughout her ship, watching her crew fight with desperate valor. In the gun turrets, sweat-soaked men worked in perfect unison, loading and firing the massive weapons with practiced efficiency.

"Gute Jungs," Bismarck said, her voice thick with pride and sorrow. "You make your country proud this day."

But as the morning wore on, it became clear that the Bismarck was fighting a losing battle. British shells found their mark with increasing frequency, and Bismarck felt each hit like a wound to her own body.

In the engine room, chaos reigned. A direct hit had breached the hull, and seawater poured in faster than the pumps could handle. Engineers worked frantically to stem the flood, but Bismarck could sense their growing despair.

"Nein, nein," she murmured, moving among them. "Do not give up, meine Tapferen."

A young engineer, barely more than a boy, slumped against a bulkhead, his face a mask of exhaustion and fear. Bismarck knelt beside him, wishing more than ever that she could offer physical comfort.

"Auf die Beine, Kleiner," she said gently. "Your fight is not over."

As if hearing her encouragement, the young man struggled to his feet, returning to his task with renewed determination.

Above decks, the situation was equally dire. Anti-aircraft guns chattered ceaselessly as British planes swooped in, adding their bombs to the devastation wrought by the ships' big guns. Bismarck watched a young gunner, his face streaked with soot and blood, continue to fire even as the deck around him was torn apart by explosions.

"Stark bleiben," she whispered, standing beside him as shells burst overhead. "Your courage does not go unseen."

In the medical bay, the ship's doctors worked tirelessly to tend to the wounded. Bismarck moved among the injured, her heart breaking at their pain. She sang softly, old German lullabies that none could hear but that seemed to bring a measure of peace to the suffering men.

"Schlafe, Kindchen, schlafe,
Dein Vater hüt' die Schafe..."

As she sang, a grievously wounded sailor seemed to relax, his pained expression softening as he slipped into unconsciousness. Bismarck touched his forehead gently, her incorporeal hand passing through him. "Ruhe jetzt," she murmured.

Hours passed, and the Bismarck's situation grew ever more desperate. Fires raged throughout the ship, and the list to port grew more pronounced with each passing minute. In the bridge, Admiral Lütjens made a fateful decision.

"Wir können nicht mehr entkommen," he announced, his voice heavy with emotion. "Bereitet euch vor, das Schiff zu versenken. Wir übergeben die Bismarck nicht dem Feind."

Bismarck felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. She had known this moment would come, but the reality of it was almost too much to bear. As the order was relayed throughout the ship, she made one last tour of her beloved vessel.

In the crew quarters, now mostly abandoned, she paused to look at the personal effects left behind. Photos of loved ones, letters from home, small trinkets that had offered comfort during long months at sea. "Ich werde sie nicht vergessen," Bismarck vowed.

On the main deck, chaos reigned as sailors prepared to abandon ship. British shells continued to rain down, and the roar of fires mixed with the shouts of men and the crash of waves against the listing hull.

Bismarck stood at the bow, watching as her crew took to the lifeboats. "Lebt wohl, meine Tapferen," she said, her voice breaking. "May you find your way home."

As the last of the crew abandoned ship, Bismarck felt the charges blow, opening the Bismarck's hull to the sea. Water rushed in, and she could feel the mighty vessel begin to slip beneath the waves.

"So this is how it ends," she murmured, switching to her broken English. "Not with victory, but with courage to the last."

As the ocean claimed the Bismarck, Bismarck felt a strange sensation. For the first time since becoming the ship's spirit, she felt herself detaching from the vessel. She watched in wonder as her spectral form rose above the sinking battleship.

"Was geschieht mit mir?" she wondered aloud, looking down at her translucent hands.

Then, amidst the chaos of the sinking and the continuing bombardment from the British ships, Bismarck saw something impossible. Floating in the air before her was a door, ornate and ancient-looking, glowing with a soft, otherworldly light.

"Was ist das?" Bismarck murmured, reaching out toward the mysterious portal.

As her fingers touched the handle, she felt a warmth spread through her spectral form. The sounds of battle faded away, replaced by a soft, welcoming hum emanating from the door.

Bismarck looked back one last time at the sinking Bismarck, at the brave men struggling in the cold Atlantic waters. "Vergesst mich nicht," she whispered. "As I will never forget you."

With a deep breath she didn't need to take, Bismarck turned the handle and stepped through the glowing doorway. As she crossed the threshold, she felt a sensation of warmth and peace wash over her. The door closed behind her, fading away along with the last traces of the battle.
————
A/N: And done. Thought I'd try something new. kuwebby2 what do you think?