CRUNCH-SCRAAAAAAAAAAPE!

  The deafening, tearing sound ripped through the roar of Hammer Falls as the magically shielded bottom of Herbert’s abused fishing boat slammed hard onto the angled rock ramp. The impact was brutal, a violent shudder running through the warped planks, threatening to disintegrate the vessel entirely. Instead of shattering, the boat surged upwards, momentum carrying it scraping, grinding, shuddering along the slick, moss-slimed stone. Water sprayed violently over the starboard gunwale where it pressed against the rock face, drenching them anew. Sparks flew where hidden nails met stone. Julia gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her temples despite the icy spray, mana pouring into the Reinforce shield beneath them, the blue light flickering under the sustained, grinding pressure. Roland and Jett fought desperately with oars and paddle, trying to maintain any forward momentum against the immense friction, trying to keep the boat from slewing sideways and breaking apart right there on the ramp.

  But the angle was wrong, the initial impact slightly off William's projection. The boat wasn't lifting cleanly. It was losing speed rapidly, and worse, the force of the water trying to tear it away from the ramp was causing the hull to tilt precariously outwards, lifting the port side sickeningly high.

  Tilt angle exceeding threshold! Friction vector increasing! Velocity decaying below minimum launch requirement! Capsize probability climbing: 45%... 55%... 70%...! EMMA flashed critical warnings, the system running frantic micro-simulations based on the disastrous real-time feedback. Initial trajectory calculation flawed! Failed to account for hull deformation on impact and variable friction coefficient! Recalculating stability vectors... Counter-torque required... Analysis: Shifting centre of mass sharply towards the point of contact (starboard ramp) offers highest probability (Est. 35%) of utilizing ramp friction itself to counteract port-side capsizing momentum and potentially assist launch vector!

  Thirty five percent?! It wasn't a plan. It was a prayer wrapped in flimsy data! Like trying to fix a corrupted database by randomly flipping bits and hoping! But the alternative, 70% probability of capsizing right now, was unacceptable. Execute counter-tilt protocol! Trust the desperate math! There was no time for anything else.

  “LEAN RIGHT!” William bellowed, voice cracking, barely audible over the grinding stone and roaring water. “EVERYONE! SHIFT WEIGHT RIGHT! NOW!”

  Lean into the rock that was tearing at their hull? Lean towards the side that felt like it was trying to climb the wall? It defied every survival instinct. For a split second, William saw horrified disbelief flash across Roland’s face, saw Jett’s eyes widen fractionally, saw Caspian begin to whimper.

  But William’s voice held an edge of absolute, data-driven certainty born of sheer terror. “COUNTER THE TILT! USE THE RAMP! TRUST ME! RIGHT!”

  In that fragment of a second, facing imminent capsize, the ingrained discipline and the fragile trust forged in shared danger overrode instinct. Roland, with a roar of pure effort, threw his weight hard starboard, feet scrabbling for purchase on the slick boards. Jett moved with him, impossibly balanced even on the violently tilting deck. Caspian, eyes squeezed shut, stumbled clumsily but decisively towards the starboard side, crashing against Julia but managing to add his weight. Julia, never breaking focus on the shield beneath them, shifted her own weight smoothly, trusting the call implicitly.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The boat groaned, tilted even more violently towards the scraping rock wall, water surging over the starboard gunwale, threatening to swamp them. William felt a surge of pure, nauseating panic. Miscalculation! Critical error! We're going over!

  But the insane physics held. The sudden, unified shift in weight pressed the straining, scraping starboard hull hard against the angled rock face. Friction became their ally. Instead of the port side continuing to lift and flip them, the boat stabilized against the stone ramp itself, held momentarily in a precarious, grinding equilibrium. And the last dregs of their forward momentum, combined with the incredible upward pressure of the water deflected by the ramp's angle, found purchase.

  With a final, shuddering groan that sounded like the boat tearing in half, it lifted.

  It broke free from the rock's grasp, free from the river's main, churning fury, launching upwards and outwards in a clumsy, uncontrolled, water-streaming arc.

  For one, two, maybe three surreal, heart-stopping seconds, they were airborne. Weightlessness slammed into them, a disorienting lurch that sent stomachs into throats. The deafening, bone-jarring roar of the rapids instantly muted, replaced by the sudden, shocking whistle of wind past their ears and their own ragged, incredulous gasps. The relentless assault of icy spray ceased.

  Below them, framed like a chaotic masterpiece glimpsed in a lightning storm, lay the rock-choked, churning hell of the chokepoint they had somehow, impossibly, vaulted over. The sheer density of the hazards, the terrifying power of the water smashing itself into foam, seen from this brief, god-like perspective, was even more horrifying than it had been from water level.

  William forced EMMA, running on fumes, to run a final trajectory diagnostic, ignoring the low mana warnings screaming at the edge of his awareness. MP: 37/136. Projection: Ballistic arc, decay phase initiated. Landing Zone: Secondary hazard cluster ('Rock Garden Alpha') approx. 25m downstream. Impact Velocity: High. Hull Integrity Post-Landing: Probability <30%. Warning: Significant deviation from optimal landing vector. Grim numbers. Lower survival probability than that disastrous Q4 product launch he definitely didn't want to think about right now. But still not zero. Around him, stunned reactions bloomed in the suspended moment:

  Roland’s face, moments ago contorted with effort and disbelief, was now slack-jawed, eyes wide with sheer astonishment. The disciplined commander vanished, replaced by primal reaction as a huge, booming laugh of pure, incredulous elation burst from his chest. “BY THE ANCESTORS! WE’RE FLYING!”

  Jett, gripping the gunwale with white knuckles, actually displayed a full, wolfish grin, sharp and fleeting, a silent salute to successful, high-consequence insanity.

  Julia’s eyes snapped open the second the grinding stopped, instantly assessing their impossible airborne status. Her expression wasn't relief, but intense focus, already calculating angles, gathering the dregs of her mana, preparing to cushion the inevitable, brutal landing.

  Caspian, who had been rigid with terror, eyes squeezed shut, opened them at Roland’s shout. He looked down. His face cycled through terror, confusion, and finally, stunned, almost tearful awe. A choked sob escaped him, fear and relief warring within.

  William himself felt a bizarre, detached mix of lingering terror, giddy triumph, and cold, analytical disbelief. Trajectory confirmed. Analysis… worked? Probability estimate: 29%. Actual outcome: Provisional Success. He watched the churning 'Rock Garden Alpha' rush up to meet their uncontrolled descent. Okay, Phase One of Operation Unlikely Trajectory complete. Brace for Phase Two: High-velocity unplanned impact and subsequent rapid re-evaluation of survival metrics.

  The ground, or rather, the angry, foaming water and sharp rocks beyond the chokepoint, rushed up to meet them with terrifying speed.