Legacy of the Void Fleet

"Aye, Captain," said one of the officers on the command bridge. His words were echoed in a chorus of acknowledgments from the ships flanking his.

Across the sub-fleet, helmsmen, captains, and lieutenants calibrated their ships' weapons systems while adjusting their positions. The destroyer-class ships—about 120 in number—fired short bursts from their thrusters, pushing into the forefront to maximize firing range. They swept forward in an arc formation: half the destroyers leading the charge, followed by a line of frigates, then another line of destroyers behind them.

Inside each vessel, weapons officers and automated systems worked in tandem, fine-tuning trajectories and firing matrices. Others calculated firing solutions designed to deliver serious damage—real damage. Meanwhile, the crews synchronized targeting data across every hull in the left flank.

At first, the shifting arcs of ships seemed chaotic—two hundred warships and more than six hundred fighters adjusting in space. But within minutes, the chaos resolved into order. The formation solidified into three sweeping lines: the foremost, about sixty destroyers; behind them, eighty frigates; and finally, another sixty destroyers anchoring the rear.

The formation left plenty of space for the enemy to fire into, but its spread made it resilient. Concentrated strikes would not break it quickly. That was the calculation of the unknown Minotaur captain commanding this flank of the fleet.

He placed his confidence in the rotation of the ships—minimizing damage and losses while pressing to break open the enemy formation. With the three-layered sweep in place, there was a real chance of lasting long enough to take down enemy ships and carve a breakthrough. That gap, he planned to exploit with a squadron or two, unleashing star-piercing concentrated plasma missiles.

"Calibrating at three percent," one officer reported, his voice steady, focused. The numbers cut through the captain's spiraling thoughts.

"72%… 88%… final sync. Weapons adjusted. Formation locked in."

On the tactical display, the ships glowed green as they fell into alignment, their outlines marking a fresh formation.

Calibration complete. The sub-fleet was in formation. Weapons were calibrated. Firing solutions calculated, cooked, and ready to unleash.

Aboard the Minotaur clan fortress, Commander Helmn watched the flanks move. The left wing advanced as planned—and on the right flank, the same maneuvers unfolded. It was as if the two captains shared one mind, or had drilled this countless times before.

Helmn gave his own orders. The fortress's weapons systems came alive, mirrored by the surrounding battle fleet. They positioned themselves into a backward-swept formation, preparing their own firing solutions. Their aim was clear: target the enemy front line, bleed their focus away from the flanks, and shield the advance of both wings.

Many orders were issued, circulating through the star fortress and the defensive fleet arrayed before it. This fleet had formed the main battle line, stretching in front of the fortress in a backward-sweeping formation.

Just as on the left and right flanks, the central fleet began shifting into the same three-tiered structure. The first line was composed of battlecruisers, followed by destroyers. Behind them, the battleships, dreadnoughts, and frigates spread out, distributed between the midline and the rearguard of the formation.

For several minutes, the maneuver was chaotic—much like the flanks had been earlier—as ships repositioned and reshaped themselves into the prescribed formation.

Inside each vessel, officers of various ranks coordinated with AIs and automated systems, aligning weapon systems, assigning target locks, and calculating firing solutions to the best of their abilities.

All of this was observed by Ezra on the battlefield. Yet he did not intervene. He allowed the Minotaur fleet to reorganize itself, unconcerned. To him, their formation—though not without flaws—was ultimately a positive development. It would make it easier for him to strip away expendable ships and then exploit openings against those that mattered, using the tricks he had prepared.

This approach left the Minotaur captains both confused and relieved. The enemy was letting them shape their lines without opposition. That seemed like fortune to them—a gift that suited their plans.

On both the left and right flanks of the First Battle Fleet, Michael and Jasmine were making preparations of their own—just as Jacllime was. She had already noticed the spike of energy from the enemy star fortress, as well as the bulk of the Minotaur fleet that remained there.

"Prepare our shields for the Minotaur's attack," she ordered. "Transmit my command through the frontline. Ready all weapons systems. For now, our focus is defense—holding the line as we slowly chip away at the Minotaur's main battle line."

The ship's AI, perched on her shoulder, responded within a heartbeat: "Orders relayed, Admiral."

Across the fleet, acknowledgments poured in through the comms. Commanders, captains, vice-captains, lieutenants, and officers of every rank confirmed: "Weapons systems ready and on standby, Admiral."

Energy surged. Ambient mana was drawn into the weapons systems—primarily fire, lightning, and light elements. Along the hulls of Spearhead-class destroyers, BC Storm Lancer battlecruisers, Barracuda-class battlecruisers, and others, both energy cannons and railguns came alive.

One by one, power generators ignited, pumping vast streams of pure magical energy into the ships. Weapon barrels across the frontline and both flanks glowed in a spectrum of colors—green, blue, red, crimson. Mass drivers hummed as the weapons locked into position, their barrels focusing on the Minotaur fleet ahead.

The glow of energy intensified, spreading like fire across the fleet. Weapons shimmered and flared, spilling light into the void—blue, crimson, emerald, and gold—until the battle line itself looked like a storm about to break.

On both the left and right flanks of the First Battle Fleet, Michael and Jasmine were making preparations of their own—just as Jacllime was. She had already noticed the spike of energy from the enemy star fortress, as well as the bulk of the Minotaur fleet that remained there.

"Prepare our shields for the Minotaur's attack," she ordered. "Transmit my command through the frontline. Ready all weapons systems. For now, our focus is defense—holding the line as we slowly chip away at the Minotaur's main battle line."

The ship's AI, perched on her shoulder, responded within a heartbeat: "Orders relayed, Admiral."

Across the fleet, acknowledgments poured in through the comms. Commanders, captains, vice-captains, lieutenants, and officers of every rank confirmed: "Weapons systems ready and on standby, Admiral."

Energy surged. Ambient mana was drawn into the weapons systems—primarily fire, lightning, and light elements. Along the hulls of Spearhead-class destroyers, BC Storm Lancer battlecruisers, Barracuda-class battlecruisers, and others, both energy cannons and railguns came alive.

One by one, power generators ignited, pumping vast streams of pure magical energy into the ships. Weapon barrels across the frontline and both flanks glowed in a spectrum of colors—green, blue, red, crimson. Mass drivers hummed as the weapons locked into position, their barrels focusing on the Minotaur fleet ahead.

The glow of energy intensified, spreading like fire across the fleet. Weapons shimmered and flared, spilling light into the void—blue, crimson, emerald, and gold—until the battle line itself looked like a storm about to break.

Aboard the infamous Minotaur capital ship—a destroyer on the left flank—an officer kept his eyes locked on the enemy's right wing. Suddenly, he noticed the surge.

"Commander Rhogar," he reported quickly, "there's a massive energy spike in the enemy's right flank. Stronger than what we faced from their fortress earlier."

Another officer cut in: "Not only that, Commander—their weapons are trained on us. It's likely they're charging to fire before we can close in."

Rhogar let out a low grunt. "Ohh… so they were faking it." He meant the five minutes of silence, during which his forces had been able to regroup and realign. "Clever. They used the delay to ready their own strike. Surprising—but no matter. We're already prepared for the most part. Tell me—are we ready to launch our first attack?"

The weapons officer replied instantly: "Yes, Commander. Our systems are long ready to fire."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Rhogar demanded.

Another officer answered awkwardly, "We're… waiting for your orders, sir."

For a moment, Rhogar was speechless. Then he brushed it off. "Very well. What's the distance to the enemy? Are we in optimal range to maximize damage?"

"We'll reach ideal range in ten to twelve seconds, Commander."

"Good. The moment we reach that point, open fire with all weapons. Follow up with plasma missiles, then cycle back to primary batteries. After that, launch another wave of plasma cells. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander!" came the unified reply.

In just a few seconds, the distance between the Minotaur left flank and the First Battle Fleet closed.

Rhogar's voice cut through the tense silence of his flagship's command bridge. "All ships, all forward batteries... on my mark."

The silence lasted for only a few seconds, yet it felt like minutes. Rhogar had been waiting for this moment. He bellowed with all the force he could muster, "WEAPONS FIRE!"

A blinding storm of light erupted from the formation of over 200 ships. Energy weapons roared in a synchronized discharge as plasma bolts, pulse weapons, and even kinetic slugs shot forward. The recoil shook the bulkheads of almost every ship, and some hulls cracked under the immense strain.