Legacy of the Void Fleet

”Yes, Commander!” came the unified reply—loud, firm, and filled with a surge of newly renewed resolve and confidence.

The deck rumbled as massive power conduits roared to life, sending vast currents of energy coursing through the Fortress. The colossal reactor deep within its core thrummed like a living heart, feeding power into the upgraded weapon systems—primary, secondary, and every auxiliary gun array.

Yet even as the operators obeyed with apparent confidence, their eyes betrayed the truth. On the radar, the red signatures of enemy ships multiplied without end, swelling until the display looked less like dots and more like a tidal wave of blood blotting out the stars.

Toro’s earlier outburst lingered in their minds like a shadow. Even though he was long gone, dragged away to be treated for his injuries, his terror had planted seeds in their hearts. Nerves frayed with every passing second as the enemy numbers climbed higher and higher.

But there was something—something that gave them just enough to cling to. The Fortress’s core reactor. Its performance, its overwhelming output of energy, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The sheer power it generated filled the decks with a low, constant hum, steady and unbreakable. That sound was like a shield against despair.

”We have a chance...” one of the operators whispered, his voice trembling, though his eyes flickered with a fragile kind of hope.

”Yeah... if the star reactor keeps pulling like this—if our upgraded weapons are even half as strong as they say—then we can do it,” another added, though his body shook so badly that he had to grip his thighs to still it.

Korvus heard them. He saw the fear in their movements, the unsteadiness in their hands. But he also saw that fragile hope anchoring them away from complete collapse. And for now, that was enough. If their minds were turned toward possibility, no matter how slim, they would fight.

And he needed them to fight. He could not allow fear to consume them—not here, not now, not when the fate of billions rested on this battle.

Then, one of the operators who had been closely watching the advancing enemy vessels spoke up, his voice loud enough for the entire command deck to hear:

”They... they don’t look like pirates at all...”

A ripple of silence followed. Some of the others glanced at him, finding his words strange, yet none dared to comment. Instead, it was Korvus who broke the silence—his tone sharp, his words carrying the weight of authority that made the operator flush with embarrassment.

”Of course they are not pirates.

Look at their ships... look at the formation that fleet has taken. They’re far too organized, far too disciplined to be pirates. No pirate force could ever be this precise—they’re not a military after all, they are just robbers who prey on the weak and take advantage of them.

And another thing: no pirate band could ever field such vast numbers of ships, nor command this kind of strength—certainly not in this corner of the galaxy. Even if they somehow possessed such power, they wouldn’t waste it coming to a barren place like this, where there’s nothing of value worth looting.

Anyway—” he gestured toward the looming cluster of countless ship signatures on the radar, ”—this is something else.” His voice grew stronger, laced with all the seriousness he could muster.

”There is nothing here worth such an effort. Not even the billions who live in this system. Even if they captured every last one of us, our people hold little value on the slave markets. Minotaurs are not a desirable race for bondage. No... whoever these enemies are, they did not come here for profit.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before speaking again, firmer this time.

”They are not pirates. They are a power—perhaps from the inner galactic zones. Perhaps connected to something the Star Empire itself is involved in. Whatever their reason, one thing is certain: they are our enemy. And from this moment onward, we must treat them as such.”

The deck fell silent again, every pair of eyes locked on Korvus as he pointed toward the tactical display.

”Focus ahead . They’re getting closer.”

Then his gaze shifted, narrowing toward a particular direction of the bridge.

”Send a request for reinforcements from the other fleet stations around the system and nearby sectors. Now.”

The Minotaur in charge of communications immediately began working, but his expression darkened within seconds.

”They’re not working, sir. The intra-starlight communication systems are completely down. We can’t even connect to the StarNet. All possible communication channels are completely blocked and cut off... it looks as if every piece of long-range communication equipment we have has been smothered.”

”The short-range ones are still working,” hearing this for a moment this ignited a spark of hope in Korvus—he thought he could still make do with them. But the other person continued, for he hadn’t finished speaking: ”Their range is limited only to the ships nearby, making them useless for achieving anything meaningful.”

Hearing this, Korvus frowned, his jaw tightening as his teeth ground together, the sound audible to the other Minotaur nearby. He quickly forced himself to calm down—he had suspected as much already. Still, dissatisfaction lingered, and he made no effort to hide it in what he did already.

Korvus’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. He had suspected as much.

he had suspected as much from the unknown enemy.

”Thought so,” he muttered bitterly. ”They’ve already cut us off. That alone tells us everything we need to know... They intend to wipe us out quickly, before anyone beyond this system even knows what happened. And the fact they’ve taken such measures proves one more thing—”

He looked back toward the endless wave of hostile signatures, his eyes burning with grim certainty.

”The enemy is cautious and has come prepared—and that makes them far more dangerous than any pirate scum or any other force for that matter. This isn’t random either, which only proves it further, I suppose.”

”Maybe, sire,” one of the younger officers finally spoke up, his voice edged with hesitation yet steady enough for all to hear. ”Maybe they’re not as capable as we think. That’s why they’re doing this—blocking our comms, trying to isolate us. It could be they’re afraid of complications, so they want to take us down quickly before anything can interfere.”

It was Zork who said this. Though deep down he carried doubts, he voiced only what he was most certain about—choosing conviction over uncertainty.

Another, older Minotaur added in his gravelly tone, ”He might be right. Or he might be wrong. But in this situation, betting on Zork’s reasoning has a higher chance of being correct than the opposite. We should plan under that assumption.”

Here, their true nature as strategists revealed itself—half-formed conclusions, desperate reasoning, the kind of analysis that might embolden or doom them depending on chance. It was hardly strategy at all, more guesswork cloaked in urgency. The decision, as always, rested on Korvus’s shoulders—whether he would place his faith in these shaky probabilities or not.

Korvus’s eyes narrowed. He listened, weighed their words, then gave a curt nod. ”I had the same thoughts in mind. But regardless, it changes nothing. We will meet the enemy with everything we have. If what you say is true, then good—it only means they’re weaker than they appear. And if not...” His voice hardened. ”...then we fight all the same.”

With that, he turned toward the weapon officers, his command sharp and absolute.

”Lock onto them the moment they enter range. Fire without hesitation. There’s no need for negotiations—their intentions are clear. We are their targets. They want us gone.”

”Yes, Commander!” came the thunderous reply from the dozen weapon officers seated at their control stations, their hands already moving across the consoles as systems began priming for battle ahead.

And in the very next moment, the fortress shuddered—deep, thunderous vibrations rolling through its colossal frame. Massive cannons, so large that even destroyers seemed small in comparison to their sheer dimensions, shifted into position.

[Note: across the galaxy—and even the wider universe—frigates rarely exceed 300 meters in length, with destroyers typically ranging from 400 to 1,000 meters depending on specialization. Only the fleets of the Void are known to push these limits to extremes, especially with their oversized frigate classes.]

Now, those fortress cannons—monuments of war, each as long as a city street—began to hum. Their barrels glowed faintly at first, then steadily brighter as vast torrents of energy surged into them. The air within the command deck seemed to thrum with their gathering charge, every Minotaur present knowing what was about to be unleashed.

The surrounding fleet mirrored this preparation. More than five hundred ships, escorts of the Star Fortress itself, tightened their formation, reinforcing their bowl-shaped line as the first wall of defense. Their weapons too came alive, brilliant cores building power as plasma coils and railgun capacitors reached critical thresholds.