Legacy of the Void Fleet

Moments Before the Oblivion Maw Fired

Eclipse Wraith – First Battle Group Flagship – Command Deck

While Raj and Damien tore through the Minotaur flanks, the rest of the Void Fleet carried out their roles with equal precision.

Back on the command deck of Eclipse Wraith, Admiral Ezra stood before the central holo map. The split-display showed Raj on the left flank and Damien on the right — both overwhelming their sectors with brutal speed.

Ezra nodded slightly.

"They're doing good out there," he murmured. "Overwhelmingly so. Looks like the upgrades the Imperial Commander gave them are syncing well. They're using them like extensions of themselves."

"That's the point, right?" Eclipse replied from her station beside him, tone as calm as ever. "They're Soul Weapons, after all—not just technology. Their platforms are bound to them. And their connection is more than neural—it's metaphysical."

Ezra scratched his chin, watching as Titan bane lit up the left flank with devastating precision.

"You're right. Soul Weapons, yes… but even now, they aren't using them in their true form."

"You mean their full potential is still locked?" Eclipse asked, curiosity creeping into her tone.

Ezra shrugged lightly. "I think so. I know the Obliterator has things even the imperial commander hasn't uncovered yet. Red Empress might know something… but even she seems to keep quiet as she might as well not it all."

"That's… a bit," Eclipse said, slightly unsure for the first time.

"Doesn't matter," Ezra replied. "We'll deal with whatever comes. For now, we've got a war to finish.

Eyes forward."

"Yes, Admiral."

Ezra snapped his fingers. The holomap zoomed out, displaying the entire battlefield in real time.

The Void Fleet had formed a semi-circle kill formation, seven full battle groups coordinated in perfect rhythm:

• Groups 4 and 7: Outer perimeter, pressing both left and right flanks.

• Groups 2 and 3 (left) and 5 and 6 (right): Maintaining the inner arc.

• Group 1, Ezra's command group, held the center — anchoring the formation and delivering the final blows.

He opened fleet-wide comms, voice calm and full of the quiet certainty of a commander who had already won.

"Admiral Selina," he called, addressing the 7th Battle Group, "push your formation deeper into the enemy line—but stay just outside their wall of heavy battlecarriers. Focus your full fire on one target at a time. Their shields are failing. Turn each ship into scrap in seconds."

"On it," Selina replied crisply. She didn't say more — she didn't need to.

Ezra continued. "Admiral Kale Throne, left flank — same orders. Push forward, maintain spacing, crush them."

"Yes, Admiral. Engaging now."

Ezra turned to the inner groups.

"Admirals Elira Seal and Ryn Velos are on the left, Varyn Larkovis and Benjamin Kaine are on the right — your focus is the enemy's middle line. Collapse it. Move from the outer perimeter inward. Use your heavy guns to annihilate their core."

"Deploy all six of our Oblivion-class vessels. Your flagship, though, hold fire with their main cannons for now. Instead, focus their Primary and secondary, and tertiary weapons on the enemy's middle line, targeting their core ships. Ignore the enemy flagship and its two escorts for now. Prioritize destroying as many core vessels as possible before the enemy realizes our intent and responds

He paused. "Leave the rest—light classes, fast movers, damaged stragglers—to Raj and Damien. They'll clean them up."

Ezra turned back toward the center display.

The net was closing.

The formation was sealed.

Following Admiral Ezra's orders, all seven Void battle groups began to move in unison.

Slowly, steadily—deliberate and unstoppable—they advanced on the Minotaur's last wall of defense: a deteriorating line of heavy battle carriers.

The Void's heavy hitters—Antares-class battleships, Resurgent-class dreadnoughts, and the elite BC Barricade line—began concentrating their primary weapon batteries.

Each ship targeted a specific vessel.

Each volley was calculated.

Each shot was a death sentence.

The Minotaur carriers, already struggling to maintain failing shield matrices, now faced focused fire from the most advanced weapon systems ever fielded.

They didn't last long.

One by one, the shields collapsed under the concentrated assault.

And once those shields failed—

They were blown to pieces.

The Void Fleet's frontline destroyers and frigates pressed forward—not because they were invincible, but because they didn't have to carry the shield burden.

That job fell to the Oblivion-class dreadnoughts embedded within each battle group.

Their linked shield systems bore the brunt of return fire—absorbing the Minotaur counterattacks with ease.

⸻

Aboard One Minotaur Heavy Cruiser — Central Line

Rear Admiral Jorgon shouted across his bridge in pure desperation.

"Damn it—do something! Cycle the weapons! Give me firing solutions that can break their shields!"

His crew scrambled around him, panic in their eyes.

The weapons officer shook his head.

"They're not locking on—Void shields are too dense. They're absorbing everything."

Jorgon spun to his shield operator.

"Status?!"

"Sir… same as before. Generator output is critically low. One more hit and we lose everything."

Jorgon cursed again, slamming his fist against the railing.

"What the hell are these people?!

How are they tanking all our fire?!

Even their core ships are absorbing hits our best tech can't withstand!"

⸻

Then—

"Rear Admiral!"

A voice shouted from across the deck.

"What now?!"

"Void ships—they're moving in!"

Jorgon turned sharply to the central holomap.

It was true.

The Void Fleet's formations were advancing—coordinated, tight, and methodical.

Before he could process it fully—

A massive volley from the Void Fleet's primary cannons launched.

The first salvo hit the cruiser right next to his—it disintegrated on impact, nothing left but vapor.

He flinched, realizing they hadn't targeted his ship—yet.

But then came another salvo.

And another.

And another.

Even in space, where sound doesn't travel—he could hear it.

The screaming silence of ships dying.

The void around him lit up with chain explosions.

Allies—gone.

Entire wings of ships—erased.

One after another, ships were torn apart before they could fire back, barely able to activate defense systems.

Jorgon watched the destruction pour across his display, disbelief spreading across his face.

"No. No. How… how is this happening?" he whispered.

Then came the final volley.

A full spread of Void Fleet kinetic and plasma payloads, beam-laced torpedoes, and precision lances locked onto his cruiser.

His crew didn't even have time to scream.

In the end, Rear Admiral Jorgon was consumed by the Void—destroyed along with his vessel and his unanswered question:

What kind of power can erase us so effortlessly?

For the Minotaurs, the battlefield had become a graveyard.

Their defensive lines were crumbling.

Their ships — once proud, reinforced, and battle-hardened — were being dismantled like they were nothing.

At first, their shields held.

Barely, but they did their job well enough.

But now?

They shattered in milliseconds.

⸻

Void Fleet firepower was beyond comprehension.

Some Minotaur hulls were bent and crushed under the raw force of hyperkinetic railgun strikes.

Others were melted down by searing turbo-lasers and focused energy lances—glowing, then bursting like burning fruit.

All that remained of those ships now floated silently in the cold, endless dark.

Twisted metal. Flickering debris.

Drifting bodies.

⸻

And because of all this—because of the sheer hopelessness—they had turned to their last card:

Jarkon.

More specifically: Taurus Prime.

Its main weapon. Its final strike.

Their last hope.

Minotaurs across what was left of the fleet held their breath as the Gigasol Hyper-Battery came online and fired.

The red beam it launched became more than a weapon.

It became a symbol.

A final prayer.

A last act of survival.

A desperate scream into a void that was already consuming them.

Even among the chaos, some began to chant.

Others whispered the names of ancestors, begging ancient blood to awaken.

Some cried openly.

Some just stared.

But they all hoped—that Taurus Prime would destroy the incoming Oblivion Maw beam.

That somehow, they would survive.

⸻

And for a moment—it looked like something was happening.

The beams clashed.

The battlefield froze.

The light swelled.

And in that moment of stalemate, the Minotaurs dared to believe.

But then—

That hope shattered.

The Oblivion Maw's attack pushed through.

Erased the red beam.

Sliced forward without mercy.

And when it struck Taurus Prime—

The flagship, their symbol, their last shield—was torn apart.

Its hull bent.

Its systems fried.

It barely stayed afloat.

And with it—

The last bit of hope died.

⸻

Across the remaining Minotaur ships, silence spread.

No more orders.

No more calls for coordination.

No more belief.

Only stunned faces.

Broken hearts.

Fading will.

What was once a fleet… was now wreckage waiting to happen.

Ezra didn't blink.

He simply turned his head toward the flickering, semi-transparent figure of Eclipse, the ship's main AI.

"Status, Eclipse," he said calmly.

Eclipse's form shimmered to full clarity, her tone clinical and cold.

"Taurus Prime has suffered extensive core damage.

Primary and main combat batteries are now 94% offline—either destroyed in the aftermath or crushed and melted during the final surge of the Oblivion Maw's assault.

Hull integrity is critically compromised. The vessel remains spaceworthy, but only marginally so.

The command bridge is partially functional, but remains unstable due to insufficient energy support."