Chapter 229: Ch 225 the first contact and fears of Minotaur …2

For now, the bulk of their fleet remained cocooned within the vast protective shields of the Star Fortress, but the intent was clear: when the storm broke, they would be the first to strike back.

The intention of the admiral, the vice admirals, and the captains of the Minotaur fleet was clear: they would carry the burden of the Star Fortress when needed, providing fire support from its shields as they faced the unknown enemy. And when the shields eventually collapsed under enemy fire, they would fight on—even against the moon-born foe.

“You have your orders,” declared Tauric, free admiral of the Minotaur fleet, his voice carrying across the channels. “Our mission, for now, is to drown the enemy in a sea of fire. Every warship and every ornament of our fleet will strike them without mercy. But should the fortress shields fail, our duty will shift—we will protect the Star Fortress itself and lay down suppressive fire upon the enemy.”

He paused only long enough to let the silence weigh heavy before his final words:”Prepare yourselves, soldiers. Our comrades snd even our race is calling upon us. We fight not only for our own survival, but against the designs of an enemy who seeks to unmake us and our people living on those planets behind us .”

The speech was powerful. The Minotaur crews, gripped by his words, burned with warlike spirit. In their eyes shone the fire of sacrifice. They were ready to lay down their lives to protect the billions of their kin scattered across the homeworlds.

It could be said the Minotaur were prepared—prepared to the limits of their ability in any case, prepared even in the false hope of victory(how false they didn’t know). But prepared nonetheless. They were eager to prove their might, to show the enemy they had chosen the wrong foe. Or had they?

Far out in the void, tens of thousands of kilometers from the stronghold, the left division split into three maneuvering groups. Macron, commander of the White Frost, sat upon his throne at the heart of his flagship command bridge. His gaze lingered on the immense silhouette of the Star Fortress, where the Minotaur fleet was tightening formation, bracing for first contact.

On the tactical displays surrounding him, the story unfolded in sharp detail—energy signatures blooming, growing, and multiplying at faster rate. The Minotaur Star Fortress and its fleet were charging their weapon systems and batteries, preparing to face the coming storm with their own power.

The massive spikes of energy bloomed from the Fortress and its escort ships. Their shields flared to life, shimmering across the void of space.

“They look confident,” Macron muttered, his lips curling in disdain. “Confident and prepared to defend against us. Hah Laughable.”

“Confident perhaps,” one of his aides added with a sneer. “Or simply foolish. What else can we expect from a lowly brute race like the Minotaur admiral?”

Before Macron could respond, a weapons officer spoke up from his console.”Commander, we are in range. Shall we open fire?”

Macron said nothing at first. He thought in silence, then allowed a thin smile to touch his lips.

“Hold fire,” he ordered, his voice calm yet weighted with finality. “Let them strike first. They’ve prepared themselves so highly for this moment—it would be wasteful to deny them of such opportunity no? Let their efforts collapse into nothing.”

His eyes glinted as he continued. “Besides, by waiting, we gain something of our own. First and foremost—we’ll see how well our shields withstand fire of this magnitude though there tech are well just some garbage but anyway.”

The bridge crew exchanged quick glances. None questioned him aloud. After all he was indeed right. They all wanted to see the performance of their shielding systems under heavy fire after all they haven’t tested it themselves . And it wasn’t as if the Minotaur could breach them.

Still, the test would be… at the very least, let’s say entertaining.

“Yes, Admiral, as you command,” one of the captains affirmed.

Macron leaned forward slightly, the cold starlight glinting in his eyes. His voice carried across the bridge, steady and merciless. “They think their weapons—and even their fortress—can matter before us. Fools. They believe such things will save them for us and give them a chance to stand and even win heh. But even delusion has its limits. And they have reached it long ago.

We will strip it away in any case and let them do the work themselves. In doing so, we’ll take their will to fight without wasting any additional effort .”

He let the words hang, his presence growing heavier, colder. “Let them fire. Let them discover what their cannons and systems amount to against the left battle division. Let them shatter their own hope. Let them see their weakness. We need not break them—for they will break it themselves.”

The bridge fell silent. The crew, though hardened, felt the weight of his words settle over them. Anticipation coiled in the air; they waited to see if everything would unfold exactly as their admiral envisioned—or if some unforeseen twist awaited.

Then, across the left battle division, shields came alive in unison. Hulls gleamed like obsidian blades under the starlight as every ship braced for the storm that was about to descend from the Minotaur forces.

The left battle division pressed forward, weapons still silent, their formations steady and unbroken.

On the other side, Korvus stood within the command chamber of the Star Fortress, eyes fixed on the radar feed. The enemy had closed to within 8,000 kilometers—medium range, the Fortress’s most effective strike envelope. It was the perfect moment.

Across the Fortress, weapon systems reached a blinding crescendo, their red glow building until it seemed the entire structure pulsed with molten fire. Korvus seized the mic, his voice booming into every ship, every station, every gunner’s ear.

“Fire! Fire! All weapons—fire now!”

His roar thundered through the channels, shaking the hearts of every operator who heard it. And none hesitated. Hands slammed down on controls, and the weapon batteries erupted.

The Star Fortress and its escorts unleashed their wrath at the Enemy who had no good intention.

From horizon the Minotaur forces fired as one, launching a storm of annihilation towards there enemy. Tens of thousands of cannons roared in unison, the silence of space was seemingly torn apart by torrents of destruction create by the weapons . Plasma beams laced with mana streaked outward, each bolt burning like a lance of molten light, capable of vaporizing anything in its path.

The particle beams fired next, each one laced with mana that amplified their destructive output twentyfold. Already lethal, the beams now struck with terrifying potency—their kinetic and radiation damage magnified beyond comprehension, tearing through space with unstoppable force.

Among the barrage, countless ion cannons discharged. Enhanced in the same way, their penetrating effect against shields, electronics, and power systems was multiplied many times over. With every strike, they threatened to overload and collapse even the most advanced defenses.

Nor was that all. The fortress spewed a storm of other weapons: massed kinetic rounds accelerated to impossible velocities, fusion lances that seared like suns condensed into spears, and energy torpedoes glowing with apocalyptic brilliance.

And this was only the arsenal of the Star Fortress itself—a leviathan thirty kilometers across. Worse still, these were merely its secondary batteries.

The secondary batteries of the Star Fortress spat fire first, but almost instantly they were joined by the roar of its primary weapons. Six annihilation-grade super-heavy energy lances cut across the void, their beams so bright they carved after-images into the eyes of those who watched.

Two colossal particle beam cannons followed, their discharges vibrating even the fortress’s armored hull. Then came the storm—forty heavy plasma annihilation cannons, eighty particle batteries, and wave after wave of antimatter missiles. The combined onslaught lit the darkness of space brighter than a sun.

The escort fleet joined a heartbeat later—battleships, cruisers, and destroyers unleashing their fury in unison. Hundreds of incandescent streaks crisscrossed the void, converging on the Blackened Division like the wrath of gods themselves.

Aboard White Frost, Macron watched the hail of energy, kinetic slugs, and antimatter rounds streaking toward his fleet at impossible velocity. He leaned back in his throne, a sharp grin cutting across his face.

“Oh my… oh my,” he drawled, his tone almost mocking. “What a welcoming fire they’ve prepared for us. Impressive… truly.”

His eyes gleamed as the first impacts connected, flaring brilliantly against the left battle Division’s layered shields.

From the view of any observer, it was no “welcoming fire” as Macron so mockingly claimed. It was nothing short of a cosmic cataclysm—a symphony of destruction unleashed by the Minotaurs upon the left battle Division.

The fury of the Star Fortress lit the void like a newborn star, every volley tearing through the emptiness with apocalyptic brilliance. The violence of the barrage bent the very fabric of space to its rhythm, a relentless storm of annihilation meant to erase anything caught within its grasp.

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