Legacy of the Void Fleet-Chapter 129: ch the encircled
Meanwhile, back in the Rigid Star System—Minotaur space—thirty minutes had passed. The remnants of the 7th Fleet were no more. One by one, each surviving vessel had been wiped out, their ends swift and absolute. What once stood as a proud formation of warships now drifted as broken debris, lifeless in the void.
Chief General Marcus Cross stood ready aboard the Eclipse Wraith. His forces had been divided into three strike units. Group Alpha, led by Cross himself, consisted of 1,300 elite warriors. Groups Beta and Gamma each held 1,100 soldiers. All told, 3,500 of the Void Fleet's best stood in wait.
Above the dying hulk of the Terrus Prime, the once-formidable flagship of the Minotaurs drifted aimlessly. After the devastating impact of the Oblivion Maw, the warship was barely holding together. Its aft section had been bent inward by the sheer force of the blast and still burned with pale white flames. Though the fire's intensity had waned, it continued to consume the ship's internal structure.
Inside, Minotaur crew scrambled in desperation. They attempted to reignite the main engines, reinitiate the shields—anything—but every system had failed. The damage was too widespread. Some soldiers stirred from the radiation-induced unconsciousness left by the Maw's aftershock. Others would never wake again.
Outside, the Void Fleet had already surrounded the Terrus Prime. This battle was finished, but the war was far from over. The Minotaur system awaited—and this time, there would be no retreat.
In the Eclipse Wraith's main hangar, all 3,500 elite troops stood assembled, silent and ready. Each warrior was clad in a dark, state-of-the-art exoskeleton suit—armor that glimmered faintly with arcs of mana-infused energy, absorbing ambient aether from the environment like living beings. These suits weren't just armor—they were living weapons, techno-artifacts created by Tyler and his research division after studying a rare relic gifted by Commander Callus. The team had reverse-engineered its every part, merging technology with magic to produce something truly devastating.
Each suit could boost the user's realm by a full level—some experimental versions by two—but those were not yet field-ready. Even so, the edge was undeniable.
Among them:
3,000 warriors had reached the Master Realm, between Levels 1 and 9.
480 stood in the Grandmaster Realm.
19 had broken into the Paragon Realm, early tier.
And Marcus Cross himself stood firmly in the World-Building Realm.
The pressure these warriors gave off—just by existing—was enough to make even seasoned World-Builders hesitate.
The mission had already been briefed. It was simple and surgical.
Alpha Unit would teleport directly onto the Terrus Prime. Beta and Gamma would strike the two remaining dreadnought-class Protector ships. Each team would follow the same assault structure: teleport to the main hangar, then split into sub-units.
One sub-unit of 20 to 50 soldiers would teleport directly to the engine rooms, severing all communication with the command centers. The goal was to prevent any emergency protocols or self-destruction attempts by the Minotaurs in a last-ditch effort.
Meanwhile, the main force would sweep toward the command bridges, neutralizing resistance and securing critical systems, databases, and intelligence—anything marked as vital by fleet command.
It would have been easier to teleport straight into the bridge. Faster. Cleaner. But this wasn't about convenience. This was about learning. These ships were filled with alien systems, weapons, and tech the Void Fleet had never seen before. Capturing them intact, understanding them, mastering them—that was the real victory.
Knowledge was more dangerous than firepower now.
Marcus Cross stood at the front of his formation, helmet in hand, the aura around him flickering like controlled wildfire.
"Begin the assault."
The hangar roared to life.
And just like that, the relocation module of the Eclipse Wraith activated with a low hum of forced power.
Wosh.Swosh.Thrum.
One by one, the warriors began vanishing from the hangar. Beams of light twisted around them as teleportation pulses whisked them away. Within seconds, the massive bay that had been charged with the pressure of 3,500 powerful auras was nearly silent.
That weight—the overwhelming presence they had exerted—lingered in the air like the ghost of a storm. But it, too, began to fade.
Alpha Group POV
Alpha Unit rematerialized inside the main hangar bay of the Terrus Prime.
Silence.Echoes.And death.
The hangar was nearly empty. The floor was littered with debris, scorched plating, and scattered Minotaur bodies—some clearly dead from the Oblivion Maw's earlier blast, others unconscious or barely clinging to life. The great war machine of the Minotaurs had been gutted before the first shot from the boarding party was even fired.
Chief General Marcus Cross stepped forward, his boots clanking against the cracked steel deck. He surveyed the room, frowning.
"I expected more," he muttered. "Thought they'd have fortified the hangar. Put up a proper fight."
He turned to address his warriors—his 1,300-strong Alpha strike unit, all standing tall in their gleaming black exoskeletons.
"Listen up," he barked. "They're not completely brainless brutes. They'll want to force us into the corridors, where space is tight. Only ten of us side-by-side at most. The rest will bottleneck behind. It'll make us easier targets."
He paused, his voice rising with firm authority.
"But that limitation cuts both ways. They're stuck in those narrow halls too. And unlike them, we're wearing these suits for a reason. These aren't just armor. These are weapons. Upgrades. Tools of dominance. Every inch we move forward, we move with power they've never seen."
He scanned the hall, locking eyes with several team leaders.
"Stay sharp. Expect traps. We're not just here to wipe them out—we're here to take this ship. The less damage we do, the better for us in the long run. Every intact system, every recovered artifact, is a weapon we take from their hands and put into ours."
He raised his hand, clenched into a fist, then thrust it forward.
"Now—let's take this beast."
And with that, Alpha Unit surged forward.
....
The hangar was nearly empty. The floor was littered with debris, scorched plating, and scattered Minotaur bodies—some clearly dead from the Oblivion Maw's earlier blast, others unconscious or barely clinging to life. The great war machine of the Minotaurs had been gutted before the first shot from the boarding party was even fired.
Chief General Marcus Cross stepped forward, his boots clanking against the cracked steel deck. He surveyed the room, frowning.
"I expected more," he muttered. "Thought they'd have fortified the hangar. Put up a proper fight."
He turned to address his warriors—his 1,300-strong Alpha strike unit, all standing tall in their gleaming black exoskeletons.
"Listen up," he barked. "They're not completely brainless brutes. They'll want to force us into the corridors, where space is tight. Only ten of us side-by-side at most. The rest will bottleneck behind. It'll make us easier targets."
He paused, his voice rising with firm authority.
"But that limitation cuts both ways. They're stuck in those narrow halls too. And unlike them, we're wearing these suits for a reason. These aren't just armor. These are weapons. Upgrades. Tools of dominance. Every inch we move forward, we move with power they've never seen."
He scanned the hall, locking eyes with several team leaders.
"Stay sharp. Expect traps. We're not just here to wipe them out—we're here to take this ship. The less damage we do, the better for us in the long run. Every intact system, every recovered artifact, is a weapon we take from their hands and put into ours."
He raised his hand, clenched into a fist, then thrust it forward.
"Now—let's take this beast."
And with that, Alpha Unit surged forward.
Meanwhile, Deep Inside the Terrus Prime – Core Sector
In the heart of the Terrus Prime, near its main power generator—the Star Core—the air shimmered for a split second.
Fifty members of Alpha Unit materialized out of thin air.
Their black exo-armor gleamed under the flickering emergency lights. They stood in silence, their presence alone enough to make the corridor feel claustrophobic.
Leading them was Major Garlen, a peak-rank Paragon and one of the Void Fleet's most seasoned tacticians. His mission was clear: neutralize all Minotaur resistance around the power core and prevent any chance of a desperate countermeasure—especially a last-ditch self-destruct.
Garlen's voice echoed across the comms built into their suits.
"Split into five squads. Use the preloaded layouts. We move now."
The command was immediate and precise. Each warrior had already studied the internal schematics of Terrus Prime, downloaded during its initial scan and partial disassembly by Void Fleet AI systems. The weeks of observation after the Oblivion Maw's strike had paid off.
The corridors around the core were narrow—barely enough for two men to walk side-by-side in some areas. That was the reason behind the split. Moving as a full team would be slow, clumsy, and dangerous in confined spaces. Worse, it would create easy targets if the Minotaurs ambushed them.
Garlen's tactical plan was simple but effective: strike from all angles.
According to the data, there were five access routes into the power core sector:
Three led directly to the Star Generator Core Room
Two connected to the Control Chamber, which oversaw the Star Core's functions
His orders were to secure all entrances simultaneously, denying the Minotaurs any chance of regrouping or launching a counterattack. Each route would be sealed off, and line of sight controlled. Every exit, every blind spot, every choke point—accounted for.
The goal: total neutralization in one clean, overwhelming strike. No alarms. No survivors.
"Move out," Garlen ordered.
The squads peeled off silently, boots thudding against steel, mana-conduction veins in their armor glowing faintly as they vanished down separate corridors—each one hunting the last breaths of Minotaur resistance.
