anwhile, on the other side, within the Star Fortress Korvas, its commander watched the fire zone their weapons had carved out. As he observed the devastation, he thought to himself, I hope this is enough to inflict a fair amount of damage and destruction on their frontline ships—enough chaos in their lines to buy us the ti we need for our weapons to cool down. That should be happening any mont now... sigh
Korvus refocused his gaze ahead. Soon enough, he began to notice the firing rate of their weapons declining. At first the drop was minimal, lasting only a few seconds, but with each passing mont the decline grew sharper and more apparent. And, as if to confirm what he was seeing, multiple voices rang out across the command deck, reporting the situation.
"Commander," Tauric’s voice ca first, "our weapons are heating beyond safe levels. The cooling chanisms are failing to keep up, and as a result we’re losing both power and firing capability."
Another voice followed, this ti from one of the fortress captains on the bridge itself. "Commander, the fortress weapon systems are suffering the sa issue. They’re overheating, and we’re losing optimal output. If this continues, we’ll end up forcing the weapons beyond their limits—making them inoperable for the rest of the battle. That would be completely counter-productive. Please give us orders."
Korvus let out a long sigh before replying, "Alright, all of you—enough. I understand what you’re saying. Cease firing for a short while. That should give the systems enough ti to cool and return to a state where they can be operated again... at least for so ti. But do it quickly, before the enemy recovers and counterattacks."
Korvus spoke with confidence, certain the enemy will have suffered heavily—if not taken crippling damage—from their onslaught at least on there front lines.
While He had no real grasp of their exact power level or capabilities, but he knew this much: with their quasi–Tier-1 weapons and the combined firepower of tens of thousands of batteries, the cumulative destructive force unleashed had reached a scale even the most arcane Tier-1 warships could not withstand. [ arcane as tech that operates in conversation energy like fusion and etc]
On that point, he was eighty percent certain. What unsettled him and he was unsure of, however, was the uncertain degree of destruction inflicted. The enemy’s spearhead formation had forced their concentrated barrage onto a single point, diminishing the spread of devastation that otherwise should have torn through their middle ranks.
A hesitant voice responded, "But Commander, if we rush the cooldown, the weapons won’t have enough ti to recover fully. They’ll operate inefficiently and reach their limit far faster than this ti. We need at least five full minutes. In that span, only most of the secondary weapons can return to the required condition for long-term use."
"Five minutes?" Korvus repeated, then turned his cold gaze toward the captain. His voice cut like a blade as he said bluntly, "Do you think we have the luxury of that much ti? Huh? This is war—and against an enemy far larger than us. We have to make certain trade-offs if we want to survive.
And five minutes... no. We don’t have that. In those five minutes, the enemy will likely recover from the damage we’ve dealt them and strike back. With their numbers, there’s an eighty percent chance they’ll tear through our shields in no ti. Then we’ll be defenseless. We can’t allow that to happen—especially not when only the secondary weapons would be fully restored. That is not a good trade-off. Do you understand?"
Korvus’s thoughts hardened. Yes, we could cycle weapons and fire only a few at a ti, but that solves nothing. Our cumulative destructive power would plumt. Fewer weapons an weaker barrages, and that would give the enemy breathing room. It’s only because of our overwhelming fire that they’ve been unable to retaliate. Give them space, and it’ll be us who are forced onto the defensive. And then we’ll suffer. I cannot allow that.
At least with this path, even at the risk of crippling his own weapon systems from overuse, he had a chance. A chance, however slim, to destroy whatever device was blocking their transmissions and preventing them from calling for reinforcents.
But Korvus Minotaur knew nothing of the planning and assumptions he was building up his confidence on. All of it rested not on reality, but on the beliefs he had carried throughout his life. He had forgotten the mysteries of war and underestimated the prowess of the 3rd Battle Fleet’s Left Division.
For that mistake, he would pay dearly—within monts. It would drag his fear to a level he had never experienced in his entire life. Yet, unaware of the fate approaching him, he pressed on and gave the order.
"Go," Korvus ordered sharply. "You have two—three minutes at most. Get it done. If not, we’ll proceed regardless, even if it leaves our weapons inoperable for the rest of the battle."
The captain still hesitated, struggling to accept such an order. But then Korvus turned his eyes on him—a look that promised death if he wasted another second. The Minotaur stiffened, saluted without another word, and hurried back to his station to carry out the command.
In barely ten seconds, the torrent of fire that had been bombarding the Left Division ca to a sudden halt as the Minotaur weapon batteries entered their cooldown phase. The already dwindling flas of destruction that had consud the space around the division’s forward lines began to fade and disperse.
Many if not all—of the Minotaur who had been observing the left division now leaned forward in anticipation as watched with grim satisfaction, eager to see the aftermath of their fury.
They knew little about this enemy who dared to attack them, but they fully expected that the ceaseless barrage, unleashed by their newly upgraded weapons, and so they were eager—eager to see the ruin their newly upgraded weapons had surely wrought.
As the space cleared, the haze of smoke and fire began to lift. At last, they could see the enemy ships they had bombarded relentlessly, without pause, for nearly a full minute.
As the storm of fire and annihilation finally abated, the endless flares of light dimd, and the veil of fla that had engulfed hundreds of ships of the left divison cleared, the Minotaur gazes sharpened—anticipation tightening like a clenched fist.
Then as the thousands upon thousands of Minotaur eyes, fixed on that battlefield, widened. Their breaths caught in their throats. They had been awaiting the sight of shattered hulls drifting as debris, the wreckage of an enemy force annihilated before them.
But what the battlefield revealed instead froze their hearts in their chests and crushed every expectation they held.
The invading fleet’s forward ships—those very vessels they had ceaselessly attacked with everything they had—stood utterly untouched. It was as if their bombardnt had never happened. Not a single scratch, not a single scar marred the obsidian-black hulls of those warships.
There was no difference—nothing at all had changed from before the attack. No proof remained that there Minotaur’s forces full-powered assault had ever caused the slightest damage.
The enemy ships still held their formation, exactly as before the bombardnt. The only difference—the one detail the Minotaur quickly noticed—was that the enemy fleet had stopped moving. That was all. Nothing else had changed.
As the last embers of their assault faded into the void, the looming silhouettes of the enemy vessels remained, vast and unyielding, standing between them and the emptiness of space.
Shock reverberated across every corner of the Minotaur forces, from the massive Star Fortress to the smallest warship. Everywhere, the impossible sight before them made bodies stiffen, voices tremble, and hearts pound with shock and fear.
So began to mutter in disbelief as despair settled heavily upon them. Others broke down entirely, collapsing to the floor, unable to bear the weight of what they had just witnessed.
On the command bridge of one warship, a Minotaur officer stamred, "Th-this... this is impossible!"
Another pointed a shaking hand toward the enemy ships, his voice breaking, "H-how... how can this be?" His words cracked into silence as his eyes locked on the pristine obsidian hulls of ships untouched by even a single scratch.
"No... no, this is not possible. Not possible!" the ship’s captain cried, his voice unraveling into fear.
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