Galactic Tongue, or Lagaunga as the word suggests, is a common language prevalent across the Milky Way Galaxy and beyond. Through this language, most of the diverse races scattered throughout the galaxy are able to connect and communicate with one another.
Admiral Rose began speaking with a faint smile on her lips—a smile the Minotaurs perceived as mockery, directed squarely at them.
"I am Admiral Rose of the Right Battle Division, Third Battle Fleet of the Main Void Fleet. We, the Void Fleet, are a power that originates not far from your clan’s region, along the Galactic Rim. We are new, yes—a force that has only recently risen. And though we are human, unlike the others of our kind scattered across this galaxy, we are strong. You have already witnessed that strength firsthand—strength beyond your understanding, beyond the limits of your own plans and power."
Her voice hardened as she continued:
"As for why we struck at you in such a manner... I imagine that is the question burning in the minds of every survivor here."
She paused, then let her smile return. "But before I explain, let show you sothing."
With a snap of her fingers, the projection above shifted. Her image vanished, replaced by sweeping views of Bovarka’s other cities—forty-one in total, excluding the one below. Gasps and cries rose from the Minotaur survivors as their worst fears were confird: every city lay in ruins. Fires raged. Buildings crumbled. Streets were drowned in rubble and blood. Not one settlent stood untouched.
The Minotaurs of this city had clung to hope—that perhaps the others still stood, that reinforcents might co, that their planetary defense fleet stationed in this very system would rally and drive off the invaders. But the truth now seared itself into their eyes.
Every city was shattered. So were in even worse condition than their own. There would be no rescue. No salvation. No help would co from anywhere on their planet.
That revelation drove millions of Minotaurs into despair. A crushing weight of dread settled over them as they realized the destruction was not confined to their own city—it was universal, spread across their entire planet. Any lingering hope of rescue was nothing more than illusion.
Then the projection shifted once more. This ti it focused on space.
What appeared before their eyes was a massive, bull-headed space fortress, surrounded by hundreds of warships. Many Minotaurs instantly recognized it; for those who didn’t, word spread quickly through whispers and cries—this was their clan’s great defensive fortress, the very citadel charged with protecting their star system. It was a symbol of strength, a bastion they had trusted their survival to.
For a fleeting mont, hope flickered again. Countless Minotaurs thought, Yes, our fortress still stands. Our fleet will notice the enemy and retaliate. They will co. They will destroy this so-called Void Fleet. City Number Four, and perhaps the others, could still be saved.
But as the footage continued, that hope curdled into horror.
Sothing was wrong. The fortress and its fleet were not engaging the enemy. The silence in the projection was deafening. And then the truth revealed itself.
Before their very eyes, the star fortress and every vessel around it were obliterated. The destruction was absolute, carried out by an enemy force even larger than the one now hovering above Bovarka’s sky. The annihilation was so thorough that not even scraps of debris remained. The fortress, the fleet, the defenses they had trusted for generations—all gone in a single, rciless strike.
The giant display shifted once again. This ti, a familiar world appeared: a planet gleaming with a beautiful jade glow, visible even from the void of space. Its skies were as clear and bright as Bovarka’s had been only hours ago. On the surface, people moved through the streets in peace—so laughing as they walked, others busy with their daily routines.
Every Minotaur watching recognized the world at once. It was Sula, one of their sister planets within the Granthor star system.
For a brief mont, relief swept through the survivors. At least one of their worlds was safe. At least here, their kin were untouched, uninvaded, unscarred by the enemy’s rciless assault.
But that relief was short-lived. Dread began to coil in their hearts. The display lingered too long, showing too much peace, and the Minotaurs felt it instinctively—sothing terrible was about to happen.
They didn’t have to wait long for their fears to be confird.
The skies of Sula split open as torrents of energy rained down. In an instant, the planetary defense weapons—activated only monts before—were obliterated in fiery blasts. These were the sa weapons ant to protect them, just as Bovarka’s had once been. Now, like before, they crumbled uselessly under the enemy’s assault.
Fighter jets scrambled desperately from Sula’s cities, streaking upward in defense of their world. But they barely cleared the skyline before they were intercepted, torn apart, and reduced to flaming debris. Burning wreckage fell back upon their own cities, crushing hos and igniting streets, killing the very people they had launched to protect.
It was the sa horror Bovarka had endured only minutes ago—repeated now upon another world. Minotaurs across Bovarka, forced to watch, sank into despair as they witnessed the massacre unfold on their sister planet.
Cries rose throughout City Number Four, echoed in other shattered settlents:"No! Noooo!""Stop this already!""Please—whatever you want, we’ll do it! Just stop!"
But the pleas were ignored. The slaughter continued, relentless and rciless, while the survivors watched with their own eyes. And those eyes, once red with anger, had long since shifted to sothing worse—terror. Pure, suffocating fear.
Then the projection shifted once more.
This ti, it revealed another jade-green planet hanging in space. The Minotaurs recognized it instantly—another of their sister worlds, this one in the Brontar star system. Their hearts clenched as dread coiled inside them. They already knew what was coming next.
Even so—though they knew what was coming—the Minotaurs still clung to a sliver of hope. They prayed that this ti, perhaps, the horror would not repeat. But their hopes were shattered again.
The display shifted to reveal a massive orbital station circling the Brontar star. It was alive with activity: ships and shuttles arriving from the planet below, others departing for distant destinations. For the watching Minotaurs, the sight was painfully familiar. It was nearly identical to their own orbital station, the one that had been destroyed before they even realized the battle had begun. And so, they already knew the fate that awaited this one. Still, though it hurt, their eyes remained fixed on the vision above.
The illusion of normalcy lasted only a mont before it erupted into fla. In an instant, the Brontar orbital station was consud by explosions, fire racing across its fra. Shuttles and ships caught in its orbit were annihilated along with it, swallowed by the inferno.
Then ca the final strike. A missile hit the orbital station, and a blinding white detonation forced even those watching the display to shield their eyes. When the light faded, there was nothing. No wreckage, no trace of the once-proud station was left —only the serene, majestic glow of the Brontar star, glowing silently in the void remained .
Across Bovarka, billions of Minotaurs watched in silence. Millions of their kin were erased before their very eyes, reduced to nothingness. With every passing mont, every vision of destruction, their hopes of survival—of resistance, of rebellion—were crushed bit by bit.
Across Bovarka, billions of Minotaurs watched in silence. Millions of their kin were erased before their very eyes, reduced to nothingness. With every passing mont, every vision of destruction, their hopes of survival—of resistance, of rebellion against this enemy and killer of there race —were crushed bit by bit.
They thought this would be the end. That the slaughter had reached its limit. But they were wrong—terribly wrong. They already knew, deep in their hearts, what fate awaited the Brontar world itself. It would burn, just as Bovarka had, just as Sula had begun to.
The display shifted again. And once more, the vision changed.
This ti once again the scene showed space, and in front lay another planet. This one was bathed in a bluish-purple glow, the light surrounding it giving a strange charm when viewed from the outside. The blue ca from its vast oceans and massive frozen glaciers of hard ice, while the purple hue seed to radiate from the strange atmosphere encasing the world.
This planet, called Karox, was one of the last— the fourth naturally habitable world. It appeared slightly distant on the display, as the fleet—ships much like the ones hovering above their cities—was still so distance away from it. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the sa thing was about to happen in the Karox star system as had happened before: first in their own, then in Sula Star, and now beginning in Brontar Star...
Karox was destined to beco yet another Star of Saluter.
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