They readied for blood under a sky the color of old iron. The fleet's engines thrummed like a heartbeat stoked for war; the bridge smelled of recycled air and the cold sweat of officers who knew the ledger for lives in advance. Through the viewport the nebula rolled—colors muted by distance—but what mattered was where the enemy had been driven: Lasos, the rim where lines would be drawn and broken.
"My lady, they are gathering their forces at planet Lasos. The commander explained. We have managed to push them to the far outskirts of the nebula. Our forces are preparing for a pincer attack — they are currently moving behind enemy lines. We have fifty ships here at the front line; the other force is twenty strong and traveling by floating motors. Their ETA is in three hours," the report came, precise and unblinking.
"That's great to hear, Commander Timo. Said the duches. Thank you, my lady. Replied Timo Prepare to head after them — we will face them head-on at Lasos," came the curt reply, equal parts command and benediction. In a room of maps and holo-projections they set their faces like flint. But in the middle stud the general, her presence quiet, but charged with the weight of empire. Silver-gray with a faint iridescent sheen, cascaded in weightless waves that shimmered like nebulae caught in starlight. Her eyes, obsidian and depthless, held the gaze of every officer in the room—not with fury, but with the cold certainty of someone who had seen the collapse of worlds and chosen which ones to rebuild. "Yes, my lady. Every one shouted. Despite their faction, they were worthy adversaries." Numbers and honor traded quietly across the table. "How many ships do they have left?" the lady asked. "Around forty, my lady — not counting the carriers. So we outnumber them as well." The calculation was cold and final. "Do we have any signs of them calling for backup?" she pressed. The answer carried the hollow note of certainty: "There are no logs anywhere close in the nebula, my lady. The officer said. So this is going to be the final battle then. All ships, prepare to leap — we will jump right onto the battlefield. In the name of the Terrian Empire, we will destroy our enemy and claim victory."
At Lasos itself, the forward positions were a latticework of rings—orbital arrays slung like teeth around the planet. The rebels had seeded them with traps, and standing amid the ragged towers, their commander's voice held both dread and faith.
"General — the Empire is making its way here as we speak." Commander Oslo shouted
"I know that, Oslo. To think they would send the Phantom to the battlefield — she indeed is a monster. How are the orbs adjusting?" The General asked.
"We have scattered them all around Lasos' rings, General. They are our only hope of turning the tide of this battle."
Oslo swallowed pride and burden together when he heard the plan. "Oslo, you will be in charge of the front lines. It's going to be tough, but we have to pull them inside the rings. If we manage to do that, their assault units will be wiped out. It's all up to you, Oslo." The general's hand rested on the console like a prayer. "I will give it my all, General. Oslo replied his voice not wagering. May God be with us." Shunted the general on last time.
Then the horizon filled. "Commander — the enemy ships have entered Lasos' galactic space. All units, get ready to fight. We will face them head on — two." Engines flared into formation. The first collision of wills had begun.
On the Empire's main ship, the bridge buzzed with drilled efficiency. "We have entered Lasos' galactic space, my lady. Enemy forces are getting into position. The general issiued her orders. We will go with the second formation. Get all ships to form in groups of tens: deal with each wave and retreat. This way they can't break our formation." Orders cascaded: "Yes, my lady — getting through to the fleet now. Enemy units are pointing their cannons. Commencing fire." Cannons answered the sky. "The enemy has started shooting, my lady. The officer shouted. All front ships, prepare to fire." Energy chords sang with each volley. "All our front cannons have fired, my lady. Enemy shields are still up — target is still standing. Deploy the orbitons; we need to get dirty." The engines of war bloomed—metal beasts hurled into the ring.
"Orbitons have launched. Orbiton units commencing attack." The Empire's confidence was a drumbeat: "Enemy orbitons also detected. Push closer — change groups now. We have to get them out of those rings." But the rebel strategy snapped steel: their front group baited the enemy into the ring. "Front group has entered the rings, my lady." In an instant the bridge readout became an apocalyptic map. "[Explosion]" The front group was no longer sending coordinates. "My lady, we have lost contact with the front group. What was that?!" Someone swallowed that word and found it as a lecture: "Judging by the explosion, it seems to have been orb mines. How did they get their hands on our technology? Someone said shocked. We developed those mines — they send electromagnetic impulses through ships and destroy their computing units." Panic braided into rage. "Enemy fire just hit the front group — front group has been destroyed!" The Empire's response hardened into steel: "Those bastards. Royal Knights, get ready to deploy."
On the rebel side the mood was electric—danger and triumph braided into one. "We have neutralized their formation, Commander — they finally fell into the trap." The order was a spark: "Don't waste this opportunity. All ships, prepare to fire. Target the neutralized Empire ships." Cannons replied: "Target hit, sir. Enemy ships destroyed. We have to thank General Mortis for this — his plan was perfect. We can finally fight them on equal terms." The ring at Lasos had done its work.
But then the tide shifted with a new silhouette across the void. "Commander — new enemy unit is deploying." The masthead blipped with dread. "It's… it's the Royal Knights!" The name landed like iron in lungs. "What? The Royal Knight unit has entered the battle, Commander. Shit! Get all available orbitons ready to deploy. I did not think they had that unit with them — this just ruined our plan." Desperation sharpened commands: "This doesn't matter. We would have faced them sooner or later anyway. For now, we just have to show them what our forces can do."
So the rings tightened, shields flared, and both sides braided desperate courage into action. Mines, orbs, orbitons and Knights—every tool of war answered the test. Lasos became a theater of cunning rather than brute force: traps sprung, formations folded and unfolded, and human voices threaded through the metallic roar with one persistent demand—survive, fight, and make this last stand count.