Now, all hope rested on the Minotaur commander, Helran. Time was a luxury he didn't have, and the fate of his crew would be decided in the upcoming moments. Will these be our last moments, or can a miracle save us? he thought. He gave a bitter chuckle. A miracle was unlikely; the enemy was overwhelmingly powerful.

"Only the Star Fleet can save us, and even that is questionable," he muttered aloud.

"Sir, that's an understatement," replied one of the Minotaur officers, watching the brutal exchange on the main display. "We can't even reach our homeworlds in this system, much less contact the Star Fleet."

Their force was suffering a crushing defeat against an enemy they knew nothing about. Losses mounted with every passing second.

While the tactical rotation of their three-layered formation was mitigating the damage, it was merely delaying the inevitable: more casualties.

"I'm aware," Commander Helran said, his gaze fixed on the screen. Energy weapons clashed, and missiles streaked across the void. Interception rates for their defensive fire were barely 60 percent efficient. To deal with the remaining incoming ordnance, Helran's forces were sacrificing themselves.

The fighter squadrons were being decimated, their numbers falling so fast that in a few tens of minutes, there would be no pilots left. Helran watched a small squadron of sixteen fighters racing across the frontal battle line.

On the enlarged display, he could see the jets maintaining distance, firing at the enemy missiles. They were destroying about 30 percent of the remaining warheads. It wasn't for lack of time, he realized. It was because the remaining missiles were coming too fast and too close, making it impossible for their targeting systems to lock.

With no choice left, the squadron did not retreat. Instead, they rushed toward the stream of incoming missiles. Manoeuvring their jets through the deadly volley, one by one, the fighters self-destructed, taking themselves and the remaining missiles with them.

It wasn't for lack of time, he realized. It was because the remaining missiles were coming too fast and too close, making it impossible for their targeting systems to lock.

With no choice left, the squadron did not retreat. Instead, they rushed toward the stream of incoming missiles. Manoeuvring their jets through the deadly volley, one by one, the fighters self-destructed, taking themselves and the remaining missiles with them.

A collective sigh of regret, unwillingness, anger, and helplessness swept through the Star Fortress and the ships of the fleet. They watched another squadron of pilots vanish, dying to protect the vessels behind them. This tragic scene had become the new, horrifying normal of the battle. Countless others had made the same choice, neutralizing the unrelenting missile attacks rained down by the enemy.

Many felt the sting of each pilot's death, yet that was all they could do: mourn, but not act. They understood that the sacrifice of these few pilots was the shield that kept hundreds of thousands of others alive. "This isn't fair... why? Why are we doing this?" a voice choked with regret and desperation broke the silence on the comms channel.

"What benefit is there to letting them sacrifice themselves? Are they not one of us?" another asked, the question ringing with accusation.

"We are gaining nothing but a few worthless moments by sacrificing our people! The enemy is too strong," added a third. "They are tearing down our ships like they are nothing, our shields like cheap, poor-quality paper." Then, a new voice, older and carrying an aura of authority not unlike Helran's own, cut through the noise.

"The time bought by these sacrifices is nonexistent. And with all respect, Commander," the voice paused, emphasizing the gravity of the query, "let me ask you this: What are we buying time for? Nothing is working. All our weapon systems are useless. We can't even reach the enemy ships, much less cause any harm to their shields."

"Our flanks—both left and right—were meant to be a distraction. It's working to an extent, but look at the cost! Two hundred-plus ships and countless jets went out there, and in a few moments, tens of those ships are either crippled or completely destroyed."

The speaker's words were immediately backed by visual proof. Multiple displays across the fleet, including the fortress's main screen, split into three views: the main battle line and the two flanks.

They watched in stunned silence as new signatures appeared. On the right flank, forty to fifty fighter jets of an unknown, blindingly fast design were racing toward their sub-group. Simultaneously, on the left flank, an equal number of massive Mecha, twenty to thirty meters tall, covered in black armor, accelerated across the void with scorching momentum.

A palpable dread washed over the bridge. The Mecha were terrifying, not just for their speed and size, but for the aura they emitted.

This combined presence, even from a distance, was enough to make Helran, a being of a near-world-shattering realm, feel a spike of fear. He noticed something far more alarming: the movement of mana around the fighters and Mecha.

Ambient mana was being funnelled and absorbed into the enemy machines. How they were doing it, he couldn't tell, but the enemy's casual, powerful use of mana—a capability his clan and their galactic powers had not yet mastered—filled him with cold dread.

His spiraling thoughts were abruptly shattered when the older Minotaur's voice returned, pulling Helran from a daze and making him realize his body was trembling. His spiraling thoughts were abruptly shattered when the older Minotaur's voice returned, pulling Helran from a daze and making him realize his body was trembling.

"And now we see with our own eyes that the enemy isn't even taking us seriously." The voice was cold and cutting. "What will happen if they do? That is a question you haven't dared to ask, Commander."

The challenge was laid bare. "It is time you tell us your plans. Is our survival involved?" The speaker quickly amended his question. "I won't lie and say I don't want to survive, but I also refuse to die a valueless death, running away like a dog with its tail between its legs.".

The challenge was laid bare. "It is time you tell us your plans. Is our survival involved?" The speaker quickly amended his question. "I won't lie and say I don't want to survive, but I also refuse to die a valueless death, running away like a dog with its tail between its legs."

"Yes, tell us, Commander!"

"What is the plan?"

"What can we possibly do now?"

A wave of urgent voices erupted across the comms system, demanding that Commander Helran be upfront and share his true intentions.

"Tell us, Commander!" The demand for the plan echoed through the comms, a cacophony of fear and righteous anger. They were prepared to hear the worst or the best—they simply needed to know.

In their desperation, however, they had forgotten the most fundamental principle they were taught in the military: discipline. Their training dictated they were never to question their commanders, but merely to obey the command, whether it led to life or death.

As they pressured Helran, they missed the visual feed of their Commander. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes wide and unfocused. He had just bathed, yet he looked utterly undone. His entire focus was now fixed on the enemy Mecha and fighter jets surging toward his flanks.

The enemy's extensive use of mana was not a simple feat. Mana, combined with technology, produced a destructive power that was notoriously hard to control at any level. Helran's clan, a near Tier-Two state, struggled with it daily.

The enemy's extensive use of mana was not a simple feat. Mana, combined with technology, produced a destructive power that was notoriously hard to control at any level. Helran's clan, a near Tier-Two state, struggled with it daily.

But the same struggle held true for even far superior states and empires across the galaxy. All these powers had failed to make any significant breakthroughs in applied mana technology.

Yet, this enemy was doing it. That realization was the final, crushing proof. Helran realized he had been underestimating them all along. Worse, their foe was clearly intelligent and strategic, deliberately not revealing their full power until this very moment.

The gravity of the situation finally settled upon Helran. He realized his expectations—even the smallest hope of inflicting minimal damage and escaping alive—had been nothing but a foolish delusion. That was simply not going to happen.

If he was to ensure that the deaths of his people were not utterly meaningless, he had to do something drastic and completely unexpected.

Only a move of pure desperation would create the slightest chance for some of his fleet to escape and carry a warning. They couldn't wait for help; they wouldn't survive long enough. He needed to alert the elders of his clan immediately.

The enemy was far too powerful; engaging them further would be suicide for the entire clan. They had to flee this star sector immediately. He knew what he had to do. He would sacrifice the fleet to save the future.