OI-928 System
OI-928 is a star system located along the northwestern border of the Camelarion Realm, marking one of the frontier systems that borders a neighboring sector.
Although it possesses three stable warp routes—one leading outward into the adjacent sector and two connecting deeper into Camelarion—the system itself remains underdeveloped. Despite being positioned along a frequently used trade corridor, the outward route passes through several economically barren systems before reaching meaningful destinations, limiting its long-term strategic value for large-scale colonization or industrial investment.
As a result, OI-928 has remained more of a transit point than a center of prosperity.
The system contains only one civilized world—and even that world is classified as a death world. Harsh environmental conditions, dangerous native fauna, and unstable climate patterns have restricted population growth and large-scale infrastructure development.
Beyond the inhabited world lies a massive asteroid belt in the outermost region of the system. Dense and irregular, it forms a natural defensive barrier, complicating large fleet maneuvers and making long-range augur sweeps unreliable.
In addition to the primary world, the system contains two minor planetoids. One of them hosts a small orbital station that serves as a supply depot and rest point for merchant vessels traversing the trade routes. The station is modest in scale—sufficient for refueling, minor repairs, and limited cargo transfer—but not designed to withstand sustained military assault.
===
As the armored window shutters of the bridge retracted upward, Vice Admiral Ravian stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
The warp translation haze was still dissipating—faint auroras of unreality fading into the black of realspace.
Through both naked eye and auspex display, he confirmed what he had hoped to see.
His fleet had translated intact.
One Emperor-class battleship hung at the formation's core, vast and cathedral-like. Two Chalice-class battleships formed a protective brace to either flank. Five Lunar-class cruisers drifted into their assigned grid positions, while five Dictator-class cruisers began launching reconnaissance squadrons even before their engines fully stabilized. Thirteen escort squadrons fanned outward, establishing perimeter screens with practiced precision.
"Casualty report," Ravian ordered calmly.
"Minor translation shear on Escort Squadron Delta-Three," an officer replied. "No critical losses. All primary systems functional across the fleet."
Ravian gave a single nod.
"Establish long-range augur sweeps. Focus on outer belt approaches and warp-vector projections from Camelarion's coreward corridor."
Icons began populating the central hololith. Vector lines traced potential enemy arrival routes.
Somewhere beyond the system's edge, the Plague Fleet was advancing.
OI-928 was not a fortress world. It had no orbital bastions, no heavy defense platforms.
But it had space.
And space could be shaped into a battlefield.
Ravian studied the asteroid belt slowly rotating along the outer system.
"Set course for the inner edge of the belt," he said at last. "We will not meet them in open void."
The officers exchanged glances.
He continued, voice steady and deliberate.
"We will force them to maneuver. Break their formation. Bleed their vanguard before they reach Camelarion."
The fleet engines flared in response, blue-white plasma trails cutting across the darkness as the Second Interception Fleet advanced deeper into OI-928.
OI-928's outer ring was a labyrinth of tumbling stone and drifting debris—continent-sized rocks rotating slowly around the system's distant sun. Metallic signatures flickered among them: abandoned mining hulks, fractured survey platforms, forgotten cargo containers trapped in silent orbit.
"Deploy recon wings," Ravian ordered. "Dictator squadrons to launch full auspex-pattern sweeps. I want telemetry on every mass larger than a frigate."
Acknowledgements echoed across the bridge.
From the five Dictator-class cruisers, launch bays yawned open. Waves of Starhawk bombers screamed into the void, their engine flares weaving between the asteroids like hunting birds.
The Emperor-class battleship at the fleet's core began cycling its own attack craft complements, holding them in reserve. Its massive dorsal spires loomed like a floating cathedral, weapons batteries rotating into firing alignment.
"Escort squadrons Alpha through Kappa," Ravian continued, "establish layered perimeter grid. No vessel enters torpedo range without challenge."
Green icons spread outward, forming a tightening web of overlapping firing arcs.
Moments passed.
Then a officer stiffened.
"Contact."
The word dropped like a stone.
"Transmission from Starhawk I-5. Auspex confirmation on multiple warp signatures at the outer system boundary."
The hololith magnified.
Warp residue bled into realspace at the edge of the system. Not a clean translation like Ravian's fleet.
This was a wound tearing open.
Shapes emerged—bloated hulls, warped silhouettes. Ships swollen beyond recognition, their outlines distorted by corruption. Plague growths pulsed along their armor plating like diseased flesh grafted onto steel.
"Confirmed visual," the officer whispered. "Enemy vanguard elements entering system."
Ravian did not blink.
"Range?"
"Beyond effective macro-battery distance. Closing."
He studied the projection. The Plague Fleet was not in tight formation. Its ships drifted in loose clusters, as though guided by instinct rather than doctrine.
Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
"Hold position," Ravian ordered.
The asteroid belt rotated silently between the two fleets—a shifting maze of stone and shadow.
The plague ships advanced without hesitation.
One of them fired first.
A lance beam of sickly green light cut across the void, vaporizing a mid-sized asteroid in a flash of incandescent debris.
They were testing range.
Ravian's lips tightened slightly.
"Very well."
He raised a hand.
"All ships. Battle stations."
Klaxons howled through every vessel of the interception fleet. Bulkheads sealed. Void shields flared brighter. Macro-batteries charged, their capacitors humming like restrained thunder.
"Load torpedo tubes."
"Target enemy lead cruiser."
"Fire when within optimal range."
Across the darkness of OI-928, the first true engagement of the war was about to begin.
And Ravian intended to make the traitors pay for every kilometer they crossed.
The hololith sharpened resolution as data streamed in from both the Starhawk bombers and from the Cobra destroyers. The leading plague vessels were indeed cruisers—five of them, once proud hulls, now bloated and disfigured. Their prows were split by growths resembling horned maws, their flanks studded with irregular gun emplacements that pulsed with unhealthy luminescence.
Around them, multiple escorts that look the same as the normal plague ships, bloated and disfigured
Behind them, larger mass readings followed.
Three battleships.
None of them are the Terminus Est.
Ravian kept his expression neutral.
"Signal escort squadrons. Prepare torpedo intercept patterns."
Acknowledgements flashed across the tactical grid.
The range ticked down.
"Enemy weapons charging."
A heartbeat later, the void erupted.
Dozens of torpedo signatures burst from the plague cruisers—fat, irregular shapes trailing streams of green vapor. They did not travel in clean, disciplined spreads. They swarmed, weaving erratically through the asteroid field, some slamming into rock and detonating prematurely, others adjusting course with disturbing autonomy.
"Interceptor engaging," came the call.
Fury fighters streaked forward, lascannons flashing. Several torpedoes detonated in blossoms of fire. Others were caught in the overlapping flak screens of the escort squadrons, exploding into clouds of debris that rattled against void shields like metallic hail.
But some got through.
"Brace for impact!"
One torpedo slipped through a momentary fluctuation in the void shield envelope of a Lunar-class cruiser. The shield flared—then failed for a fraction of a second.
The torpedo struck the prow.
The detonation was catastrophic.
The forward torpedo tubes were obliterated in a violent eruption of fire and venting atmosphere. Armor plating peeled back like torn parchment. Secondary explosions rippled along the forward decks as ammunition stores cooked off in rapid succession.
"Forward batteries offline!" the damage control officer shouted over the vox-net. "Prow compartments breached—multiple decompressions!"
The cruiser reeled, its nose dipping slightly as maneuvering thrusters fought to compensate for the sudden structural loss.
Ravian's gaze flicked briefly to the damaged icon on the hololith.
"Can she maintain formation?"
A pause.
"Yes, sir. Engines intact. Structural integrity compromised forward, but she remains combat-capable."
Ravian nodded once.
"Rotate her to secondary line. Have a Dictator cover her forward arc."
Acknowledgements flashed across the display as neighboring cruisers adjusted position, tightening the battle line.
As the formation reformed within the shifting corridors of the asteroid belt, two Cobra-class destroyer squadrons completed their flanking maneuver.
They had gone dark minutes earlier—running on minimal emissions, weaving through dense asteroid clusters where larger vessels dared not tread. Now they emerged into a narrow firing lane carved between drifting rock masses.
"Cobra Squadrons Viper and Halberd in position," came the tight-beam transmission.
Ravian's eyes flicked to the hololith.
Five enemy cruisers were pushing ahead of the heavier plague battleships, attempting to force a breakthrough through the Imperial screen.
"Execute."
The Cobras fired.
Dozens of torpedoes roared from their tubes in perfect synchronization—clean, disciplined, and precise. Unlike the plague munitions, these traveled in tight formation, engines burning bright blue as they accelerated through the asteroid field.
They split mid-flight into staggered patterns, programmed to compensate for evasive maneuvers and debris interference.
"Enemy reacting," the auspex officer reported. "Multiple course corrections. Defensive batteries activating."
The first plague cruiser attempted to turn, its corrupted hull grinding through vacuum with sluggish response.
Too slow.
The torpedoes struck.
One cruiser vanished in a chain of detonations along its midsection, its hull rupturing as internal reactors overloaded. Another took three direct impacts to its port side; diseased armor split apart, and a shockwave rippled through the vessel as something organic and foul vented into space.
The remaining three cruisers were forced to scatter, breaking their loose formation as secondary explosions rocked their advance.
"Two confirmed kills," the tactical officer announced. "One heavily damaged. Two maneuvering erratically."
Ravian allowed himself the smallest nod.
"Press the advantage. Macro-batteries, concentrate fire on the damaged target. Do not allow them to regroup."
The asteroid belt now worked in the Imperium's favor—broken enemy formation, reduced firing coordination, drifting debris interfering with corrupted targeting arrays.
Macro-batteries thundered again.
The already-damaged plague cruiser attempted to yaw away, its engines flaring unevenly as diseased plasma vents spat green flame into the void. It did not make it far. A disciplined Imperial broadside tore through its weakened flank, and moments later a lance strike pierced its reactor spine.
The cruiser detonated in a rolling explosion, its carcass splitting apart and tumbling into the asteroid field.
But the victory was brief.
"My lord," the auspex officer warned, voice tightening. "The battleship continuing advance. Escorts in close formation."
The hololith magnified the looming silhouettes.
The three plague battleships pushed forward without hesitation, their bulk dwarfing the wreckage ahead of them. Unlike their cruisers, they advanced in tighter cohesion—escorts clustering around them like carrion birds around a corpse.
Then their launch bays opened.
"Attack craft signatures rising," the officer continued. "Multiple squadrons."
From the festering hulls of the corrupted battleships, swarms of Hell Blades and Hell Talons screamed into the void. Their engines burned with unnatural light, contrails leaving streaks of sickly luminescence as they accelerated toward the Imperial line.
"Launch the interceptors and the bombers." Ravian said to the ensign. "Interceptors are to hold the defensive perimeter and bombers to focus on the traitor escorts."
"Your will," the ensign replied, nodding sharply as she turned to the vox console, relaying the order to the squadron captains aboard the Emperor-class battleship, his flagship.
Deep within the cavernous launch bays of the battleship, klaxons howled.
Mag-clamps released.
Waves of Fury interceptors catapulted into the void, engines flaring bright blue as they formed disciplined defensive rings around the fleet's core. Behind them, heavier Starhawk bombers rolled off the deck in tight formations, their torpedo racks fully loaded, target runes already blinking across their cockpit displays.
"Interceptor wings forming perimeter screen," a flight controller reported. "Bomber groups awaiting breach window."
On the hololith, blue icons representing the interceptor squadrons from the Dictator-class cruisers surged forward to meet the incoming red tide.
The first exchange came in a storm of light.
Furies tore into the leading Hell Blades with disciplined bursts of lascannon fire. One traitor craft erupted into green-tinged debris. Another spiraled out of control, trailing warp-tainted flame before colliding with a tumbling asteroid fragment.
But the enemy attack craft were relentless.
Hell Talons broke formation and dove through the defensive screen, their hulls flickering with foul energy as they unleashed streams of autocannon fire and missile salvos, pressing toward the Imperial ships with suicidal determination.
Hell Talons broke formation and dove through the defensive screen, their hulls flickering with foul energy as they unleashed streams of autocannon fire and missile salvos, pressing toward the Imperial ships with suicidal determination.
And some of them broke through.
"Multiple penetrations!" the auspex officer warned.
A cluster of Hell Talons slipped between overlapping interceptor arcs and plunged toward the outer escort line. Flak detonations shredded several mid-run, but a handful endured long enough to loose their payloads.
One escort frigate vanished in a flash of white as torpedoes detonated against its void shields, the barrier collapsing under the sustained impact. A second escort reeled, engines sputtering as secondary explosions rippled across its port side.
"Escort Squadron Theta reports heavy damage—propulsion failing!"
Before damage control reports could finish streaming in, two Hell Talons struck deeper.
Missiles slammed into the starboard shields of the first Lunar-class cruiser. The void shields flared brilliant gold, absorbing most of the impact—but not all. A fraction of the salvo punched through as the shields faltered, detonating along the cruiser's dorsal battery line.
"Lunar Resolute—shield collapse on starboard quadrant! Multiple fires on Decks 12 through 18!"
Another Lunar-class cruiser shuddered as autocannon fire raked its sensor arrays, shredding augur dishes and blinding part of its long-range targeting grid.
"Augur degradation at thirty percent!"
On the bridge of the Emperor-class flagship, Ravian did not raise his voice.
"Stabilize the line," he ordered. "Reinforce flak density around damaged vessels. Redirect interceptor wings Gamma and Delta to close the breach."
Acknowledgements snapped back instantly.
Fresh Fury squadrons dove into the gap, cutting down the remaining Hell Talons in a crossfire of disciplined las-bursts. One by one, the corrupted craft were torn apart, their wreckage scattering like diseased shrapnel across the void.
"Enemy strike wave collapsing," the flight controller reported. "Perimeter integrity restored."
Ravian's gaze remained fixed on the hololith.
"Damage assessment?"
"One escort lost. One crippled but salvageable. Two Lunars sustaining damage but combat-effective."
Ravian gave a single nod.
"Acceptable."
Ahead, beyond the dogfights and burning debris, the plague battleships continued their steady advance—unmoved by the loss of their attack craft.
And now the Imperial bombers were closing.
"Bomber wings entering optimal range," the controller announced.
On the hololith, blue icons slipped past the fading engagement zone and angled toward the cluster of traitor escorts guarding the three plague battleships.
Ravian clasped his hands behind his back, taking in the view that will unfold before him.
Seconds later, torpedoes ignited—streaking through the asteroid-shadowed void toward the corrupted fleet.
Believing the torpedoes were aimed at the plague battleships themselves, the traitor escorts reacted instantly.
Their formation tightened.
Corrupted destroyers surged inward, engines flaring as they repositioned to shield the larger vessels. They spread into a layered screen, overlapping fields of defensive fire forming a crude but effective barrier. Point-defense batteries spat streams of tracer fire. Warp-tainted flak shells burst in sickly green detonations, filling the void with lethal debris.
"Enemy escorts compressing around capital ships," the auspex officer reported.
Ravian's expression did not change.
The torpedoes continued forward—then, at the last possible moment, their guidance runes shifted.
"Course correction detected!" a bridge officer exclaimed.
The torpedoes veered.
Instead of plunging toward the plague battleships' armored prows, they curved sharply toward the densest cluster of escorts now bunched tightly together.
Realization came too late.
"Impact in five… four—"
The first wave struck.
Explosions blossomed in rapid succession as torpedoes detonated amid the tightly packed escort screen. One corrupted destroyer split cleanly in half, its hull rupturing in a gout of diseased flame. Another cruiser lost its prow entirely, torn away in a violent shockwave that sent spinning debris crashing into neighboring ships.
Secondary detonations rippled through the compressed formation.
"Multiple confirmed kills!" the controller shouted. "Enemy screen destabilizing!"
The tight defensive cluster became a liability. Damaged escorts collided, their void shields flickering erratically. One crippled vessel drifted directly into the path of its own battleship, forcing the massive plague warship to alter course to avoid ramming it.
Ravian did not waste the momentum.
"Prepare second bomber wave," he ordered. Then, without raising his voice, he added, "Order the Cobra squadrons to break formation and advance at full burn. They are to swing wide through the asteroid cover and strike from the rear. Target the battleships' engines."
A ripple moved across the bridge.
"Cobra-class destroyers acknowledging," the tactical officer confirmed. "Executing flanking vector."
On the hololith, a cluster of small blue icons peeled away from the main formation. The Cobra-class destroyers—fast, lightly armored, but carrying devastating torpedo payloads—accelerated hard, their engines flaring bright as they angled toward the denser asteroid field.
They vanished briefly into the clutter of drifting rock and debris, using the tumbling masses to mask their approach.
Ahead, the plague battleships continued their steady advance, massive and seemingly unstoppable. Their escorts were in disarray, but the capital ships themselves remained intact, void shields shimmering with foul energy.
"Second bomber wave launching," the flight controller reported.
Another stream of Starhawks surged forward, weaving through the aftermath of the first strike.
Ravian's eyes remained fixed on the enemy engines displayed on the magnified projection—vast plasma exhausts burning an unhealthy green.
Then—
"My Lord!" the auspex officer suddenly shouted, his voice cutting across the bridge. "Auspex scans detect a massive warp influx on our rear vector!"
The hololith flickered violently.
Behind the Imperial formation—far beyond the asteroid belt's outer edge—space twisted.
Warp energy bled into realspace in violent spirals, a widening tear of unnatural light. Lightning arced across the void as something immense forced its way through the veil.
"Bearing?" Ravian demanded.
"Directly astern, Lord Admiral. Multiple signatures… large tonnage readings. Translation still in progress."
The bridge fell silent except for the rising howl of warning klaxons.
Red icons began to bloom on the projection—first one, then several more.
The Plague Fleet had not committed only a vanguard.
They had baited him.
"Estimated numbers?" Ravian asked, voice steady.
"Preliminary scan suggests capital-class hulls… at least two battleship-grade signatures. Several cruisers accompanying."
A pincer.
The three plague battleships ahead pressed forward, forcing engagement.
And now a second wave emerged behind them, threatening to trap the Imperial fleet.
"Reroute the 12th Cruiser Squadron and its two escort squadrons," Ravian ordered without hesitation. "They are to intercept the rear emergence point. Hold off the traitors for as long as they can."
A brief pause followed.
"My lord," the tactical officer said carefully, "that will isolate them from main fleet support."
Ravian's gaze remained fixed on the hololith.
"They will not be isolated," he replied. An answer all of them know is a lie.
Orders transmitted.
On the projection, a cluster of blue icons broke from the rotating Imperial formation. The 12th Cruiser Squadron—one Lunar-class cruisers and two Sword frigates—pivoted hard, engines flaring as they accelerated toward the newly translated enemy force. Two escort squadrons surged alongside them, forming a screening wedge.
"12th Squadron acknowledging," the vox-officer confirmed. "They are increasing burn. Intercept in three minutes."
Ahead, the plague battleships continued their relentless push. Behind, the new enemy capital ships stabilized their warp wake and began to advance.
The Imperial fleet now stood between two hostile forces.
"Increase forward pressure," Ravian commanded. "Destroy them and we will turn to deal with those behind us."
The bridge erupted with controlled activity as officers barked confirmations and relayed orders. The hololith flared with intersecting vectors, showing the Imperial fleet pressing forward into the teeth of the forward plague battleships while simultaneously tracking the emerging threat behind.
Before long, the Cobras and the second wave of Starhawks arrived at their firing positions, threading through the chaotic debris and the flickering void shield flares of the traitor fleet. The Cobras angled to strike the rear of the plague battleships, targeting engine clusters and exposed drive conduits, while the Starhawks focused on crippling the remaining escort vessels.
"All Starhawks have released their payload," the flight controller announced. "Impact in five… four… three… two… one…"
A series of violent detonations erupted around the plague battleships. Engines ruptured, plasma exhausts spewed jagged streams of corrupted energy, and hull plating buckled under the concentrated assault. Fireballs engulfed trailing escorts, sending them spinning helplessly into the void.
"Kill confirmed!" the controller shouted. "All escorts destroy!"
Before Ravian can reply, the auspex officer interrupt.
"Torpedoes from the Cobras confirmed impact!" the auspex officer shouted, eyes glued to the readouts. "Three plague battleships—engine clusters critically damaged! One drifting uncontrollably, void shields failing, secondary reactors unstable!"
Ravian's gaze sharpened on the hololith. Smoke-like energy flares licked the crippled engines, green plasma leaking into the void. Debris from blown conduits tumbled outward, colliding with the destroyed escorts hull.
"Good," Ravian nodded when he confirmed all three engines are hit. "Helm, come about one-eight-zero degrees. Execute turn in echelon," Ravian ordered without raising his voice.
Across the fleet, massive plasma drives flared brighter as the Imperial warships began their coordinated maneuver. The crippled plague battleships ahead drifted in disarray, their damaged engines vomiting sickly green substance into the void.
"Tell the Cobras to finish them off," Ravian order. "Once destroyed, they are to swing wide and strike the enemy flanks."
"Aye, my lord."
As the Cobras begining to kill their prey, the rest of the fleet also finish their turning, and whats appear before them is not a great sight, though many already knew the result.
The previous force that Ravian send to intercept and buy time for them have all but destroy, with only the cruiser somehow survive. But from the auspex scan, the cruiser engine is disabled and there are sign that they already been boarded.
"Forward," Ravian said, voice steady.
As if to answer him, a nearby Imperial frigate attempting to cover the crippled cruiser was struck by a cluster of lance beams from the advancing traitor fleet. Its void shields flared bright white—
—and collapsed.
The next volley punched straight through its reactor core.
The frigate detonated in a brilliant sphere of expanding fire, fragments scattering across the engagement zone.
No one on the bridge flinched.
"Bring us into optimal range," Ravian continued. "All broadsides ready. Target the traitor capital ship first."
As the two fleets closed, the void between them became a maelstrom of smaller wars.
Imperial Fury interceptors surged ahead in disciplined formations, engines burning clean blue as they formed layered defensive screens. Their task was simple—deny the enemy the sky. They intercepted incoming Hell Blades head-on, lascannons stitching precise lines of light through the darkness.
Bombers followed behind, heavier and slower. Starhawks cut through gaps in the fighter melee, angling toward vulnerable cruiser flanks and exposed weapon decks. Their torpedoes armed, target locks cycling.
Across from them, the plague fleet's attack craft fought like rabid beasts. Hell Talons dove aggressively, ignoring casualties, punching through flak bursts to rake Imperial hulls with autocannon fire. Boarding craft hid in their wake—small, armored pods aimed at engine sections and launch bays.
"Multiple hostile boarding vectors detected," the tactical officer warned.
"Point-defense concentrate on torpedo clusters. Interceptors to prioritize boarding craft," Ravian replied immediately.
On the hololith, blue icons shifted fluidly, forming protective shells around the capital ships.
The first capital exchange followed seconds later.
Imperial macro-batteries thundered.
Broadside salvos erupted from the line of cruisers and battleships—hundreds of heavy shells screaming across the void in overlapping trajectories. The traitor fleet answered in kind, corrupted macro-cannons vomiting diseased projectiles wrapped in green contrails.
Void shields flared across both sides.
One plague battleship absorbed a full Imperial broadside—its foul shields rippling violently before one quadrant collapsed entirely.
"Void failure on enemy lead ship!" the gunnery officer shouted.
"Lances. Fire."
Brilliant white beams speared outward from the Imperial line, converging on the weakened sector. Armor blackened. Hull plating cracked open. Pustulent growths blistered and burst under the concentrated strike.
But the traitor ship did not slow.
Instead, it returned fire.
A beam of sickly green energy lanced across the void and struck one of Ravian's cruisers amidships. Shields failed instantly. The blast tore a glowing trench across its hull, venting atmosphere and bodies into space.
"Damage control responding," came the strained report. "Ship remains combat-capable."
Ravian did not look away from the display.
"Maintain pressure. We break their center, and their rear collapses."
Behind the imperial line, explosions blossomed—Cobra torpedoes finally reaching the crippled plague battleships' reactors. One detonated in a silent white flash, splitting apart like rotten fruit.
The battlefield was now fully engaged.