Legacy of the Void Fleet

The responsibility had now shifted. It was no longer Kallus’s burden to bear, but his subordinates’ turn to prove their worth. The orders had been issued, the groundwork laid—now it was up to them to execute. Assigned by their respective departments and authorized by Clause himself, this was more than an opportunity. It was a test.

Could they handle large-scale operations with precision and efficiency? Could they meet deadlines without compromising standards? Clause would be watching closely.

Meanwhile, Kallus and the Red Empress had finalised the White Fleet’s deployment.

In orbit near the moon, the White Fleet had been downsized from 100,000 to 70,000 ships. The remaining 30,000 were dispatched across the SOL region to patrol and stabilize 24 star systems—some even larger than the Solar System. Chief among them was the Central Star System, the command hub of the region, guarded by 2,000–3,000 ships due to its strategic importance.

Other systems, though not under immediate threat, still required consistent oversight. Some were rich in resources; others barren. Regardless, all were monitored.

These 30,000 ships also bore a more sensitive role: maintaining order across already-conquered systems now under the governance of Widely and allied states. Control remained limited to the SOL region—for now—but expansion was both expected and inevitable.

The remaining 70,000 ships were divided evenly among seven battle groups, each now officially elevated to fleet status. They were commanded by the original Grand Admirals: Ezra, Elira, Ryn, Kyle, Thrawn, Varyn, and Alexander.

Once limited to a mere 182 ships per battle group, each fleet now boasted 10,000—an unprecedented leap in power and capability. These weren’t just more ships; they were newer, faster, deadlier—refined through superior design and equipped with infrastructure for long-term campaigns.

Each fleet carried fabrication ships, mobile droid factories, and enforcement units to secure newly conquered worlds. With their new scale came the need for personnel: each fleet now housed around 10 million military personnel, backed by 2 million logistics staff. Still, manpower remained stretched thin. They were tasked with managing dozens of planetary systems while continuing to expand—per Kallus’s directive.

Kallus knew this model couldn’t last. Cloning could have offered a solution, but he hesitated. He wasn’t ready to build an empire of clones—at least not yet. Instead, he relied on automation.

The Imperial Research Department had developed advanced droid systems capable of replacing human labor with near-perfect efficiency.

These battle droids were classified based on their purpose. They were mass-produced to fill the gaps that the Void Fleet’s human forces couldn’t yet handle. Kallus had a plan: to use these droids for roles such as planetary control units—PCUs for short—essentially planetary police. They would be deployed by the White Fleet as it began capturing and conquering habitable worlds.

These units would serve as colonial enforcement droids, maintaining order on planets within the SOL region. This area was designated for terraforming and long-term colonization. Kallus intended to repopulate these planets by reallocating Earth’s population. The droids would relieve the burden of limited human manpower, allowing humanity to focus on broader strategic goals.

There were also Civil Subjugation Units—legions designed for domestic control—primed to deal with potential uprisings from groups like the Men Clan. Even after their main forces were defeated, resistance was expected. These droids would enforce surrender and suppress dissent.

Other specialized units included Territorial Suppression Droids. Their task was to identify and neutralise any organised resistance in soon to be conquered systems like the Concord Star System. Each droid type was engineered for a specific role in Kallus’s plan to solidify human dominance and secure newly acquired territory.

The main reason Kallus created various specialized battle legions—especially the Planetary Control Units—was because he had larger ambitions. His long-term plan involved conquering and, in some cases, annihilating neighboring regional powers. One key target was the Sanchu system.

Take the Minotaur race, for example—a proud, brutal species known for their raw strength. Kallus had partially marked them for extermination. In truth, he would have preferred to wipe them out entirely, erasing their presence from the Milky Way after their first defeat, when he crushed one of their elite fleets. But he saw potential use in them. Despite his contempt, he held back from full annihilation. They would serve him better as pawns than as ashes.

Then there was the Genome Empire—a very different opportunity compared to the Minotaur clans, who were only useful as slaves and prisoners of war. The Genomes were a race deeply attuned to technology and innovation across multiple fields. They possessed a rare wisdom and capability to develop technologies far beyond current understanding. However, due to inherent racial limitations, their progress had been stagnant for thousands of years.

Kallus saw the potential. With his power to enhance or even remove these racial limitations, he could unlock their true potential. Through bloodline modification and genetic refinement, the Genome race would gain the ability to break past their evolutionary ceiling and create technology on an entirely new level.

Given that Kallus’s entire war machine depended on advanced tech—technology he controlled completely—this alliance was strategic. With his unique skill, God of Machines, he could assimilate the Genome Empire into the Void Fleet. Once under his command, their technological expertise, combined with his absolute control, would allow him to push innovation to even greater heights.

And finally, there was the Azura Dominion—the empire of the Asura people. They intrigued Kallus more than the Minotaurs or the Genomes, but for very different reasons. The Asura shared a distant ancestry with humans, yet had evolved far beyond that lineage. Over time, they had transformed into a distinct, highly advanced species—physically and mentally enhanced to a near-transcendent level.

What fascinated Kallus most were two things: their shared genetic roots with humanity, and their mastery of biotechnology. That combination stirred his curiosity more than any strategic need. For once, his interest wasn’t driven by conquest. He didn’t want to subjugate the Asura. He wanted them as allies.

But for now, even Kallus remained uncertain. The idea of an alliance was tempting, but the path forward wasn’t yet clear.

Kallus would only turn his attention to the Asura Dominion after he was finished with both the Minotaur Clans and the Genome Empire. First, he would crush the Minotaurs through war. Then, he would absorb the Genomes and harness their technological potential. Only after securing both would he consider adding the Asura to his already-formed Void–Earth Alliance—though unlike the Genomes, the Asura would retain a degree of autonomy.

His strategy was simple and methodical: conquer those who resist or pose a threat, and offer conditional alliances to those who could serve a greater purpose. These alliances would function as vassal states—subordinate but not without freedom. Only races deemed uniquely valuable, like the Asura, might earn this status. Such exceptions would be rare.

The door would remain open to other human-descended powers, but even they would face strict conditions and limitations. Kallus’s focus, once these neighbouring forces were subdued and integrated, would shift inward—toward reshaping the galaxy from the core outward.

While Kallus plotted the future—how everything would unfold, how it should unfold—the seven Grand Admirals had already begun their own kind of battle. Not one fought with weapons, but with ambition. It was a quiet war of competition, waged among themselves with respect, pride, and strategy.

Aboard the Oblivion-class flagship of the 2nd Fleet, commanded by Grand Admiral Elira, all seven gathered in the ship’s high-security strategy chamber. In front of them hovered a massive 3D star map, projecting the entirety of Minotaur Clan space. Fifty systems marked in red. All classified as low-grade.

(Note: In this galaxy, star systems are ranked—low, mid, or high—based on mana purity, resource density, and habitability. Even mid-grade systems are rare on the galactic rim.)

But today, resource potential wasn’t their focus. Not yet. Today, their attention was divided across the territory for another reason—tactical division. Who would take what? How would they strike? Which systems would fall to whom?

Who would take what? How would they strike? Which systems would fall under whose control?

These weren’t just questions—they were assignments, a game of power and precision under the oversight of their supreme commander. Kallus, the Imperial Commander himself, had laid the groundwork before his departure to handle other pressing matters. He made his stance clear before leaving:

”The assault on the Minotaur Clan will begin after I return. Until then, I leave the details—all of them—up to the seven of you.”

Those words echoed in their minds like sacred permission. A rare freedom. An unspoken challenge.

To the Grand Admirals, it was more than a directive—it was an invitation. A green light to plan, compete, and outmaneuver one another. With Kallus’s authority behind them and no restrictions on how to proceed, the internal competition ignited like a spark in dry grass.

Each Admiral saw this not just as a campaign—but as a proving ground. A chance to show who deserved the most glory, who could seize the most ground, and who truly embodied the spirit of the Void Fleet.