A blinding white light erupted violently from the forward starboard side of the hull, then collapsed inward like a supernova, devouring everything in its path.
The composite armor, capable of withstanding direct hits from conventional missiles, melted and evaporated before the particle torrent as swiftly as ice under the morning sun.
In an instant, nearly one-third of the forward starboard volume of the Demon Claw's massive, kilometers-long hull, along with everything inside, was utterly erased by those three focused particle beams.
White-hot plasma churned and spilled wildly from the starboard breach, tearing a grotesque gash several kilometers long into the once-impervious hull.
Superheated gasses surged back through the breach into adjacent compartments.
Wherever they passed, alloy conduits instantly melted and exploded.
Cryogenic coolant vaporized into vast clouds of white steam upon contact with the heat.
It carried along red-hot metal fragments and broken mechanical components, crashing through everything in its path.
Reserve ammunition in the lower weapons bays ignited from the intense heat.
A series of chain explosions detonated deep within the hull. Orange fireballs burst through bulkheads one after another, shattering the structural integrity of compartments in their wake.
Many crew members, unable to grab hold of restraint cables in time, were hurled violently against bulkheads by the force of the blasts.
Their protective suits were instantly scorched with blackened holes by the searing temperatures. The acrid stench of burning material mixed rapidly with the smell of blood in the confined spaces.
Those who managed to cling to restraint frames could only watch helplessly as their comrades beside them were swept by the blast waves toward the gaping breach, only to be torn into nothingness an instant later by the void's cold and the residual heat of the particle beams.
And this was merely the most horrifying scene in this slaughter.
Across the entire formation of the Demon Claw Fleet, more blossoms of death were simultaneously unfurling.
Over ten T4-class heavy battlecruisers—their relatively weaker shields like paper under the Federation's concentrated fire—were easily pierced by the residual blasts of main cannons or precise volleys from secondary batteries.
Some were cleaved in two, transforming into twin sections of burning wreckage amid violent sympathetic detonations.
Others had their bridges vaporized outright, becoming headless, out-of-control steel coffins.
Still others had their energy cores detonated, flaring into brief, blinding fireballs that illuminated the void.
Dozens of cruisers and destroyers fared even worse, like leaves in a storm.
They were hunted by missile barrages dense as rain, sliced apart by the crisscrossing beams of secondary cannons, and struck by the exploding debris of friendly ships...
Points of light continuously dimmed and vanished from the tactical screens.
Each fading light represented the instantaneous extinction of hundreds of lives, the utter dissolution of steel and will.
After the second volley.
The once-ferocious Demon Claw Fleet, boasting over two hundred warships, now saw its vanguard and core formation shattered and in disarray.
Like glass struck by a hammer, it was riddled with cavities and cracks.
More than a quarter of its ships had, in the span of just two rounds of beyond-visual-range strikes, been reduced to cold statistics and drifting cosmic debris.
Hamilton leaned against the command console, his vision blurred by blood, his ears filled only with the shriek of energy overload and the fading echoes of death reports.
"Sensors!"
Hamilton roared.
Blood from his temple mixed with sweat and streamed into his eyes, painting his world crimson.
"Confirm once more, exactly how many T5-class main cannon beams were there in the second volley just now?"
"Sixteen, Commander! Still sixteen heavy particle cannon trajectories!"
The fire control officer's reply was resolute.
Sixteen beams.
Eight main cannons.
Eight battleships.
Added to the eight from the first volley, that made sixteen in total.
Hamilton's breathing grew heavy, a near-mad light burning in his eyes.
The maximum number of T5-class battleships a standard Federation mother-class fleet could possess was precisely that number.
They couldn't possibly have any more!
"They have no more T5s... It's impossible!"
He slammed his fist onto the control console, shaking the screen.
"Entire fleet! Cease evasive maneuvers, reform ranks!"
His voice, transmitted through the fleet broadcast, carried the desperate ferocity of a final gamble.
"They've fired two volleys; all their T5 main guns are in their charging phase! This is our last chance..."
"Full assault! Press forward! Use our main cannons to tear them apart!"
"It's our turn now!"
The remnants of the Demon Claw Fleet, after a brief period of chaos, reignited their thrusters.
One scarred warship after another struggled to emerge from the burning wreckage and debris fields of their allies, the roar of their overloaded engines like the death cries of giant beasts.
Though their formation had loosened, it still coalesced with the desperate resolve of a suicidal charge, pressing forward with full force once more toward the Federation Fleet!
The distance, in this hopeless charge, seemed to be gnawed away inch by inch.
However.
Just as the Imperial Fleet had just regained speed, the momentum of their charge beginning to build—
The distant Federation array, that vanguard fleet which had just completed its second volley and should have been recharging,
Once again, neatly split to both sides!
Like stage curtains, pulled open once more by a pair of hands cold and cruel in their calm.
Behind the curtain, a cold gleam reappeared.
A third row of massive, menacing ship silhouettes steadily emerged against the backdrop of their scattering allies.
At their bows, the chilling clusters of heavy particle cannons glowed coldly with the light of charging energy.
Not preparing—but nearly brimming full!
The madness on Hamilton's face instantly froze solid.
He didn't need to ask the fire control officer if they could lock on.
That familiar, despair-inducing sense of vast distance washed over him like ice water.
He stared at the newly lit, crimson markers on the tactical screen representing T5-class battleships.
His lips trembled, finally forcing out a low roar from deep in his throat, a mix of boundless frustration and shock.
"How many... how many T5-class battleships do they have?"
Before his words faded,
From the dark depths of deep space beyond, the third row of death's eyes had already locked on coldly.
Destructive flashes tore through the void for the third time.
Sixteen annihilation beams arrived as scheduled.
Three of the thickest beams, like death's precise roll call, slammed squarely into the Venom Fang.
The symbolic 1% energy shield that remained couldn't hold for even an instant.
The moment it made contact with the first beam, it shattered and vanished completely like fragile ice crystals.
After that, destruction met no further resistance.
The first shot struck the midsection of the port side.
The thick armor was instantly melted, creating a terrifying cavity dozens of meters in diameter.
The beam penetrated deep into the hull, vaporizing compartments, passageways, and energy pipelines along its path.
The end of its penetration path happened to be the energy core of the port-side secondary cannon array.
A sympathetic detonation occurred.
Not just once, but a chain reaction.
Starting from the breach on the port side, explosions spread like a lit chain of firecrackers, rapidly extending along the hull structure toward both ends.
One massive secondary cannon after another, along with their mounts, was blasted apart and torn away. The port flank became fragmented amidst the continuous flashes of fire.
The second and third shots arrived almost simultaneously, with no discernible gap between them.
Their target was aimed directly at the Bridge.
Just before the beams made contact, inside the Bridge.
Commodore Hamilton no longer looked at the screens, nor did he issue any further commands.