The void of space rippled like a dark ocean before it tore open, releasing a fleet of Draconian warships into the Nertue solar system. Massive, obsidian-black vessels emerged from hyperspace, their hulls gleaming under the distant starlight. They cast ominous shadows over the planets below, blocking out the sun with their sheer size.
At the heart of the fleet was the Zar’Thul, the Draconian command ship—a colossal dreadnought adorned with crimson markings that pulsed like living veins. Around it, dozens of warships spread into attack formations, scanning the system for resistance or signs of civilization.
Inside the command bridge of the Zar’Thul, High Warlord Xycor stood tall, his golden eyes narrowing as he observed the holographic display of Nertue’s planets.
“These worlds will burn,” Xycor growled, his scaled fingers tightening around the hilt of his ceremonial blade.
The Nertue system was once a thriving hub of independent star-faring civilizations, but its people had long been at war with each other, fragmented and divided. The Draconians had been watching, waiting for their moment to strike.
“Their defenses are weak,” one of the officers reported, his armored tail coiling against the floor. “The outer colonies are unprepared. We can take them before any distress signals reach neighboring systems.”
A cruel smile stretched across Xycor’s reptilian face. “Begin the assault. Let them see the price of standing alone.”
The First Strike
As the Draconian fleet advanced, their plasma lances ignited, sending torrents of fire and destruction onto the outer planets. Cities crumbled, their defenses overwhelmed before they could react.
The warriors of Nertue, though fierce, were scattered. Their fleets scrambled in disarray, their leaders caught off guard by the sudden invasion. Some fought bravely, launching desperate counterattacks, but against the might of the Draconian Empire, it was like throwing stones at a storm.
Alarms blared across the largest colony, Vossara Prime, as its planetary defense grid activated, launching a barrage of missiles toward the invaders. But the Draconian warships were prepared—their energy shields absorbed the impact with ease. In retaliation, a single blast from the Zar’Thul shattered the colony’s orbital stations, sending flaming debris raining down upon its cities.
The invasion had begun.
A Desperate Resistance
In the chaos, a single ship managed to break through the Draconian blockade—a small stealth craft piloted by survivors of Nertue’s military. Their mission: to escape the system and send a distress signal to anyone who would listen.
As their ship vanished into the void, High Warlord Xycor watched them go, unconcerned.
“Let them run,” he muttered, his voice cold. “No one will come for them. No one will save them.”
With a single command, the Draconian Empire tightened its grip on Nertue, crushing any remaining opposition. The system was now theirs.
But in the farthest reaches of space, beyond the empire’s reach, word of the invasion spread—and it would not go unanswered.
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