It took seconds for the skies above Aglostarros to become dense with the strobing of high-grade munitions between the Queil war fleet and the Conglomerate’s mercenary squadrons. Chevrons of Plume-class fighters gouged the flanks of gargantuan cruisers, only to be riposted by eclectic swarms of craft from across the Coreworlds. Here and there, Queil battleships jumped away from the melee, whether in retreat or due to a well-placed Astrum Lance, only for new, battle-ready titans to slam into the yielded space.
The Conglomerate wore its war paint well: Yellow-gold ViCorp carriers covered for wedge-shaped maroon Montreau fighters, while the Grinning Death’s venomous green vessels accompanied the Syndicate Beyond’s overcharged blue interceptors. They were rivals seeking their cut of the prize, but nevertheless a strange camaraderie emerged between the servants of the noble houses and the soldiers of fortune, the salaried and the opportunists.
From within the Final Word, Admiral Taro Kell watched on, feeling like a conductor whose orchestra was rioting. The churning scrum was relentless; whatever martial training had been drilled into the Queils crumpled against pilots staring down death for the paycheque of their lives. Kell watched the enemy capital ship, the Murmuration, launch grav-torpedoes indiscriminately into the fight, shearing both forces’ starships apart to grasp at minute advantages. As the fleets thinned, a cloud of debris filled the spaces between, dimming the light of the Aglos system’s distant star.
The Admiral clenched his jaw, hoping the Queils would do the smart thing - cut their losses and leave.
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