The Giant Corporations that Started in Night City

Chapter 350: Naval Battle! Moths to a Flame! The Dreadnought's Distortion Field!

"Are those our reinforcements? They don't quite look like it…"

Chani frowned in confusion. From what she remembered, Universal Megacorp's forces didn't use many carrier-based fighters that fired laser beams.

The Megacorp preferred hardlight cannons and swarms of cluster missiles. Laser-based weaponry like that was typically reserved for pacification zones—relatively stable regions.

But Paul simply smiled and nodded. "No doubt about it. Reinforcements have arrived."

Of course, Paul knew these weren't Megacorp ships. They were the Rebel Alliance's space forces.

High above Scarif's orbit, squadrons of X-Wing starfighters flew like agile hawks, harrying the Imperial Star Destroyers with constant raids.

For a rebellion lacking any real industrial base, these fighters represented the core strength of their space fleet.

The fighters had characteristic X-shaped wings, each tipped with four laser cannons and equipped with high-powered proton torpedoes as primary armaments.

Proton torpedoes were powerful but costly—each one fired was one less for the future. In most cases, the Rebels avoided using such expensive munitions unless the situation was critical.

Instead, X-Wings relied on superior maneuverability and deflector shields, using guerrilla tactics and hit-and-run strikes to chip away at Imperial Star Destroyers.

As long as they didn't get caught in the ships' point-defense turrets, the Rebels could slowly grind down even the mightiest Imperial ships through attrition.

The Star Destroyers' main offensive systems—heavy turbo-lasers and reinforced turbolaser turrets—were powerful, but against the nimble and annoying X-Wings, they felt like overkill.

It was like swatting flies with a cannon. Worse still, the Destroyers' point-defense systems weren't nearly as precise as their main guns, and struggled to hit the elusive Rebel fighters.

Still, from the Empire's perspective, the X-Wings weren't that much of a threat. In real combat, the Rebels couldn't realistically whittle them down—they'd run out of fighters or ammo long before that.

Even proton torpedoes had to hit vital weak spots to do meaningful damage. Otherwise, they were little more than glorified bug bites.

In contrast, the Empire's TIE Fighters played a more significant role on the battlefield.

Equipped with twin ion engines, TIE Fighters matched X-Wings in maneuverability. But with no deflector shields, they were fragile—easy to shoot down with a single blast.

But that was never their strength. The true power of the TIE Fighter lay in its cost.

Thanks to the Empire's vast industrial infrastructure, the manufacturing cost of one TIE Fighter was equivalent to just ten Stormtrooper clones.

A single fighter, worth ten soldiers. That kind of affordability meant the Empire didn't treat TIE Fighters as assets—they just mass-produced them in endless swarms.

So the moment the battle began, the Empire unleashed wave after wave of TIE Fighters. Like locusts, they swarmed the skies and rapidly dominated the battlefield.

The Rebel pilots had only one option: shoot down as many of these damn pests as possible.

Because no matter how hard they hit, they were never going to take down a Star Destroyer.

"These damned bastards are really pissing me off!"

Admiral Raddus gritted his teeth as he watched the TIE swarm descend like rabid dogs.

Outside of their X-Wings, the Rebels only had a handful of outdated frigates, cruisers, and mid-range battleships—all aging junk from a bygone era.

Their smallest ships were a couple hundred meters long. Their largest flagship, the Raddus, a heavy cruiser, was only about three kilometers.

In comparison, Megacorp's most basic Endless-class supercruisers stretched over five kilometers. The Raddus looked puny in comparison—but it was all the Rebels had to challenge an Imperial Star Destroyer.

The problem was, the Empire had more than one Star Destroyer. Reinforcements kept arriving, while the Rebels had only a single Raddus.

The odds were stacked against them.

"Keep attacking that shield generator! Don't stop! Lure those damned TIEs away—don't let them near the flagship!"

Raddus barked orders one after another, doing everything he could to focus fire on the shield protecting Scarif.

But even after pushing their weapon systems to the limit, the Rebel fleet simply couldn't break through. Their firepower was too weak.

Worse still, more and more Imperial Star Destroyers kept arriving, and their numerical advantage only grew.

To date, the Rebel Alliance had never succeeded in destroying a single Imperial-class Star Destroyer.

As the noose tightened, it became clear—even the fastest starfighter couldn't outrun the Empire's overwhelming firepower.

Just when Raddus was starting to consider a retreat, something incredible happened.

On his holoscreen, several Imperial Star Destroyers were suddenly obliterated by mysterious energy beams.

These ships had withstood barrages of proton torpedoes without flinching. Yet now, they were being sliced clean in half in an instant.

Even more shocking—those brilliant blue beams continued on, crashing into Scarif's planetary shield. A barrier that had barely rippled under hours of Rebel bombardment began to warp and flicker, on the verge of collapse.

With just a bit more firepower, the shield would fall!

Raddus stood stunned, unable to believe what he was seeing.

What kind of weapon could instantly destroy a Star Destroyer… and then still have enough power to crack Scarif's planetary shield?

If not for the attack on the Destroyers, a volley like that could've shredded the shield completely and left the planet exposed.

As a seasoned commander, Raddus knew the Rebels didn't have anything like this.

So who had stepped in to turn the tide?

Both Rebel and Imperial fleets were still reeling in shock when a massive fleet emerged from the darkness of space.

At the front was the Mantle, flagship of Megacorp's expeditionary forces, led by none other than Megatron himself aboard the dreadnought.

The first ship in formation was a monstrosity of steel—the Dreadnought-class warship, bristling with twenty-eight focused energy cannons. They loomed like endless abysses, radiating a chilling menace.

Just looking at them sent shivers down one's spine.

And that was only a fraction of the vessel's armament. What was visible was merely the tip of the iceberg.

One after another, colossal warships materialized from the void. Layered in hardened steel armor, their design screamed power—cold, metallic, and brutally efficient.

Compared to these, the Empire's all-white Star Destroyers looked cheap—almost like plastic toys.

Caught in the middle of battle, both sides stared in stunned silence at the appearance of this terrifying fleet.

No one could tell if they were friend or foe. But it was obvious—whichever side won their favor would immediately gain the upper hand and dominate the war for this system.

Then, as the Dreadnought approached optimal firing distance, it executed its next strike on Scarif, per pre-established orders.

"Recharge the cannons. Focus all firepower. Hit that planetary shield with everything we've got."

Standing on the command bridge, Megatron gave the order to the onboard AI.

Thanks to the ship's full automation, only a few hundred Astartes warriors were needed as crew. No manual loading or targeting was required—everything was handled by smart systems.

To Megatron's surprise, Scarif's planetary shield actually withstood the first barrage. But that only meant one thing:

If the first strike didn't do it, the second surely would.

As long as firepower remained concentrated, the Dreadnought's main battery could absolutely obliterate Scarif's defenses.

Meanwhile, inside Scarif's command bunker, Director Orson was losing it.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as the crisis spiraled beyond his control.

In just the last two hours, everything had gone to hell.

First, a mysterious elite squad infiltrated the planet and stole the Death Star plans and other critical intel.

They barely managed to seal off the planet with a shield… only to now face a new threat: an unidentified fleet that could flatten the shield in minutes.

If the shield failed, everything would be lost.

"Stop that ship! All forces, target that dreadnought! Do not let it fire again!"

Orson's panicked voice echoed through the fleet's comms.

At this point, even the annoying Rebel fighters didn't matter anymore. Every Imperial ship had to focus on one thing—destroying that dreadnought.

With Orson's desperate command, waves of TIE Fighters launched from hangars and shield ports, diving toward the Dreadnought like moths to a flame.

This suicidal charge aimed to disrupt its main batteries before they could recharge.

Even sacrificing a single fighter to damage a cannon turret would be worth it.

At that moment, Admiral Raddus finally realized—this fleet was on their side!

Immediately, he issued orders to all Rebel squadrons:

"All units, intercept those Imperial fighters! Do whatever it takes—protect that dreadnought so it can break the shield!"

[Acknowledged.]

The X-Wings swiftly broke formation and rocketed toward the incoming TIE swarm, the dogfights reigniting across the sky.

But there were just too many Imperial fighters. No matter how hard the Rebel pilots fought, they couldn't intercept them all.

One by one, waves of TIEs slipped through the defenses, closing in on the Dreadnought.

Rebel pilots could only grit their teeth, watching helplessly as they failed to stop the inevitable.

Compared to the Empire's fleet, they were just gnats before a storm—what they were doing felt meaningless.

Yet, as Megatron watched the TIE swarm closing in, his expression remained utterly calm.

The terrifying strength of the Wanderer-class Dreadnought lay not in swarms of point-defense turrets—but in its ability to annihilate incoming enemy swarms and boarding craft without ever firing a single defensive shot.

That was the power of the Distortion Field.

At that moment, the Imperial pilots still had no idea what nightmare they were flying into.

It wasn't until they drew close enough to visually spot the Dreadnought's massive main battery that they realized something was wrong.

But by then, it was already too late.

With a thunderous pulse from the Dreadnought's engines, space around the ship warped. Gravity fields twisted unpredictably—even light itself bent and shimmered unnaturally.

The once-majestic wave of TIE Fighters, sweeping in like petals in the wind, was suddenly crushed by invisible hands.

Locked midair—frozen like insects in amber—they were completely immobilized.

From the outside, it looked as if someone had cast a stasis spell—an invisible force locking the fighters in place, rendering them utterly helpless.

The TIEs' trademark agility meant nothing now. No amount of speed could overcome a gravitational field this intense.

But the real horror was only just beginning.

Those invisible hands began to tighten.

TIE Fighters, never known for their durability, began to warp grotesquely—wings folding inward, cockpits collapsing like tin cans. From nose to tail, they crumpled and imploded.

It was like watching a toddler's delicate origami plane being brutally crushed by an adult's fist.

That was the nightmare of the Dreadnought's gravity field.

The Imperial pilots—powerless in their final moments—barely managed to fire a few desperate blasts of their blasters, leaving behind nothing but futile traces of their presence.

The gravitational distortion disrupted even their targeting systems. The few bolts that did hit barely singed the Dreadnought's shields.

From the command center, Director Orson was seething with fury. The swarm he'd sent—dozens of fighters—had been slaughtered instantly.

He simply couldn't fathom what kind of ship this was. Even the Death Star couldn't project a gravitational field outward. But this Dreadnought just had.

With the TIE swarm decimated, Orson had no choice but to order every nearby Star Destroyer to converge on the target and take it down.

Now, all hope rested on the remaining Star Destroyers.

But it was a fool's hope.

Compared to the hulking mass of the Dreadnought, an Imperial-class Star Destroyer—only 1,600 meters long—looked like a child standing before a giant.

Megatron didn't even need to fire. With orders, the Dreadnought could simply ram into the surrounding Star Destroyers and tear them apart through brute mass and superior hull plating.

It was like a steel juggernaut crushing tin boats.

Now, all Orson could do was pray—for Executor-class reinforcements… or the arrival of the Death Star itself.

Those were the only weapons that could possibly challenge a Dreadnought of this caliber.

---

["Damn it! I've never fought a space battle this satisfying! Those Imperial bastards finally got a taste of their own medicine!"]

Admiral Raddus's voice echoed excitedly across the Rebel comms.

The mood among the Alliance had completely shifted.

For once, it wasn't them being chased down by massive Imperial capital ships.

This time, the Empire was on the back foot—scrambling in panic.

No one knew where this mysterious fleet had come from—or why they chose to side with the Rebellion—but it didn't matter.

The arrival of the Universal Megacorp fleet was like a miracle. For the first time, the Rebels saw a genuine chance to defeat the Galactic Empire.

No longer would they be forced to rely solely on X-Wing raids and guerrilla tactics. Now, they had the means to confront the Empire's fleet head-on.

It was time to blow the trumpet for the Empire's demise.

---

The Dreadnought, like an unstoppable beast, rammed through one of the Imperial Star Destroyers.

The ship's hull—never built to withstand such raw impact—shattered like tofu dropped on concrete.

Imperial Star Destroyers depended heavily on deflector shields for defense. Compared to the battle-hardened, iterated, and heavily reinforced Wanderer-class Dreadnoughts, they were pitifully fragile.

Their destruction was inevitable.

With the Star Destroyers and fighter swarms cleared, nothing remained to stop the Dreadnought from firing again.

The massive cannon batteries had fully recharged and realigned, their barrels now fixed directly on Scarif's planetary shield.

"Fire."

With Megatron's cold command, the Dreadnought's main batteries roared to life. A series of thunderous booms rocked the hull as brilliant white-blue beams screamed across space, slamming into the planetary shield in one devastating sweep.

A massive rupture tore open the shield. The system immediately overloaded and collapsed entirely.

The residual energy from the blast continued onward like a meteor, streaking over Scarif's surface and obliterating the top of the command fortress in a single, precise hit.

Like a sniper's bullet, it instantly killed Director Orson—before he even realized what was happening.

Paul, fighting on the surface, witnessed the moment firsthand.

That piercing flash of light, like dawn breaking through the dark, shattered the gloom cast by the now-vanished shield.

Moments later, his comms came back online.

[Paul, what's your status?]

It was Megatron's voice, coming directly from the Dreadnought.

"All clear. I've secured the Imperial data. Heading back now."

Though the Megacorp already possessed stable transport systems based on teleportation tech and Red Alert-style hyperspace conduits, Paul wasn't taking any chances.

The Empire had proven capable of disrupting quantum comms and teleportation signals.

To ensure nothing went wrong with the Death Star plans, Paul chose to personally escort the data back to the Dreadnought.

[Good. I've launched recovery craft. Astartes units will cover your retreat.]

Moments later, two transforming ships launched from the Dreadnought, swooping down to Paul and Chani's location.

At the same time, Megacorp's elite Astartes Space Marines descended from orbit in tactical drop-pods, smashing into the battlefield like iron coffins from the sky.

Their arrival ignited a ground offensive.

The Rebel X-Wing squadrons broke through the atmosphere, pushing the space battle into a full-blown ground assault.

Now in control of Scarif's airspace, the pressure on Rebel infantry eased dramatically.

With control of the skies, everything changed.

Imperial AT-ST walkers were sitting ducks, bombarded from above without mercy.

With the command center destroyed and comms severed, Imperial forces had no way to coordinate or counterattack.

---

At that moment, more members of the Megacorp's Decepticon team descended from orbit.

Shockwave, Starscream, and others transformed mid-air, landing in combat form beside the Astartes, and charged headlong into the Imperial ranks.

Their graceful landing belied the devastation they brought.

Machine guns roared.

A rain of metallic death swept through the Stormtroopers, shredding them like paper targets.

Soon, swarms of Wasp-class dropships and Dragon-class assault craft delivered even more Megacorp armor to the field.

The Imperials finally realized what a true steel tidal wave looked like.

Looming Chimera tanks stomped forward with thunderous force, brandishing laser turrets and layered alloy armor. They were living engines of destruction.

From afar, they resembled mechanical spider demons—tearing through infantry, crushing resistance, burning and blasting everything in their path.

Unlike AT-STs, which clumsily stepped over obstacles, the new Chimeras were equipped with adaptive morphing tech, capable of hovering, treading, or walking across any terrain.

AT-STs had height, sure—but they were gangly and fragile.

Chimeras had size, weight, and lethal flexibility.

When they clashed, the AT-STs were shredded like tin foil, torn apart in seconds.

It was like sending medieval cavalry against modern tanks—utter annihilation.

---

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