The bridge of the IKS Votaragh thrummed with resonant power. Crimson light bathed the chamber in a somber hue. Elongated shadows of the crew cast across black duranium consoles trimmed in brushed bronze. A split feed relayed transmissions between the USS Brawley and the battered USS Morro Bay. The Federation voices filtered in through static over the comms.

“Bah,” growled the Klingon First Officer from beside the Captain’s chair. K’Rel’s wide frame leaned forward, tension carried in his shoulders. A gnarled scar ran down the left side of his face, black beard tucked into a thick braid. “They speak of injuries and patchwork, while the Vaadwaur remain out there.” He pointed to the aperture on the viewscreen. “Spreading like filth through the void.”

A meaty hand slammed down on the side of the command chair. HoD K’raT straightened to his full seated height. The man was broad-chested, with a wild mane of salt-and-iron hair. Red-gold eyes flared with fire as he stared down his executive officer. “Enough,” K’RaT barked thunderously. “Let the wounded tend to their own, K’Rel. The Morro Bay’s crew fought bravely. Their relief is earned.”

K’Rel bowed his head slightly but did not sit. His silence crackled in the stillness.

K’raT turned to the rear of the bridge as he stood. “Communications!”

The shorter male at the panel twisted towards him to meet his stare. “Standing by, HoD.”

“Open a channel to the Starfleet and Orion ships.”

“Aye,” he answered, fingers dancing over panels that flashed red and green. The Votaragh’s interface pulsed beneath his touch.

A moment later, the communications officer nodded. “You are live, HoD.”

The old warrior tugged his belt into place as he began. “This is HoD K’raT of the Votaragh. Our sensors tracked the collapse of the Underspace network after we razed their cursed outpost. We are heading to nearest aperture, where we will strike again. We shall return if your aid becomes necessary.”

There was a pause.

“This is Captain T’Varessa of the Jahlei. I would advise caution, HoD K’raT. The network is volatile. Wait for our ships to align before you move.” Her voice carried hints of tension within its natural smoothness

Before the Klingon could respond, another voice crackled through. “HoD K’raT, we’ll be standing by. If things get heated, come back and get us. You can’t take them on alone.”

K’raT did not answer immediately. He turned to K’Rel, who glared at the screen like it might spit fire.

“The Orion asks us to wait. To align.” K’RaT rubbed his beard as he contemplated his words.

“They are diplomats, not predators,” K’Rel snarled. “If we delay, the Vaadwaur slip further from our blades.”

K’raT grunted. “Then let us forge ahead and show them how real warriors pursue prey.”

He pointed to the helm officer. A narrow-eyed Klingon with a missing right canine and soot-smudged armor had already begun plotting the route forward. “Set a course into the nearest aperture. Full impulse. Feed all shield modulation into frequency-shifting.”

“Aye, HoD!” the helmsman barked. His hand moved furiously against the controls.

As the Votaragh began to rotate, the great Vor’cha-class ship loomed closer to the aperture. Stars bent around the distorted mouth of the Underspace opening.

The bridge’s vibration deepened.

A heavset gunner with red-gold skin and crimson hair leaned forward. “Shield modulation active. Sensors are primed for turbulence. No contact with Vaadwaur systems.”

The viewscreen held the image of the convoy behind them. The chubby silhouette of the USS Brawley hovered near the injured Morro Bay. The cruiser Jahlei flanked them, green disruptor banks cycling idle. Two smaller Orion destroyers drifted in a slow arc, as the frigate D’Vogh drifted towards the Klingons.

The IKS Votaragh edged past them all, hull glimmering with residual plasma scarring. K’Rel let out a low growl. “Let them see. Let them remember.”

The aperture loomed just ahead, eventually consuming the entire screen.

“Steady,” K’raT said. “Now!”

The Votaragh surged forward.

The bridge darkened as they plunged into the Underspace tunnel. Outside, reality collapsed into a maelstrom of gold-veined clouds and jagged pulses of light. The Vorcha sailed through what looked like thunder trapped in amber. The forward hull flexed as her inertial dampeners groaned. For a heartbeat, the ship seemed to shudder under pressure no chart could predict. Turbulence rocked the crew, but all stood firm. They gripped rails, many growling with exhilaration.

The swirling storm clung to the hull as if the ship had plunged into a liquid sky. The corridor expanded and contracted around the vessel. Lightning struck through dust-colored vapors.

K’Rel muttered, “Like flying through the throat of a dying god.”

The Klingon warriors laughed low and harsh as they embraced the unknown.

Their signal vanished from Federation sensors as the Votaragh slipped fully into the chaos. The screen dimmed. All that remained outside were storms, rage…. and the hunt.

The Underspace maelstrom churned with a fury that seemed to resist the very presence of the IKS Votaragh. Amber currents flared and spun like whirlpools of molten dust. The cruiser rocked violently as it navigated the erratic tunnel bends. Magnetic turbulence thudded against its shields in irregular pulses. Inside the bridge, crimson and brass lights flickered above control panels flickering with Klingon glyphs.

Gunner Vekhar stood at tactical. His wide face glistened with sweat. Long curls of unkempt red hair were pulled into a tight knot behind his shoulders. His knuckles were pale as he gripped the console. Black eyes darted over the targeting scanners as if he could will an enemy into focus. “Nothing yet,” he growled. “Their emissions are masked by the current. Readings are inconsistent.”

“Maintain search pattern!” barked K’Rel, the First Officer. “The Vaadwaur must have a presence here. We are not charging blind.”

Another jolt rocked the ship, and sparks leapt from a power conduit to the left of helm. Vekhar cursed in Klingon under his breath.

A gap shined through the golden currents. The construct emerged from the cloud, monstrous and dark against the ochre haze. It hung in the center of a bulbous pocket of Underspace, segmented like an insect. Massive dorsal vanes pulsed with lavender-colored polaron currents.

“Station sighted!” Vekhar barked. “Marking coordinates. Targets locked!”

“They see us,” rumbled HoD K’raT as he stepped forward.

Brilliant purple beams lanced from the structure, stabbing through the void. Two connected and flared against the Votaragh’s forward shielding with a shriek of stressed emitters. Internal lights flickered. Armor held.

“Return fire! Full dorsal disruptor batteries!” K’raT roared.

Vekhar obeyed. Twin bolts erupted from the cruiser’s forward hull, crossing the void like snarling energy claws. They carved across the construct’s shields and exploded in shockwaves.

The Votaragh banked hard to port as it dove beneath a lower protrusion. Its rear disruptors traced fire along the station’s belly. The Underspace current dragged at their hull like a riptide. The helm officer gritted his teeth as he redirected auxiliary thrusters to maintain their heading.

“Second pass.. Align starboard cannon!” K’Rel shouted.

“Now!” K’raT bellowed.

The ship rolled right as her engines howled in protest. The station’s shields shimmered as they tried to regenerate. The Votaragh’s twin forward cannons flared again, landing a brutal strike along the node-ribbed spine. The forward facing beam fired from the Vor’cha. Debris shattered off in all directions.

The construct returned fire with four searching beams. One missed, but two raked across the dorsal shield array. The last connected dead center with the Votaragh’s command module. The bridge went dark for half a heartbeat before emergency lights flared red.

“Shields down to twenty percent!” shouted a junior officer.

A cascade of sparks erupted from the power grid behind engineering. Flames licked the edge of a monitoring console. Another strike thundered through the deck plating.

“Starboard maneuvering is unresponsive,” the helm officer shouted, pounding his console.

“Third pass,” K’raT snarled. “Bring us about!”

“Shield integrity falling. Ten percent!” Vekhar shouted. “Hull breaches on decks five and six! Structural integrity weakening!”

The silence that followed was heavier than battle noise. Smoke coiled lazily around the captain’s chair as the bridge crew stared at the shaking viewscreen. The construct had paused, almost mockingly. Shields were flickering but held.

The Klingons were not winning.

K’raT stood slowly, his hand drifting over the pommel of the dagger on his belt. His dark, weathered eyes narrowed as a wild grin spread across his face.

“We are warriors,” the HoD said softly. “There is no greater death than to die in battle.”

He turned to his bridge crew. “Prepare for impact. Helm! Full impulse. Ramming course!”

There was no hesitation.

“Coordinates locked,” came an excited voice from the helm.

“For Kahless!” K’Rel shouted, raising a fist.

“FOR KAHLESS!” Calls echoed across the bridge.

Impulse engines surged, pushing the Votaragh past its limits. Panels buckled. Lights strobed. The construct loomed ahead, launching energy beams to meet them.

The Votaragh hit with cataclysmic force.

The station’s shields flashed, cracked, then buckled inward with a scream. Hull plating on both structures crumpled. The impact chain-reacted through the Underspace construct’s internal power grid. The reactor core destabilized.

Moments later, the entire structure imploded. A roaring sunburst expanded outwards, pure white at its core. The flare blazed from gold to red as it consumed the clouds around it. The Votaragh vanished in the heart of it.

Shockwaves slammed through the Underspace network like a supernova inside of a wineglass. Tunnels collapsed inwards or twisted apart as the walls of Underspace ruptured. Spirals of golden energy vaporized, leaving black rifts of nothingness.

Alarms flickered as new data surged into sensors about the USS Morro Bay and USS Brawley.

Commander Smythe turned to Science. “Report!”

Lieutenant T’Naagi leaned forward over her console. Relief washed over her emerald features as her neon-orange brows lifted in surprise.

“There’s… a massive rupture. Spatial stability in the Underspace corridor has collapsed across several sectors.”

She paused.

“The Votaragh… must have destroyed the source. There’s no trace of the Klingon vessel. Sir… they’re gone.”

The bridge went quiet.

The last of the amber storm clouds peeled away from space in the distant horizon. Clear stars were no longer tangled in the golden grip of the Underspace.
—-

A golden sky stretched wide above them, light neither sun nor star. Red-green fields unfurled endlessly, dotted with mountains wreathed in fire. The warriors of the IKS Votaragh stood together, their armor scorched from battle.

From over a ridge came a figure clad in black and gold. A Klingon with silvered hair and a face like carved obsidian approached, bearing the sigil of Kahless upon his chest. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

“Warriors of the Votaragh,” he said, “you are welcomed in the name of the Unforgettable. Your blood has carved your path. Now you shall feast.”

He gestured behind him, where a vast meadow rippled with motion. Massive targs, tusks long and wicked, stamped the earth in herds.

“You will slay one hundred targs,” the guard said, eyes gleaming. “It is a good hunt. Enough to feed your crew. You’ll need the strength.”

The warriors grinned, each finding a batleth that they slid from their backs.

The guard’s gaze turned toward the horizon, where a towering fortress rose from the heart of Sto’Vo’Kor. The Grand Lodge of Heroes stood gilded and immense. Spires crackled with lightning alongside gates guarded by statues of the greatest warriors ever to live.

“There,” he said as he pointed. “Your kin await. Your captains. Your brothers. But first… The field, the feast, and the fire.”

He clapped Vekhar on the shoulder.

“You died well,” the guard said simply.

The air thrummed with the beat of distant drums and the clash of eternal battle beyond the Lodge. Sto’Vo’Kor was not peace. It was glory.

The warriors of the Votaragh roared as they charged the field.