Striking the Generators

The Azure Passage became a maelstrom of light and fury. Imperial Dragon Fleet, a golden tide of righteous power, clashed head-on with the enemy armada, a dark, chaotic storm of desperation. Long Hu stood at the flagship's core, the cacophony of roaring cannons and shattering shields a distant echo to the chilling symphony of despair that raged through his senses. This wasn't just war; it was a battle for the soul of realms, fought against an enemy that fed on every scream, every implosion.

"Their central Dreadnought, just beyond the Aethelgard Vanguard!" Long Hu roared, his voice cutting through the din, guiding Xianxia with precise, agonizing clarity. He could see the spiraling conduits of despair, actively drawing energy from the terror of their own cultivators, amplifying it through unseen resonators within the ship's core. "That's a primary generator! It's harvesting desperation!"

Xianxia's face was a mask of cold, devastating focus. Her commands flew like bolts of lightning. "Concentrated fire, all forward batteries! Target the central core of the Aethelgard Dreadnought! Long Hu, confirm the link!" Her presence radiated absolute control, deflecting stray energy blasts with casual ease, her every movement calculated for maximum impact against the unseen foe.

Long Hu pushed his senses further, his mind a silver beacon in the storm. The mental strain was immense, the sheer volume of raw, generated despair threatening to overwhelm him. He could almost feel the suffering of the Aethelgard zealots as their shields buckled under the Imperial assault, their absolute faith twisting into terror. "Confirmed! It's a direct siphon! Their conviction is turning into despair!"

The Imperial Fleet, guided by Xianxia's pinpoint tactical brilliance and Long Hu's agonizing discernment, struck with unprecedented precision. Cannons roared, not at random, but at the very heart of the despair generators. The Aethelgard Dreadnought shuddered, then let out a silent, horrifying scream that only Long Hu could truly perceive. Its outer hull cracked, not from physical damage, but from the internal implosion of its purpose, its generated despair overloading its core. It winked out of existence, leaving behind only a void of bitter coldness.

A surge of triumph, cold and sharp, washed through Long Hu. They had severed a major conduit. But it was fleeting. The Devourers, feeling the sudden loss of their feast, reacted. Not with a physical counter-attack, but a mental one. Whispers of insidious doubt slithered through the Imperial Fleet's comms, planting seeds of fear and futility in the minds of the Imperial cultivators. Phantom pains of past losses flared in their spiritual senses. This was the Devourers' active defense, sowing despair directly.

Xianxia sensed the subtle shift in the fleet's morale, the brief hesitation among her commanders. Her eyes, blazing with an unyielding resolve, met Long Hu's. "They attack the spirit directly," she murmured, her voice tight. "Master Tian, activate all morale-stabilizing formations! Long Hu, purge this psychological assault!"

Long Hu nodded, pushing past his own exhaustion. This was a new kind of battle. He directed his silver essence, not outwards to attack, but inwards, through the Imperial Fleet's spiritual network, like a cosmic healer. He purified the whispers, transmuted the phantom pains, and bolstered the cultivators' will, drawing on their genuine courage and loyalty. The effort was immense, causing his own spiritual core to throb with exertion.

A stray spiritual projectile, fueled by raw desperation, slipped through a weakened shield and hurtled towards the flagship's main viewscreen, threatening to shatter it and expose the command deck. Xianxia, seeing the danger, moved with lightning speed, interposing her own body, her personal barrier flaring to deflect the blast. The force slammed into her, rattling her armor, but she held firm. Her gaze, fierce and unyielding, never left Long Hu, ensuring he remained safe to complete his vital work.

He finished, collapsing against the command console, utterly spent. The whispers of despair receded, morale stabilizing throughout the fleet. They had gained a significant advantage. Two more Dreadnoughts, their despair generators targeted by Long Hu's unerring guidance, shattered into silent voids of nothingness. The combined enemy fleets, reeling from the unexpected, precise strikes against their core power sources, began to buckle, their formation dissolving into chaos.

Victory was within their grasp. But as the enemy broke and scattered, leaving behind a wake of spiritual dust, Long Hu felt a chilling realization. The despair from those imploding ships, the terror of the fleeing cultivators – it wasn't just gone. It was being absorbed, dissipated into the larger cosmic network of the Devourers. They had destroyed the generators, yes. But the collective anguish, though diffuse, was still being siphoned, feeding the unseen enemy elsewhere. The scale of the Devourers' universal hunger, their ability to profit even from their own losses, was a terrifying truth.!