Feifei stood in the command center of Fortress No. 1, watching their troops, under Deng Zhengqing's command, tirelessly fire one shot after another at Fortress No. 2, half an astronomical unit away.
The high-powered positron beams were like solid, concentrated cones, repeatedly slamming into the mirrored armor of the cylindrical space city before flowing across it in boiling, blazing flames.
Under the relentless bombardment, the mirror armor on the space city's exterior had long since lost its original smooth, crystal-clear finish. Continuous shock waves had split the composite armor's surface with cracks like a spiderweb, which kept widening under the unceasing pull of gravity.
Fierce flames flickered beneath the cracks, as if a hellish realm within were trying to break free of its cage.
Now and then, explosions and boiling shock waves surged beneath the sealed armor, rumbling through the fortress's interior.
Yet even then, the people on Fortress No. 1 weren't satisfied. They kept firing, as though they bore some deep grudge against the space city and meant to torture it to death.
To be fair, it was quite a bizarre sight. If the Imperial forces on the other side returned to their home system and saw Fortress No. 1 beating up Fortress No. 2, they might faint on the spot.
But for the people of Earth, this had always been part of the plan. If they wanted to hold the Gate of Glory for an extended period, the enemy fortress had to be dismantled.
Since the newly arrived Imperial fleet wasn't planning to attack immediately, they continued the bombardment as originally planned.
Feifei soon received the latest report: the outer mirror armor of Fortress No. 2 had begun to collapse. The cracks had widened into breaches, and shattered armor plates were peeling away from the fortress like eggshells,