The capital city of Sevarcos II flickered with the last embers of battle. Broken turrets and fallen defenses lay strewn along the streets, casting twisted shadows against the half-collapsed buildings. Smoke and dust hung in the air, coiling around the spire at the city's heart, the final bastion that had now fallen under Sith control.
In every quarter, the echo of blaster fire and the hum of lightsabers had dulled to sporadic bursts—signs that the last remnants of the Order of Wonosa were being rooted out, captured, or cut down. And yet, for all the carnage, the hush in the streets was a testament that the day's worst violence was over.
High within the central spire,
Serina Calis
and her strike team had successfully bypassed the data vault's security. Sparks flew from cracked terminals as the last encrypted files spilled onto datapads. Around them, bodies of Wonosan zealots cooled beneath flickering lights. A swirl of triumph and dark satisfaction reflected on Serina's face.
Through holocomms,
Dominic Calis
and
Reicher Vax
confirmed that the flow of spice assets and precious operational data was now under Calis control—virtually guaranteeing economic supremacy for the next phase of the Sith's expansion.
Deep in the mountainous outskirts, the battered anti-air emplacements had gone silent.
Gavin Vel
and the squads under Sith command had finally taken out the entrenched cultists, though their defenses had been fierce. The bleak ridges and rock-strewn gullies were littered with broken speeder bikes and half-crushed turrets—none of which would trouble incoming Sith transports any longer.
Nearby,
Vulgarion
surveyed the carnage left behind. She was exhausted, but there was grim pride in how her makeshift squad had advanced. A few pockets of cultists attempted surrender; others threw down weapons only to pick them back up in last, desperate stands.
There were battered men and women in ragged clothes, trembling in the cold desert wind, uncertain if they'd be shot or freed. Some Sith on-site eyed them as new resources; others, remembering Malum's order, signaled them to queue up for evacuation. The hushed hush over the mountainous airfields was broken only by the hum of Sith transports arriving to ferry the slaves offworld or deliver them to new overseers.
Elsewhere in the battered tunnels—where spice-laden walls glowed under the flicker of emergency lights—
Alina Tremiru
,
Quinn Varanin
, and other Sith had pressed deeper to confront the Wonosan loyalists. Quinn's gifts smoothed the panic of the enslaved, a subtle Force calm that gave the terrified workers a moment to realize they wouldn't necessarily die. Alina, recalling old alliances and enmities, offered them an out: submit to her service and survive.
Overhead came a deafening crash. Through the fractured walls burst
Mercy
, with the unlucky acolyte "
Brassius" (
Adean Castor
) suddenly dragged along for the ride. Their arrival—chaotic though it was—actually startled the last pockets of the cultists, allowing the others to seize the initiative. Quinn and Alina, either through persuasion or raw intimidation, convinced the final stragglers to drop their blasters.
One by one, either shackled or coaxed, the last fanatics were corralled. Fates unknown—some would become forced labor, others might find themselves recruited by opportunistic Sith. But one thing was certain: the cult's dream of "liberation" on Sevarcos was finished.
Far from the dust-choked battles, a more clinical operation took place. Deep in underground vaults,
Darth Carnifex
,
Nerralyn Raaf
, and
Vector Monk
supervised the cataloging of sealed containers. Droids beeped as they marked deposit after deposit of precious Andris and Carsunum spice for transport. Occasional tremors from far-off explosions raised concerns of the planet's infamous giant eels, but the Kainate's teams had come prepared.
By the time they found a specialized vault that might hold "Creeping Lignan" prototypes, the deeper ground quaked. Vector Monk's nervous mention of sonic disruptors caused a ripple of excitement in the research retinue. Carnifex nodded, well aware that Lady Raaf and her brood would crave specimens.
Let them study the eels, he thought.
He had far grander ideas.
Eventually, the dull roar of artillery fire faded. Cart after cart of spice and research material emerged from the labyrinth, guided by black-armored troopers. Any monstrous eels were avoided or subdued. Soon, the planet's greatest secrets were in Sith hands.
By the next dawn, the city's skyline had changed: Sith banners fluttered from the spire, the hangars teemed with inbound cargo ships, and the once-empty thoroughfares echoed with the rumble of AT-AE walkers patrolling in unwavering formation. Small fires still smoldered in the outskirts, where once-proud Wonosan enclaves had burned. Freed (or re-claimed) slaves huddled in lines awaiting transport orders, uncertain of their futures but alive—something they had not expected mere days before.
Whispers already spread: The empire had come to Sevarcos to stay. Despite the grudges, in-fighting, or personal ambitions swirling among the Sith, the Dominion was complete. The planet's mines, the capital spire, and the flow of spice were all under new—and decidedly iron—management.
In the final hours, one last transmission echoed across all Sith comms:
"Mission success.
Sevarcos is ours.
All forces return to designated rally points for debrief. The spice must flow."
And so it would. Under the newly planted Sith banner, Sevarcos would become a cornerstone of their war machine, fueling future campaigns, forging new alliances, and reminding every citizen under that banner—friend or foe—of the price of rebellion...and the power that came to those bold enough to seize it.
