Private DAGGERFALL

[The Rewrite]

"The lie must be elegant. The silence must be total."

Serina Calis , Odrin Rath , Darth Fury

The Palace of Silver Rain slumbered beneath a morning mist.

From the high, glistening spires of the Temple Proper to the wild, rain-slick grasses of the Shales, all seemed calm—a fortress world at peace, wrapped in discipline and quiet pride. The rivergrounds flowed in babbling serenity. The students moved through forms, blades flashing in the soft light of dawn. Somewhere, deep within the mountain halls, the Silver Council meditated.

And into this stillness came wolves.

A sleek black shuttle glided into Desolous' modest spaceport like an obsidian needle sewing the first stitch of betrayal. It bore the seal of Saijo's own leadership. Clearances matched. Transmissions were authentic. Orders confirmed. No alarms were raised. No questions asked.

After all, the woman who stepped down from the ramp was a Volton.

Furia's presence struck like cold steel in warm water. She walked in silence, flanked by a handful of hooded attendants in dark uniforms—agents, officials, representatives of a new administrative directive. No more. No less. She carried herself with the grace of command, her gait fluid and sharp, her orange eyes veiled beneath a hood of deep crimson. No one dared question her right to be here. She was Sith royalty. Darth Fury's sister. His second-in-command.

And she had come home.

What few knew was that her heart was already ash. And she carried war in her hands.

The infiltration began before her boots touched soil.

Encrypted pulses fired from orbit through buried relays seeded months before—dormant, sleeping, forgotten until now. Signals triggered compromised maintenance droids to begin tampering with fire control systems on Saijo's surface-to-orbit artillery platforms. One-by-one, their targeting matrices were overwritten. Cooling cycles were extended. Failsafes quietly disabled, some even had their targeting co-ordinates ready to be readjusted.

In Desolous, forged communiques appeared in the inboxes of local law enforcement and planetary militia officers. "Training summons," the false orders read. A continent-spanning counterinsurgency drill. Simultaneous alerts to mobilize and disperse patrols to fringe provinces, ghost villages, outpost ruins.

No one questioned it. Not when the seal of the palace was attached. Not when the command string bore the proper signature. Not when they all trusted the loyalty of the Voltons.

At the same time, Saijo's internal communications network slowed. Then hiccupped. Then began to stutter with packet loss, subtle, explainable—at first. A few technicians noticed. They were already dead before they could report.

In the heart of Desolous, a dozen "inspectors" toured relay stations, archive spires, and energy regulation cores. Each bore clearance. Each answered to names never used again. Some left behind dataworms that infected security protocols. Others tampered with coolant lines and safeties. One lingered just long enough to leave a package of shaped baradium charges within a ventilation shaft, hidden beneath false floor plating.

None of them were noticed leaving. Few were noticed at all.

Elsewhere, food shipments arriving to the Temple Proper included sealed black cases—smuggled weapons, whispersteel blades, disruptor pistols compacted to components and hidden inside synthetic grain. The manifests were falsified at source. The transport captain dead in an alley hours after offloading.

And all across Saijo, a quiet fog of chaos began to seep beneath the walls.

But the masterstroke… the final, most delicate incision… was the Palace of Silver Rain itself.

Furia arrived with a cadre of trainers and logistics aides, and with her came a false opportunity. She invoked her brother's name and authority, claiming a planetary-wide Force User integration exercise—a gathering of the Blades of Fury, the elite enforcers and apprentices of Darth Fury himself, for a closed-door summit on unity, doctrine, and field cohesion.

The location? The Palace of Silver Rain. Temple Proper. Full attendance required.

She made it sound important. Sacred. Like a family returning to its hearth.

The Blades obeyed.

All of them.

They boarded transports. They entered the mountain. They passed checkpoints, saluted guards, and walked willingly into the spider's web—unaware that the doors behind them would soon be sealed with explosive runes, that their weapon lockers would jam, and that the innocents they trained with were to be slaughtered or stolen before their very eyes.

Furia stood atop the overlook above the training field of the Temple Proper, her robe fluttering in the alpine wind. Below her, dozens of dark-robed figures practiced katas, meditated in circles, and shared food beneath the gentle spray of a nearby waterfall.

They believed they were safe.

She turned her head slightly. Behind her, one of the hooded agents removed a mask, black-cloaked and cold-eyed. Their face was painted in alchemical oils. Their hand held a datapad already decrypting the Palace's central security node.

Furia said nothing.

She didn't need to.

All that remained was the arrival.

​

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury



In the silence before battle, the Crimson Spire drifted like a blade poised at the edge of a throat.

Massive and angular, the hired flagship of Serina Calis exuded menace not through brute size, but through precision. No wasted space. No unnecessary ornamentation. Her mercenary fleet—arrayed around her in tight, disciplined formation—reflected the same philosophy. Sleek, lethal vessels bristling with advanced weaponry and electronic warfare suites, each one piloted and crewed by the best credits could buy… and fear could keep.

These were not conscripts, not zealots. These were professionals. Quiet, competent, and waiting.

And at the center of this armada, in a command chamber lit by the faint glow of incoming star charts and encrypted feeds, stood Serina.

She was still.

Not from hesitation—but from intent.

Framed beneath the great, curved arch of the bridge viewport, she was an image of contained force, as if sculpted from the very elements of war and ambition. Her armor gleamed beneath the low light: crimson tracery pulsing across the form-fitting bodice like veins of molten glass, each pulse in harmony with the ship's beating heart. The stylized crest at her chest—a symbol of what she has lost, her cause, her war—glowed with low, magenta fire.

Her long blonde hair spilled from beneath her hood, catching the light like silk touched by blood. The cape draped over her shoulders pooled like a shadow given grace, its lining shifting subtly in shades of violet and pink, delicate only until it turned to blade-sharp edges as she moved. Every piece of her attire was a warning, every inch calculated for both intimidation and allure.

And yet… her expression was almost serene.

The kind of calm only someone in absolute control could wear.

Her gloved hands were clasped at her waist as she studied the tactical displays. The planetary readouts of Saijo scrolled before her—shifting troop deployments, artificial delays in defense relay transmissions, a slow scatter of patrol vectors spreading too thin across the outer territories.

Everything was going to plan.

"We are at the throat," she murmured, as much to herself as to the officers present.

Commander Thalen—grizzled, sharp-eyed, one of her best—approached from behind, his boots echoing softly on the durasteel floor. "All ships in position. Weapons hot. Jammer frequencies staggered and masked. We're dark and clean."

"And Odrin?"

"Five minutes out. His fleet's cutting through the void just shy of the line—running cold. His signature won't be obvious until it's too late."

Serina's lips curled, but only slightly. She reached out and placed one hand gently against the viewport, as if stroking the image of Saijo that hovered in projection before her.

"Let Fury feel safe for just a moment longer…"

Her voice was velvet, but beneath it there was the edge of glass.

"Let him believe the world still turns in his favor."

She turned, the motion smooth and commanding, her cape sweeping behind her like a judgment passed. Her gaze locked with Thalen's. Her blue eyes gleamed with the cold light of calculation.

"Send the final dead-drop to Furia's team—confirm insertion lockdown at the Temple. Once Odrin arrives, we punch through the stratosphere like a spear. No flares. No warnings. No mercy."

"Yes, Lady Calis."

Thalen bowed his head and withdrew without another word.

Serina turned back toward the stars, folding her arms beneath the flowing lines of her armor. She said nothing for several heartbeats.

Then, quietly, with a smirk that never quite reached her eyes:

"They called me reckless… a girl playing at power…"

Her fingers twitched.

"Tonight, they'll call me Sovereign."

And behind her, the bridge lights dimmed to crimson. The warhorns of the Crimson Spire stirred, silent for now—but coiled.

Waiting for the moment Serina Calis would command them to scream.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury

The low hum of a warship in motion was beginning to become pleasant to his ears. He preferred the sound of thousands of boots marching on soil, tanks rumbling or hovering pass as gunships flew overhead. The sound of engines and massive weaponry firing started to join that elegant dance of war music he loved so dearly.

Odrin sat within his command chair, observing and studying the tactical holomap on the tacmap before him. Gathered around it were his second-in-command, Captain Callus, among other senior officers of the fleet. Some here in person and others via holoprojection as they commanded their own ships from their own bridges.

The fleet was small, elite and professional. A sharp dagger through the gaps of Saijo's defenses. Neither he nor Serina yet had the powerbase to go toe-to-toe with a Sith Lord's personal fleet. Not one the size of Saijo's. So they innovated and adapted. Bribed and cajoled.

Odrin wasn't officially here. He wasn't tied to Serina in any public way nor would he take any credit from this siege. He was more than happy to allow Serina to have her little big girl moment and claim all the valor. Odrin was here for a more personal prize. The ultimate test of his lifelong pursuit of martial perfection. This was just another notch in his belt. His ambitions his own.

"Sir, the Captains report ready. We've detected Calis' fleet in position and waiting. Should I send word we're ready for Operation launch?" spoke Captain Callus.

The big Sith Knight stared out at Saijo and its arrayed fleet, still patrolling their normal routes and not ready for an engagement that they would soon receive. As their fleet approached, their ships would broadcast IFF codes to Saijo's fleet given to them by Lord Furia, ensuring they could get as close as possible before alarms were raised.

"Aye. Let that lil blonde whelp know we're ready. Helm, take us in towards the Stellar Fury. Comms, broadcast the codes to any ship or station requesting authorization. Weapons and Ops, get ready to unleash chaos."

So it was, the fleet of ships descended from darkness as their signatures finally went hot and loud. Their engines burning hot at full speed as they approached Saijo like a hungry beast from dark space itself. Their codes broadcasting even as the Saijo PDF detected their presence and requested their clearance codes. Even with the codes given to them coming from a Volton, Odrin knew it would not take long for the ruse to fall.

If there was anything he knew, it was military commanders being one himself. They would soon take the initiative, not that it mattered. If Serina had done everything right, soon the planets infrastructure would be in chaos and its own defenses turned against the enemy fleet.

It was time for a reckoning.

 

[The Rewrite]

"The lie must be elegant. The silence must be total."

Serina Calis , Odrin Rath , Darth Fury

It began with light.

Not the ceremonial flares of military parades, nor the cool blaze of the neon signs that lined Saijan City's market spires. This light was sudden, jagged, and brutal—born from ruptured power junctions and sabotaged transformers that overloaded in a synchronized, artificial surge. Whole city blocks went dark. Emergency systems blinked to life, only to flicker and die moments later as silent viruses ate through their firmware like acid.

Then came the sound.

Sirens howled—not all at once, but in chaotic pockets, scattering emergency responders like ants across the industrial district. The constabulary command center in District Five received two dozen alerts from phantom break-ins and riot pings—none of them real. None of them random.

Because by then, the Atramentum agents had already moved.

Their entry had been seamless. They arrived as investors, mercenary coordinators, tech auditors, offworld dignitaries, even lovers to minor aristocrats. Paperwork perfect. Credentials vetted. No suspicion. No security flags.

Not until now.

In the belly of the Market District Pyramid, explosive charges—hidden beneath display tables and behind false ventilation grates—detonated in precise succession, collapsing support beams and burying a full company of Saijo Legionnaires who had been called there by false reports of unrest.

At Volton Tower, the uppermost server banks burst into fire and static, as slicers embedded months before flooded the system with corrupted loops—simultaneously broadcasting "legitimate" emergency orders from Furia's command codes and disabling internal data safeguards. Cameras went blind. Response algorithms looped. Dozens of automated defense turrets spun in confused spirals.

Saboteurs within the manufactorums switched entire production lines—originally calibrated for small arms and armor plating—to produce only useless components, while secondary teams overloaded pressure valves in critical reactors. Chain explosions reduced entire assembly floors to burning wrecks, choking the air with smoke and metal dust.

In the city's eastern corridors, hidden transmitters buried beneath sewer grates began broadcasting false distress signals, triggering emergency evacuation orders for nearby garrisons. Thousands of local troops mobilized instantly—away from where they were needed. Already pulled thin by cleverly forged directives over the past week, the remaining defenders were now fragmented, misled, and turning on shadows.

At Bloodhowl Arena, a charity dueling tournament meant to curry favor with the common class erupted into flames as an Atramentum cell ignited the fuel lines beneath the combat floors. Panicked crowds trampled one another. Explosive plumes tore through the seating galleries. Survivors staggered into the night, choking on smoke and fear, not knowing it was all deliberate.

And amidst it all, operatives in Inquisitor robes—false, but flawless—stalked through the chaos, executing selected targets in the street. Sith sympathizers. Legion captains. Sector clerks who'd noticed too much.

Not one shot fired was wasted.

Not one scream was unexpected.

Only the Crimson Citadel stood untouched—its defenses, too vast, too old, too sacred. The agents had not attempted to breach it. They had no need. When the time came, Serina Calis, Odrin Rath and their war machine would crack it open from the outside. The rest of the city?

It was already burning.

The Twin Chantries went dark, their comms severed. The Industrial District raged with firestorms. The Market Pyramid crumbled. The Bloodhowl Arena became a mass grave. The Legion's barracks responded only with panic or silence.

The Crimson Spire would arrive to find the walls already cracked.

The gates unguarded.

The soldiers confused and leaderless.

The predators already inside.

Daggerfall had begun. Not with ships. Not with bombs.

But with betrayal. Whispers. Shadows given flesh.

Saijan City would not fall in glorious war.

It would collapse from within.

The Palace of Silver Rain, long revered as a sanctuary for the Order's brightest, most promising Force-sensitives, now held its breath.

The mountain air was thin and cold, crisp with the scent of mist and cut stone. Sunlight breached the clouds over Lake Meqsed, glinting like fire across the waterfalls below. Birds called softly in the distance. The forests remained still.

And in the Temple courtyard, hundreds of Tyros, Acolytes, and Scions stood in ordered formation, summoned by urgent command under the seal of Lord Furia Volton.

They had answered without question.

Their instructors flanked them. Overseers watched with sharp eyes. Even visiting Knights had gathered in the Temple's central training floor, weapons at their sides, minds keen with the edge of duty.

Atop the grand staircase beneath the obsidian arch of the inner sanctum, Furia stood.

Her crimson-and-black robes billowed in the alpine wind, the sigils of House Volton woven in stark bloodred across her shoulders. The hood was lowered now. Her orange eyes glowed like molten glass beneath kohl-dark lashes. She wore no helmet. She wanted them to see her face.

See the moment they were abandoned.

Her voice cut through the silence like a knife:

"Brothers. Sisters. I am proud of you."

A murmur. No one understood.

"You came when summoned. You obeyed, without hesitation. You trusted me. You trusted him."

Her lip curled slightly.

"You always were obedient little acolytes."

Something shifted.

Across the courtyard, a faint click—subtle, metallic. Then another. Then six more in succession.

From the outer balconies of the Temple towers, shadowed figures in black stepped forward—cloaked in armor-slick robes, faces covered by void masks of burnished bronze and obsidian. Some carried rifles with muzzles like fangs. Others held staffs wrapped in alchemical bindings. All bore the mask.

They moved without a word.

All at once, the Temple's doors slammed shut, heavy gates groaning as electromagnetic locks surged active. The exits behind the young Force-sensitives vanished in a blink. Damping fields hissed to life from hidden pylons beneath the tiles, severing access to outside transmissions. A shimmering blue web crawled across the courtyard's perimeter—a containment field, humming with the distinctive undertone of Sith alchemy.

Panic flickered.

Furia raised one hand.

"You are not prisoners of war," she said coldly. "You are test subjects. You are leverage. You are... liabilities."

A ripple of Force energy burst outward from her palm, knocking back a line of stunned instructors. Weapons snapped to hand. Cries of confusion turned to rage. But it was too late.

From the towers above, stun pulses and containment nets fired in cascading volleys. Smoke grenades rolled into the edges of the crowd, spewing thick, black mist laced with neural disrupters. Those who tried to resist found their sabers unresponsive—their crystals rendered inert by nullification fields activated beneath the stone floor.

A Scion leapt forward, screaming in fury—only to be dropped mid-flight by a single blast from an Atramentum rifle that burned through his chest like a drill through ice.

Across the upper balconies, ropes dropped.

Dozens of Atramentum agents descended in unison, some grappling down like wraiths, others leaping straight into the chaos with blades drawn and gauntlets charged with suppressive force. They did not kill indiscriminately. No. Each movement was surgical. Efficient. Targeted.

They were not here to destroy.

They were here to harvest.

One by one, trainees fell—drugged, electroshocked, beaten into unconsciousness and bound with magnetized manacles etched with binding runes. The air was thick with ozone, blood, and the high-pitched drone of sonic inhibitors. Every defensive system within the Palace had been shut down via internal overrides. Every Knight or Master present was outnumbered, cut off, and neutralized.

From the shadows of the inner Temple, cloaked agents emerged with containment coffins—black sarcophagi lined with damping coils, ready to hold captured Force-sensitives in suspended animation.

By the end of the first five minutes, two hundred had fallen.

By ten, the field was silent.

Only the wind moved now.

Furia descended the staircase slowly, her boots echoing across the desecrated stone.

Behind her, the Atramentum agents worked like surgeons. Names were catalogued. Survivors marked for interrogation. The dead left in place—symbols, reminders.

She paused near the body of a Tyro, not yet cold.

Then, as she crouched, she whispered something into the girl's ear.

A final gift.

Then she stood and turned to the courtyard—once a place of discipline and promise, now littered with corpses and fractured dreams.

"Seal the Temple," she ordered. "No one leaves. Not until she arrives."

And so the Palace of Silver Rain—pride of Saijo, jewel of the mountain, the furnace of the future—fell.

Not by siege. Not by starship.

But by a woman once sworn to protect it.

And the shadows she had brought with her.

​

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury



The skies above Saijo bloomed with fire.

From the bridge of the Crimson Spire, Serina Calis stood encased in flickering crimson light, her silhouette outlined by the chaos she had orchestrated. The holographic tactical display glowed before her—a living map of destruction, shifting and pulsing as orbital emplacements buckled under internal sabotage, as defensive towers turned their turbolasers on friendly vessels, as entire comm relays winked out in coordinated silence.

Below, Saijan City had become a wound. Great ribbons of smoke curled up from its heart—the market pyramid in ruins, industrial districts a tangle of collapsing scaffold and steel, blood and flame trailing through the air like ribbons of a dance long forbidden. The planet was screaming, not because of some planetary invasion, but because it had already been dissected from within.

She said nothing at first.

Her armored fingers rested on the edge of the holo-table, gauntlet tips tapping idly against the glass. Her cape whispered softly with every shift of her posture, cascading behind her like a dark waterfall as the command crew moved with quiet urgency around her.

Her lips were parted just slightly, not in awe or joy—but in appreciation.

It was beautiful.

Not the carnage. Not the suffering.

But the precision. The design.

So many thought Sith victory came from fury, from overwhelming might. They were wrong. It came from control. From corruption so complete that by the time your enemy realized you were in their lungs, they were already drowning.

Her eyes flicked to the feeds pouring in from the surface—the Palace of Silver Rain, its spires turned black with smoke, its great gate sealed, its students and masters in the process of being caged like relics. A sea of dark-clad Atramentum agents moved through the training grounds like a wave of surgical death. It was perfect. Furia had not failed her.

And Saijo would not survive her.

Serina exhaled softly, then turned from the display.

"Prepare my craft."

The words were quiet, but every officer on the bridge reacted like they were thunder.

She moved with grace, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished durasteel deck, cloak trailing behind her like the hem of a sovereign's decree. Each step down the hall was taken with purpose, her presence radiating heat like a slow-burning furnace. Soldiers saluted, mercenaries stepped aside with reverent awe. They were the best—hardened killers, privateers, bounty hunters, rogue tacticians—all bound not by loyalty but by respect and fear.

And they served her.

She passed into the central hangar, where her personal shuttle waited—sleek, dagger-shaped, flanked by two escort craft bristling with atmospheric ordnance. Her honor guard stood at attention in tight formation: former commandos, ex-special forces, and Force-dead mercenaries enhanced with implants and bio-mods. All wore the sigil of this campaign—an elegant thorned spiral, like a rose made of blades.

She paused only once before stepping aboard.

Above her, the battle in orbit finally lit the clouds. Odrin's fleet, engines blazing, were preparing to engage in full. His ships tore into Fury's formation with brutal speed and violence, preparing to fire with their opening salvo, knowing Serina's strike was already severing the planet's arteries. It was a calculated gamble—one the brute knew well. He was a hammer. But today, she had forged the anvil.

As the ramp rose behind her, sealing her in the silence of the shuttle, Serina finally smiled.

Not the theatrical smirk she wore among rivals.

Not the cruel twist of satisfaction she gave to enemies before she broke them.

But the rare, quiet smile of a woman who had crafted something devastating… and now would walk through the ashes it left behind.

Inside, the shuttle was dim, lit only by the magenta glow of her armor's pulse lines and the steady rhythmic beat of the ship's navigation feed.

She took her seat—high-backed, throne-like—at the forward observation canopy, her fingers lacing together before her chin.

Below her, the world burned.

Ahead of her, the Palace waited.

She was not coming to conquer. Not anymore.

She was coming to claim.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury

The cacophony of ship to ship warfare was deafening even within insulated command bridges. Lasers, point defense, missiles and starfighters zipped to and fro across the battlespace. Ships engaged each other in knife fight range as broadsides were exchanged. Ion and laser fire shot up from the surface of Saijo, impacting its own defense fleet with destructive effect.

The trap had been sprung.

Trapped between a planets defense grid, now hostile, and an enemy fleet blockading their only escape, the Saijo Planetary Defense Fleet was torn asunder. Their downfall and final act coming to an end at the hands of Odrin Rath.

The Thanaton-class Corvette sliced through the battle with speed and efficiency. It's weapons targeting the weapon emplacements of the Stellar Fury, flagship of the Saijo PDF, as it avoided its return fire with skilled piloting and point defense cannons. As the rest of Odrin's forces performed similar tactics, they all utilized their corvettes, frigates and destroyers with ferocity, skill and priority communication. They worked together like a wolf pack to take quick bites of their prey before slinking back to allow a packmate their turn.

On the bridge of his corvette, Odrin studied the changing battlespace with an experienced mind and a eye for warfare.

"Squadron Omega, focus on the flagships shielding systems. Null, target their starfighters and keep them busy. Everyone else, take out as many of its weapons as possible. I want this best bleeding and ready for capture."

The ships of the fleet followed his orders to the letter as they went about dissecting the massive Star Destroyer. Even as some of them took hits of their own, some leaving only a fireball and scattered debris behind as evidence of their valor. Not a moment too soon, Calis' fleet joined his own and fell under his command. No doubt this meant the blonde seductress was already heading for planetside. The plan moves forward.

"Polis Squadron, focus your efforts on the rest of the fleet. Keep them occupied and away from supporting their flagship. Massa Squadron, stick to the perimeter and ensure no further forces intervene as reinforcements pour in from around the system. Ensure no one escapes."

Odrin quickly stood up from his command chair, leaving Captain Callus to further command the ship as Odrin himself headed down to the airlock. He donned his helmet, completing his hefty armor ensemble and meeting up with a squad of acolytes. They were hand picked by Odrin and would eventually serve as the start of his personal powerbase. They themselves had enclosed suits of armor and had their lightsabers at the ready.

Soon, the Thanaton-class would perform a maneuver that would level the corvette equal to the Stellar Fury's secondary hangar where they would enact their daring move. Even as the sky and space above Saijo filled with explosions, laser impacts and starship debris, Odrin knew the surface had it no better. It's Lord, it's defenders and it's people would not escape this siege. This desolation.

For Saijo would burn.

With that, the airlock suddenly opened and Odrin shot forward into the dark as he began to clear the one hundred meter distance between ships, utilizing the Force to steer him straight and away from harm. Some acolytes got luckier than others as they impacted the hull or were blown away by debris or stray laser fire. A heavy thud later as Odrin landed on the metal plating of the Star Destroyer, slipping as he quickly grasped onto some type of sensor to keep himself from being pulled free.

Soon, he would find a hatch to make his entry. Then it would be full chaos for its crew.

 

[Darth Fury]

Crimson Citadel
Planet Saijo

Equipment: Robes, Armor, Lightsaber
Tags: Serina Calis Odrin Rath

The dark chamber was filled with smoke, acrid and floating about like shadowy tendrils looking to escape the alchemical laboratory. Torches hung from the walls and kept the ancient stone room lit. In the center was an altar as old as the planet itself. This ancient dark side temple was what made Fury decide to construct his Citadel atop its ruins. Channeling the dark side currents to further his projects and research.

Standing at the center of the room, in front of the grand altar, was none other than Darth Fury. Lord Governor of Saijo and member of the ever elusive Tsis'kaar. It had been many months since his time spent aboard The Kaiser. Time spent locked away and...corrupted by those that dwelled in the dark.

Fury remembered little of his time in captivity. Those besides himself knew none of it.

What he did know, was that he returned home changed. Altered. To what end he did not know. Though for the last few months he avoided public appearances, forgoing his duties to the planet, the Order, and to the Tsis'kaar.

Instead he secluded himself deep beneath the surface. Deep in his experiments and inner self. Trying to find truth hidden beneath lies.

A rumble.

Some dust and debris fell onto his shoulder as his receded and crazed eyes caught the movement. A distraction. More rumbling.

Fury finally flipped open his communicator and observed the reports pouring in from across the city, planet and system.

Who would dare disturb his work? Who would dare challenge his authority and seclusion?

The Sith no longer operated in this way. Or so many would claim. Pathetic, the lot of 'em. So cozy in their obsidian towers and growing fat on complacency. This new Empire would be their downfall.

Fury turned on his heel and began his ascent to the upper corridors, reaching out through the Force and using his considerable power to awaken its Sithspawn defenders. Soon, they would be unleashed upon the planet in droves. They would seek out and kill any and all interlopers. If said enemy had already made it planetside then it meant someone had betrayed him. If he could not hold onto this place for himself, then he would sooner see it destroyed.

Unchained and unleashed. The various Sithspawn were deployed across the demesne to cull and annihilate anyone and everyone.

He could always rebuild.

​

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury



The Crimson Spire's landing craft descended like blades from the sky, black dropships veined with red light cutting through the clouds above the Palace of Silver Rain. Their engines roared over the shattered sanctum, the once-pristine courtyard now littered with unconscious bodies, smoldering fragments of stone, and shattered pride. The agents and mercenaries moved with lethal grace, locking down the final pockets of resistance and reinforcing containment fields as more force-sensitives were dragged away, stunned, bound, and silent.

The ramp of the lead transport extended with a hiss.

And from its mouth emerged Serina Calis.

She stepped into the smoke and ruin without pause, a vision of deliberate, terrible beauty. Her hood was drawn, casting the upper half of her face in shadow, but the golden waves of her hair spilled from beneath it like rivers of fire, catching the crimson light of the burning spires. Her armored bodice glowed softly with pulsing sigils, the stylized heart at her chest flickering like it beat with a rhythm not her own. The air around her carried the scent of blood and spice and ozone. Her presence—cool, calculating, undeniable—spread over the courtyard like a veil.

She walked alone, ahead of her guard, her cape whispering behind her like the trailing edge of a knife. Her boots struck the stone like punctuation to a poem long composed.

The captives knelt now. Force-bound, stunned, cowed by precision. The air was quiet. The howling winds had stilled. The only sound was the crackle of flame from the upper towers and the low hum of Sith sorcery still bleeding through the stones.

Serina smiled faintly as she reached the foot of the Grand Steps.

And there—standing above them, framed by the cracked arch of the Temple doors—was Furia.

Her armor was scorched but elegant, her expression unreadable, her orange eyes glowing like dying stars. She had done it. Every last piece had moved precisely as Serina had expected. She had made herself a wedge in the stone, and driven it until the mountain broke.

Serina ascended slowly, not like a conqueror, but like a queen returning to a throne she had always known would be hers.

When they were close enough, the two women stood—one in firelight, the other in shadow. The battlefield between them. The conquered behind them.

Serina reached out, gently brushing her gloved fingers along Furia's jaw.

"I never doubted you," she said softly, voice a purr beneath the solemnity. "Not once."

Furia did not flinch. Not from the touch. Not from the words.

"You've done well," Serina murmured, eyes half-lidded as they drank in the vision of her handiwork. "This place bled because of you. The Empire will whisper your name after tonight. And yet…"

She leaned in, her lips brushing close to Furia's ear.

"You did it all… because I gave you permission."

There it was—just a taste. Not cruelty. Not even dominance. But truth. Cold and sweet and irrevocable.

Furia said nothing. Her jaw was tight. Her breath steady.

Serina drew back, smiling now, but her tone was business.

"Deploy containment coffins. Have the transports take the high-priority targets to the Crimson Spire for evaluation. Begin logging all training databanks and pull the records from the local archives. Anything that resists… destroy it. I want nothing left of this place but the memory of its fall."

A nod to the agent flanking the doorway. The man vanished back into shadow, orders already transmitting across encrypted bands.

Serina looked to Furia once more, this time less like a mistress and more like a tactician. She extended a hand—not in command, but in offering.

"Walk with me," she said. "We have a war to savor."

Together, they turned toward the ruined Temple.

As they passed the captives—scions, acolytes, the shattered line of the next generation—some lifted their heads to look at the woman who had broken their world.

To them, she said nothing.

She didn't need to.

She had won.

And the Palace of Silver Rain, once sacred ground, now echoed only with the footfalls of its new owner.

The ground quaked beneath them before the first blast even fell.



It began with silence—a breathless stillness that gripped Saijan City's obsidian towers like the calm before the tidal wave. The once-immaculate streets of the Palace Gate District shimmered under red emergency light, bathing the gothic arches and angular skybridges in blood-hue. The chaos from earlier sabotage still lingered like smoke across the skyline, but the true storm had not yet begun.

And then, it did.

The Crimson Spire's drop pods hit the streets like hammers dropped by vengeful gods.

Dozens of them, sleek and aerodynamic, shattered through the air with barely a whisper before erupting into walls of expanding flame and steel. One struck a fortified checkpoint and obliterated it in a single impact, casting a shockwave through the marble-faced administrative plaza. Another landed in the mouth of a city square and deployed an armored speeder unit the moment its panels peeled open.

Cloak trailing like a standard carried into battle, she stood tall on the ramp of the lead transport as the wind tore through her golden hair. Her armor shimmered beneath the flames—crimson veins pulsing down her sleeves and skirt panels, the stylized crest on her bodice pulsing with the slow thrum of power. Her eyes—cold, focused, radiant with intellect and fury—swept the battlefield as the mercenary army she had assembled began to move in formation around her.

To her left, Captain Laren Voss—a former planetary governor turned private warlord—issued rapid commands over encrypted bands, coordinating the movement of hover-tanks now fanning out through the main avenue.

To her right, Commander Nyethra Solis, a Mirialan tactical prodigy with a sniper's patience and a strategist's cruelty, deployed rooftop infiltration teams to eliminate overwatch positions and comm spires.

In the air above, Riven Hark, a defector from the Saijo's planetary defense force, led squadrons of modified strike-speeders and gunships in attack runs along the northern administrative ring.

Every commander had been hand-picked.

Every unit trained and tested under war-simulations run with obsessive precision.

And now they moved like the blade of a single, monstrous weapon—one that bore Serina Calis as its point.

A deep tremor cracked through the street as a line of heavy repulsorlift tanks surged forward, their crimson-and-black hulls deflecting light like obsidian mirrors. Alongside them, legions of foot soldiers advanced in perfect sync, each clad in hardened carapace armor interwoven with neural-response mesh. These weren't cheap muscle. These were the best mercenaries in the known sectors—ex-military, ex-spec ops, ex-legionnaires with vendettas and contracts soaked in blood.

They knew exactly what they were here to do.

And Saijan City would never forget them.

"Push them from the east," Serina said calmly as she stepped down into the street, her saber still unlit, her voice feeding directly into her command network. "Penetrate the sublayer—target the city's geothermal grid. I want the lights out across the entire eastern sector within the hour."

A hiss of acknowledgment. Already, Nyethra's teams were disappearing into the subway chasms and maintenance tunnels with precision charges and signal scramblers.

Alarms now began to rise—not the simulated ones planted by Atramentum hours earlier, but the genuine scream of defense sirens as Darth Fury's garrison reacted to the unmistakable truth of invasion.

The Saijo Legion rose like a beast kicked into life.

Defense towers turned their automated fire toward the incoming dropships. Sithspawn deployments were unleashed from underground pens and tunnels, spilling into the streets like rivers of teeth and hatred. Tukata warbeasts howled from the depths of the alleys. Drone swarms spilled into the air from hangar bays in the Volton Tower's upper modules.

And yet—

Serina did not flinch.

She stood at the forward spearpoint of her forces, walking calmly through the chaos as her lieutenants issued kill-box coordinates and fallback routes. She wanted the defenders to come to her. She needed them pulled from the Citadel, from the deeper bastions of the city.

She wanted them bleeding on the pavement, not crouching behind reinforced steel.

The order was unspoken.

Advance.

Explosions rocked the city walls as the first tanks engaged the outer barricades. Gunships screeched across the skyline, strafing defensive platforms with plasma and ion. The battle was no longer a siege.

It was a conquest.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury

Klaxons continued to wail. Like a wounded beast screaming for aid to rid itself of its infestation. Though for this wounded Star Destroyer, nothing could save it now. It's fate had already been decreed months prior, in talks held in secret sanctums over holomaps of tactical brilliance.

It would fall. Just as Saijo now did.

The constant echoing of heavy boots on floor plating threatened to drown out the alarms. Even the screams. For it was madness within the hull of the Stellar Fury. A madness created by a hulking juggernaut of a man named Odrin Rath.

A man who took no prisoners this day. A man so primed with rage, fury, and seething hatred for all in his path that he emanated these passions in droves. Like a steaming blanket on exposed skin, his presence in the Force was unmistakable as he charged down the hallway. Odrin's focused rage empowered him as he practically ran through the ships defenders, red saber flowing around him so fast the enemy could do nothing but be struck down.

Onward he pressed. Blaster fire was deflected or avoided, troopers cut down so quickly they couldn't even yell in dismay. The heavy armor of the giant deflected or absorbed their fire for any shot lucky enough to get pass his saber. Force lightning shot across the hallway and into a group of troopers guarding the blast door concealing the engine room.

It had been a hard fought slog to get to this point. Half of his companions, Acolytes chosen for their fodder specialization, laid scattered in passageways behind him. Surrounded by troopers who went down by the squad in their attempts to eliminate the young Sith warriors.

They had fought well. They had died well. Odrin would not remember them. Not after today. Such was their way.

Deflecting another round of blaster fire, Odrin lifted their weapons with the Force and pulled them towards himself before charging them with lightning and returning them to sender. The impacts and following screams of pain quickly quieted and left the hallway filled with corpses and the sound of alarms still wailing, even as the fleet battle outside continued in earnest.

Odrin deactivated and hung his lightsaber on his belt. Heavy footsteps approached the blast door as what remaining acolytes gathered around him. Blasting through it via the Force or explosives would take too long. Thankfully, they had every code they needed to get through any security hiccups. The Saijo defenders would be too busy down below to account for any espionage and too late to react to it. Even if the multiple cells of Atramentum agents allowed them to at all.

Their plan had truly been brilliant. Even if Odrin only served as the hammer and enforcer of this endeavor, content with his place in the shadows and avoiding the repercussions to come. He wasn't just a brute, after all.

After having entered the engine room, the team of Acolytes went to work on the ships systems. Some sliced in and continued to keep the command bridges attempts at retaking control remained ineffective. Others stood guard and the remaining began shutting down or sabotaging everything but life support and internal gravity. Odrin wanted them too see what came next. And he hated floating while working.

The familiar hum of powering down equipment and systems began to sound throughout the massive vessel as laser and missile fire from friendly ships began to impact the hull itself. With the ships shields quickly deactivating the fleet knew their new objective for the signal had been sent.

As the Stellar Fury began to shift course, it began the process of a new heading focusing on Saijo itself. It's commandeered automated weapons firing on its own allies as planetary batteries still picked off ships in orbit. With the combined fleets of Odrin and Serina, the Saijo PDF was to be short lived indeed.

So down they went.

With the ships systems sabotaged and the remaining acolytes tasked with keeping it on course, Odrin headed for his escape vector like the rest of the Star Destroyers crew. For she was a wounded beast now stuck on course to impact the most fortified and biggest building on the planet.

The Crimson Citadel.

The fact this was all Rath's idea and Serina would have no idea until this massive hulk descended from orbit filled him with utter enjoyment.

Daggerfall, indeed.

 

[Darth Fury]

Crimson Citadel
Planet Saijo

Equipment: Robes, Armor, Lightsaber
Tags: Serina Calis Odrin Rath

Reports kept coming in from across the planet as his Legion mobilized to return to Saijan City. Even as what defenders remained, those not tricked into these false orders, attempted to hold off the invaders now falling from the sky like bugs. Multiple buildings and facilities had gone dark with no word or SOS. His fleet was locked in battle above the planet with his fleet commander now having sent one last missive before falling silent himself.

The Stellar Fury was abandoning ship.

The absolute rage that Fury felt in this moment was beyond anything he ever experienced before. He had not made it to the Citadel proper before he returned to his hidden sanctuary beneath the massive complex, safely hidden beneath the surface itself. Only himself and his sister having known of its location.

Though where was she? There was no word of his Blades from the Palace in the mountains. No word from his sister and what she was defending. He had to only hope she was holding out within that mountain monastery turned fortress. He could not worry of her for now.

For now, his rage was building and seeping into the dark side energy he was drawing from this place. Utilizing the very pain, anger, and loss of life this planet was feeling at the moment. Fury was kneeling before the altar and bathed himself in the Force, allowing the malevolent energies to consume him and channel their hatred and apathy for all things living into a beacon of Dark Side energy.

Then he unleashed it.

It was like a massive flare had lit up from within the Citadel, a shockwave of force energy filled with nothing but dark side emotions that consumed any within its path. It drove organics insane or filled them with absolute terror. His Sithspawn took it in like empowered beast and cleaved through everything in their site, even as they continued to pour from the Citadels depths and towards anything with a hint of life within themselves.

Anyone with an inkling of force sensitivity would feel the absolute weight of this energy and only those strong enough would resist its terrible effects.

For this was the last stand of a dying planet and a fallen Lord.

Nothing was held back. Not his body nor his sanity. Fury gave it all over to empower himself.

Nothing but destruction would remain...

Then the planet itself groaned and shifted in a howl of rage and pain as a kilometers long dagger was driven through its heart. Driven straight through the Citadel above him in an impact that would leave the entire radius of the city scarred and burning.

The Stellar Fury had crashed into the city. Right atop the Crimson Citadel.

Towers fell and crumbled, homes and businesses obliterated within the shock wave and rolling fire, Sithspawn yelling in anger as waves of them were exposed to explosions mixed with fuel. Defenders and invaders alike were swallowed in the dying throes of a 2,000 meter long starship.

Saijo had fallen.

​

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury



She stood atop the high landing tier of the Palace Gate District, bloodied and regal, a slow wind threading through the rent silk of her cape. All around her, the streets screamed. Flames rolled from shattered manufactorums, shattered towers collapsed like drunk titans, and the blackened husks of tanks and corpses alike were strewn in perfect, smoldering poetry across the thoroughfares. Her mercenary vanguard had pressed deep, cutting the defenders to ribbons, sweeping block by block with a butcher's rhythm.

And yet all of that seemed quaint now.

Because the sky had broken.

Serina's breath caught—not in fear, but in awe—as the Stellar Fury descended, black against firelight, its silhouette impossibly vast, its hull trailing molten plasma like bleeding iron. A thousand klaxons howled in its wake. Massive dorsal plating peeled and crashed into lower atmosphere like thunderclaps. It moved not like a vessel, but like a god-killer hurled by giants.

And it was falling.

Not into the void.

Not into the sea.

But straight down—into the heart of the Crimson Citadel.

A great tearing sound ripped through the night as the star destroyer impacted, and for a moment, the planet screamed. A tidal wave of fire and debris exploded outward from the Citadel's core, consuming entire blocks in the blink of an eye. High towers cracked, then collapsed in sheets of ferrocrete. Plumes of black smoke curled skyward in massive pillars, illuminated by the hellish light of the ship's reactor breach.

Shockwaves tore across the districts, shattering glass from towers kilometers away. The Crimson Citadel, proud seat of power for Darth Fury, the symbol of his reign, ceased to exist in a single act of annihilation.

The silence that followed was not silence at all.

It was the hush of finality.

It was the breath of a planet exhaling for the last time.

Serina did not move for a long while.

The impact's light still glinted across the curves of her armor, turning the crimson sigils into molten gold. Her hair whipped in the wind, radiant even beneath the ash that fell like black snow. Around her, her mercenaries halted, watching the ruin unfold with reverence and fear. Some removed their helmets. Others dropped to one knee. Even the most hardened killers knew they had just witnessed the apex of something.

And Serina?

She smiled.

Not wide. Not mad.

But the kind of smile worn by queens at the top of a pyre.

Her fingers brushed the air, and a soft chime activated her private commlink. The hologram flickered once, then displayed her command network—disrupted, scrambled slightly, but alive. Data pulsed across the feed: casualty projections, containment updates, supply status. And there, pulsing in the corner like a silent confession, was the tactical overlay of the Citadel's final moments, recorded from orbit.

There would be no rebuilding this time.

Darth Fury's sanctuary—the source of his whispered cult, his Sithspawn laboratories, his monstrous legacy—was ash.

How fitting it had been Odrin who delivered the final blow. She hadn't planned that. And yet… she had counted on him doing something unapologetically theatrical. He was a blunt instrument—but a sharp one. The kind that made its own legend, even as it buried itself in someone else's.

She respected that.

Serina closed the feed.

She did not need the footage. She would remember the moment forever.

A voice crackled from her left. Captain Voss, his voice half-lost in the static of comm interference. "Lady Calis… we've lost contact with the Citadel. Whatever remained of their command net is gone. The central relay's been glassed. The city is… gods, it's broken. Completely."

Serina tilted her head slightly.

Broken.
Yes.
Made to kneel.

She turned at last, her saber still dormant at her hip, her expression unreadable save for the faint glow in her eyes—light that danced not from fire, but from victory.

"Rally the shock squads, send in our looting teams. Begin post-battle collection protocols. I want elite resistance units rounded up for interrogation. Anyone with knowledge of Tsis'kaar network routes, planetary intelligence, legacy weapon caches—bring them to me alive. The rest…"

She gave a soft, deliberate shrug. The wind caught her voice and carried it like silk wrapped in razors.

"…let the ruins have them."

Voss saluted and turned, barking commands. Drop barges descended. Extraction units moved toward the last smoke columns. The fire continued to rage, but now the heat felt like ritual. Like cremation. Like rebirth.

Serina stepped down from the tier, her boots clinking against warped metal as she passed through the line of her own troops. They parted for her as if compelled by gravity.

There was no need to ask where she was going.

Even now, through the veil of ruin and flame, she could feel it.

The tremble of dark side power buried beneath the wreck.

The last flickering heartbeat of a dying god.

Darth Fury was still alive.

She didn't need to sense it. She knew it. Something that vicious didn't die on impact. Something that mad would claw itself up from the abyss if only to spit blood into her face.

She welcomed it.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury

The Thanaton-class Corvettes engines wailed as they breached the atmosphere. The 200 meter long warship darted in like a mynock searching for its next meal. It's hunting ground was now fire and ash, a ruined husk of the great gothic spires and buildings it was an hour ago.

Now, Saijan City was nothing but ruin and destruction. It's beating heart now cleaved into pieces following Odrin's tactical move.

Even now, the fires spread block by block. The screams of agony and pleas for aid as deafening as the continued sounds of battle. Everyone suffered this day. Defenders and invaders alike.

Except for two.

Odrin could feel the presence, even through all this torment, of two strong signatures that stood out. Darth Fury and Serina Calis. Both had survived his Daggerfall.

How unfortunate.

Though it was never his goal to eliminate either of them. Not yet. Maybe never in the case of Calis as she continued to prove amusing and beneficial.

Fury, however, he wanted to strike him down himself. It was one of the reasons he signed onto this little endeavor. He needed to face a superior in martial contest. To test himself and his potential, to prove he had what it took to justify his continued development. He needed this win.

The turbolaser and ion cannons of the corvette opened fire on any remaining defensive positions near the Citadel, which were effectively none. Though their directed fire did prioritize surviving Sithspawn. The least of them the better, otherwise his approach to Fury would be a slower slog than he'd wish. Odrin Rath, heavy footfalls echoing on the deck as his crimson cloak waved in the smoke and ashen wind, dropped from the ship as it made a slow pass near a somewhat workable landing zone.

He shot down like a blackened mortar round.

The fall wasn't far, enough for Odrin to slow himself via the Force and land with a thud that broke ferrocrete and sent debris flying. Kneeling on one knee, Odrin scanned the broken building and the ashy haze that now swept the air. Fires, bodies, bent construction material and all else accosted his senses. His helmet whirred to life as its systems worked overtime to cleanse the air and his visual/hearing receptors.

The smile that accompanied his glowing eyes was like nothing he had ever felt before. The absolute chaos and pain he had inflicted on this world was fueling him, turning him into a powerful and enraged beast. A wild rancor savoring on a fresh kill that never ended. He had never been more powerful than now. It seeped over and into him, merging him with the very energy that was now rampant around him.

It was intoxicating.

Feeling it bubbling within him and overflowing with absolute emotion, Odrin quickly turned it into rage. A rage he always felt and channeled to empower himself. It was a glass of spirit overfilling and pouring over the top with no containment.

The big brute let out a loud and chilling scream that echoed across the space. It was the howl of the hunter, a call of the hunt for all to witness.

Odrin Rath was heading deep beneath the surface, to whatever ruins remained below as he focused on the strong, erratic presence he felt.

He was hunting a Darth.

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury



She moved through the wreckage like a wraith adorned in regality—her form silhouetted against the firestorms that painted the ruin in hues of gold, blood, and shadow. The impact crater left by the Stellar Fury had transformed the entire sector into a scar, a gaping wound that revealed not only shattered foundations and twisted durasteel but ancient stone veins far beneath the surface—temples buried beneath governments, beneath ideology.

Serina walked into that wound as though it had been opened for her.

Her mercenaries did not follow. Not yet. They had learned well by now—when she chose to lead alone, it was not bravado. It was precision. And reverence.

Each step was calculated, her boots whispering against scorched metal and bloodied stone. Her armored skirt shimmered faintly with residual heat; glowing crimson patterns curled along her bodice like a heartbeat trapped beneath glass. Her cloak fluttered behind her like smoke caught in ritual, its inner lining pulsing with soft violet—a funeral shroud made divine.

Around her, death lingered. She passed crumbled Sith statues, collapsed archways adorned with ancient texts, bodies—soldiers, acolytes, civilians—left where flame and debris had found them. She neither paused nor blinked. She had stopped mourning long ago.

Instead, her focus narrowed on what waited below.

Darth Fury's essence howled through the planet like a wounded god torn from flesh. It bled from the cracks in the Force—wild, erratic, a storm of hatred and legacy that clawed at her thoughts like a starving dog. She did not resist it. She let it touch her skin, let it brush against her mind like broken glass trailing down silk. Pain was the language of power, and Serina spoke it fluently.

She arrived at what had once been a lift shaft—now a jagged hole, descending deep into darkness.

Without ceremony, she stepped off the edge.

Gravity took her. Then the Force corrected her. She drifted downward like a star plummeting in silence, crimson light blooming around her like a petal unfurling mid-fall. As the depth swallowed her, her breath slowed, her pulse steady despite the suffocating pressure of dark side energy thickening like oil around her.

Then she landed.

The subterranean chamber welcomed her not with violence—but with memory.

Here, beneath the Citadel, the air was old. Older than Saijo. Older, perhaps, than the Sith presence that had claimed this world. Great pylons of obsidian and basalt jutted like fangs from every direction, carved with runes that pulsed in dying amber. The floor was cracked, and blood had long since stained its veins. The architecture was ancient, primal—a fusion of Sith alchemy and something even more feral.

And at its center… she felt him.

Darth Fury.

Slick with madness, swollen with power, wounded yet unbroken. A figure in the dark, feeding on the pain of a dying world like a leech too proud to die. He was below, deeper still. Screaming in silence. Radiating hatred in every pulse.

And another.

Serina tilted her head slightly as she felt it. A presence she knew like a bruise that refused to fade.

Odrin.

Of course he was here. Of course he had survived the drop and now stalked the corridors like a beast craving divine flesh. His presence in the Force was undeniable—bright with violence, blooming with the thrill of conquest. He was the hammer that wouldn't break, the wolf too stubborn to sleep. And he was hunting.

She smirked faintly.

Let him hunt.

Let him bleed to feel alive.

She would meet them both. In time. But not as their equal.

As their architect.

Serina moved through the tunnels now with purpose, her gloved hand trailing along the edge of an ancient sacrificial slab cracked down the center. Her fingers pressed into the groove, absorbing the faint vibrations of pain and ritual that still echoed there.

This was no longer just the ruin of a fortress.

It was a cradle.

She paused before a broken archway that led into the lower sanctum—a yawning maw of shadow pulsating with raw, chaotic Force. The very walls shivered as Fury's dark flare rippled again through the stone, and somewhere in the distance she felt it: minds cracking, beasts shrieking, reality bending.

She closed her eyes for a breath. Let the corruption press against her lips like a lover. Let it crawl across her tongue and whisper forgotten names.

Then she opened her eyes again—blue, unyielding, and wicked with light.

"I made this war for you, Fury," she murmured to the darkness, her voice low and lush with venomous affection. "Every fire. Every corpse. Every betrayal. A symphony... and you the final note."

She stepped through the arch.

The time for generals and strategy had ended.

Now came the time for gods to die.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury

Another scream pierced the utter darkness radiating from this hidden dungeon. The big, black armored brute flew the air as he avoided yet another Darkshear attack by the Sith Lord, quickly conjuring one of his own mid-air and sending it back towards him.

The Citadel was bleeding with power. Oozing hatred, fear, and anger. Like two opposing forces of Dark Side energy, their auras were unmistakable as they did battle in dark, corrupted ruins. Fury was mad with power, crazed with grief and intent on killing him. Odrin could not allow that.

He could not match the Sith Lord for his knowledge and currently bloated power in the Dark Side, not yet, though he could swing a lightsaber with the best of 'em. Even now the two Sith moved around the room in a haze of red streaks as their lightsabers crossed and Force powers blanketed the room with wild energy. Lightning, shadow blast and tendrils, absolute emotion and the attempts to channel it were quickly crumbling the old stone around them. Odrin lifted his right leg to avoid a dismembering swing by Fury before stabbing his red saber forward in riposte only to be knocked away by a perfect Makashi deflection.

He did not know how long it had been since they began their duel. He just knew his Rage was seeing him through his most difficult test yet. Even as he dodged yet another flurry of Ataru attacks, quick and wild as he went on the defensive with his own calculated Soresu strokes. This crazed bantha had skill. Equal to or even slightly edging Odrin out but he did not have the unique experiences the big brute had. Not this petty noble tit.

Odrin swatted away another combo of lightsaber strikes before his hands erupted in flame as he performed targeted Teräs Käsi strikes enhanced with elemental power at Fury. The Sith Lord responded in kind but it was clear his empowered Vaapad form mixed with his mastery of the martial art was getting through to Fury as he drove him back toward the center of the chamber. Fire and red streaks of quick lightsaber attacks melded into a ball of Dark Side aura.

Then the damn monologue started...

Odrin had been too focused on Darth Fury to notice the change in presence, to notice someone else had come. A third. A beacon of ambition and arrogance. The utter minuscule of broken focus cost him.

The column cracked in half and fell into bits atop the big Epicanthix as he was sent through it with a powerful Force blast of pure darkness.

Groaning and bringing himself up to one knee as debris fell off him like drops of rain, Odrin removed his whirring helmet to better focus his breaths. The blackened phrik helmet rolled from his now battered armor and body. That absolute arrogant little rat had just cost them dearly, even as his eyes looked upward to see Fury channeling his energy. Odrin quickly looked to Calis and yelled.

"Move!"

 

[Darth Fury]

Crimson Citadel
Planet Saijo

Equipment: Robes, Armor, Lightsaber
Tags: Serina Calis Odrin Rath

This impotent whelp dared bring down this destruction on his powerbase. His Citadel. His symbol of power and status. Brought down by a fucking Knight. Heads would roll for this, he would ensure it. For he would not fail this day.

No, no no no no. The voices told him so. The King in Red decreed it.

So it was.

Fury's own skill in Juyo and Ataru were seeing him through this fight but just barely. This warrior was skilled martially. Maybe even better than he. Though what he lacked, what most brutes lacked, was the finesse with the Dark Side of the Force.

Something Fury currently reveled in as he channeled the strong emotional instability of his broken home. All the emotions swirled around him as stray energy to be gathered and harnessed this fight. An utter amalgam of force power channeling through the Sith Lord and outward towards his foes.

None would survive this fight. Not even himself.

The cackle of laughter echoed within his head at the realization he would die here. No, no no. Not die. Transcend. He would become something more as he dueled this massive brute.

For he decreed it.

A new pawn pretending to be queen arrived. Silhouetted in ambition without the power to match. Fury chuckled. Mad with power and eyes crazed with loss and anger. He was nothing but a wild avatar of the Dark Side, utterly corrupt with it's energies.

Darth Fury was no longer. Now he served the one in Red. Taken as his back on the Kaiser. Shown the truth. Exposed to eternity.

After sending the big knight through a column with a force blast, Fury channeled the Dark Side to himself. The pull of the Force was funneled his way as he soaked in all its chaotic weaves and felt it build within himself like a filling stomach. It built and bubbled, seeping with power until he felt his mind and body start to relent to its forceful prodding...it wanted to be unleashed.

Unleash it he did.

The waves of darkness shot forth like rolling waves of pure nature, both via the Force and physically as they swept the large chamber and bathed it in dark energy and shadow. Tendrils appeared from cracks in the floor, walls and ceiling as they swiped at anything in proximity. Utter feelings of despair and confusion followed the thundering roar of the waves. Debris fell from around them as the ancient chamber groaned and shifted due to the power.

"Shut up!"

Fury yelled as the newcomer stood within the arch, even as the manifestation of the darkness rolled across the chamber. Wraiths appeared from the newly created darkness, pouring forth from the shadowy corners as Fury heaved over and laughed maniacally.

The ritual and powers had cost him. No matter. He was dead already.

The laughter died as the Sith Lord jumped into the air with a mighty leap, lightsaber aimed at the false architect of his physical demise.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Serina Calis //: Darth Fury //: Odrin Rath //:
//: The Rewrite //:
//: Attire //:

Allyson had calmed down.

Not enough to stop her from strangling Serina the moment she saw her. First, their conversation annoyed her, and now her actions have annoyed her. Allyson was not forgiving, particularly because her potatoes and steak from dinner the other night were unguarded. Particularly because she knows someone isn't going to eat and potentially devour what precious food Allyson had saved.

It was a crime, and Serina was at fault.

"Keep it close, alright?" Allyson said to the droid that had accompanied her. As she stood, the cockpit hatch opened, and she removed the helmet, dropping it back down into the cockpit.

"No, I don't need a helmet to jump out of a fighter," Allyson remarked back to the droid as it questioned her logic. "What? What do you mean?"

As she turned to look at the R2 unit, Allyson felt that terrible feeling through the Force. The one that gripped and twisted your insides till you reacted. In that instant, a wave of the dark side slammed into her, knocking her from the cockpit where she was foolishly standing and arguing with a droid.

She fell, head first, towards the surface of the planet. The heat greeted her while the smoke from the burning city engulfed her. Allyson held her breath as she plummeted, gaining speed as she did. All she could do at that moment was pray that nothing terrible would be waiting for her at the bottom. The Force flowed freely through the Corellian as she felt it bleed into her frame, reinforcing it for the impact that awaited.

Moments later, after reorienting herself - Allyson Locke crashed into the surface of Saijo.

The dust began to settle as Allyson now saw the darkened sky while she lay there contemplating her life. What choices had led her here? Would her food be safe? Why in chaos was Serina so hell-bent on being a thorn in her side? These questions had no answers, but she would still ask, hoping for just something.

After a few moments and a few wiggles of her fingers and toes, Allyson realized nothing was broken, and she was completely - for the most part - safe. Sitting up in the small dent in the surface she made, Allyson groaned and wiped away a spot of blood from her head. She didn't even get a chance to grab the landing pack she had packed for this occasion.

Whatever emitted that blast of the Force was powerful. She looked towards its direction, wondering if that's where everything was taking place. At least she landed close, so her droid and astrogestation helped.

Allyson stood, dusted herself off from the fall, and pulled out the small device. It had survived, which was a good thing. Despite being so light, it was durable—which meant it was expensive. She hated to think how much Madelyn had spent on these things on such short notice. She sent a small signal to let the woman know she had arrived and was, for the most part, in one piece.

Shoving the device back into her jacket pocket, she pulled the bow from her back and slung the quiver on. Looking back again towards the direction, she let the esper eye zero in on it—but she didn't get enough time to look. Something popped up and suddenly began to surround her. Blinking, she returned to normal distance and looked up at the wraiths that started to surface.

"What the--" Allyson quickly scrambled as she drew one of the explosive arrows. As she ran through the group's only opening, she turned and fired the arrow towards their center. The area shook, blowing back the wraiths.

"You've got to be kidding me."

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury Allyson Locke



She had always known it would end like this. Not in silence. Not in peace. But in fire, fury, and a last beautiful lie.

The air cracked like porcelain under pressure.

Fury's scream drowned the thunder of collapsing stone, his saber raised in a blinding arc of rage as he descended toward her like a star plummeting from its own orbit. His madness was palpable, devouring all light, all reason. The chamber buckled beneath his descent. Force-twisted tendrils erupted from floor and wall, grasping and swiping with spectral hands. The ritual he had unleashed was not a technique—it was a curse, and the whole chamber wept beneath it.

And yet, Serina Calis stood unmoving.

Bathed in the eye of the storm, her armor was scorched, cracked along one breastplate seam. Her lip bled from where a splinter of stone had slashed her face. Her hood had been lost in the descent, and her golden hair, matted with blood and ash, framed her sharp face like a broken halo. Her eyes—those bright, calculating sapphires—remained fixed, calm, defiant.

With one breath, she reached behind her back.

And drew.

Ebon Requiem whispered as it came free from its magnetic clamps, the air around it distorting from the sheer will hammered into every etched curve. The halberd glowed in defiance of the darkness, its phrik blade casting violet-gold light across the ruin like a holy relic turned heretic. The etched sigils burned brighter with each passing heartbeat, resonating with her through bone and blood. The haft, so often heavy in peace, now felt weightless in war.

She dropped into a low stance.

And then came the wave.

Fury's blast of darkness exploded across the chamber with a roar that flattened ancient columns, reduced stone benches to dust, and threw spectral limbs toward her like spears. The pressure was impossible—unmade air, unmade self, the purest distillation of grief and rage given form. A scream of a god who had already begun to die.

She raised Ebon Requiem two-handed, the blade gleaming in the black.

Her body sang.

Not with the Dark Side… but with something older. Corrupted Light, twisted on D'Qar, still echoing within her veins like an unrepentant hymn. She drew it now, not in joy, not in lust—but in survival. In sacrifice.

The halberd howled as the power collided.

A blast of impossible pressure met her blade, and for one impossible instant, it held. Serina gritted her teeth, muscles trembling, blood running from her nose and ears as the wave split against the halberd's radiant edge. The power fractured—two halves torn by her will, racing past on either side to consume the far chamber in writhing black flame.

And then it was too much.

The split second of triumph gave way to collapse. The backlash struck her like a boulder—raw kinetic agony. The force flung her backwards across the broken stone, Ebon Requiem torn from her grasp. She crashed through a broken pillar, skidding and spinning until her body hit the far wall and slumped to the floor, limp.

Silence followed.

She lay broken among the dust and shattered glass of the past.

Her armor was ruined. Segments cracked and splintered, blood leaking between the seams. Her left arm hung at an unnatural angle, her ribs screamed with every rasping breath. And yet—she lived.

Barely.

Her vision swam. Shapes danced in the edges of her sight. The mad laughter of Fury echoed somewhere above, drowned in static and shadow.

Then—

A ping in her ear. Her comm, still functional, faint through the distortion.

"—confirmation... intercept—intel recovered... repeat: confirmed origin of pirate attacks on Polis Massa… Fury authorized. Repeat—Fury authorized."

Her eyes opened.

No words came.

Just the flicker of realization.

And Serina Calis, the architect of ruin, the whispering serpent of strategy and seduction, bled into the stones of her enemy's temple—

And did not move.



The silence settled like dust across the ruin.

Darth Fury's laughter echoed, jagged and shrill, bouncing from shattered stone to broken steel. The chamber wheezed beneath the strain of their battle, ancient supports crumbling, darkness still writhing along the walls like serpents unsated. Smoke drifted in spirals across the floor. And in that smoke, she lay still.

A goddess unmade.

The figure of Serina Calis had not moved since her body struck the far wall. Her limbs lay limp, twisted slightly. Her cloak was torn, half-burned. Her hair—a golden mane now soaked in blood and soot—lay tangled around her face. One eye was swollen shut. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her armor, once resplendent with arcane elegance, was rent through in several places, exposing raw flesh, laced in deep purple bruising.

She looked dead.

And yet…

Something was wrong.

Not the twitch of a finger. Not the rise of breath. Not even the subtle correction of posture. No… something else shifted. The air changed.

There was no whisper. No dramatic breath. No muttered incantation.

Only the sensation—that a great pressure was growing in the belly of the world.

A heartbeat.

And another.

And then—her fingers curled.

It was a small motion. A flutter, a tremble. But it was enough to make the shadow on the wall flinch.

The air grew colder. Not in temperature, but in essence. Like the space around her forgot what warmth was. The Dark Side began to bleed from the floor beneath her—a silent, ink-black tide that did not pour from her, but was dragged to her, consumed by her like a black hole hungering for memory.

She moved, slowly.

A hand, trembling at first, planted on the fractured stone. Her nails dug in deep—too deep—as if the muscle behind it no longer cared for flesh. Her other arm dragged beneath her, broken, yet still working. She pushed herself up, vertebrae by vertebrae, inch by inch, until she knelt once more in the midst of dust and ruin.

She raised her head.

And the galaxy forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes opened—two burning coals of wrath incarnate. Gone was the clever smirk, the lush cruelty, the seductress cloaked in control. What stared forward now was rage—a pure, black star of fury that had swallowed every smile she had ever worn and spat out only destruction.

Still, she said nothing.

Because there were no words for what had bloomed inside her.

The truth had been revealed.

Fury had orchestrated Polis Massa.

Her planet. Her legacy. Her family's work. All defiled by a coward's tactic. He had sent pirates like vermin in the night. Left Reicher's last stand for her to inherit. Let her rise in ashes that he, Fury had scattered.

And he would burn for it.

She stood—slowly, deliberately. The sound of cracking joints echoed like thunder in the quiet. Her head tilted to one side, then back again, in a motion not entirely human. Blood streamed from her temple. She did not wipe it away.

Instead, she summoned the Dark Side.

Not with a hand gesture. Not with a chant. But with the sheer, consuming gravity of her will.

The Force responded like it feared her.

The darkness thickened—curdled—gathering into her form, tightening around her like a stormcoat. The air snapped. Static danced along the floor like crawling insects fleeing the predator they could not understand. And then…

Her fingers rose.

Just two.

Lightning.

But this was not Force lightning as scholars described it in dusty tomes. This was not arcs of blue to subdue, or streams of electricity to torture. This was raw hate made visible, eternity shrieking from her soul and into the world around her.

The lightning did not fire. It erupted.

Torrents of blinding violet screamed from her outstretched hands, crashing into the chamber like rivers of molten judgment. The stone itself buckled and melted where it struck. Wraiths spawned from Fury's ritual shrieked and disintegrated mid-air, their forms turned to ash in the blink of an eye.

And still it came.

The lightning did not stop.

It poured and poured and poured, ceaseless, relentless, unforgiving. A tidal wave of agony that split the very nature of sound—so loud it became silence. The pillars collapsed. The ground quaked. The walls bled shadow. And at the center of it all stood Serina Calis, mouth closed, eyes wide, and her wrath made real.

The heat twisted the air around her. Her cape was gone, burned away. Her armor glowed in places, too hot to touch, blackened along the edges. Blood streamed from her mouth now, but she did not falter. Her power had surpassed her body's limits—but her will did not care.

She would destroy him.

Not to prove something. Not to win favor.

But because he dared.

He dared to take her planet.

He dared to make her suffer.

He dared to think he could outmaneuver a serpent when he had barely crawled from the mud.

THEY ALL DID, THEY ALL DARED TO WRONG HER.

Valery Noble
Jenn Kryze
Madelyn Lowe
Ivalyn Yvarro
Drazen Lutris
Darth Malum of House Marr
Lirka Ka
Quinn Varanin
Allyson Locke

And the endless many who didn't deserve to be remembered.

THEY WILL ALL KNEEL AS PUNISHMENT.

Through Passion, she had found Strength.

Through Strength, she had taken Power.

Through Power, there would be Victory.

Her chains were broken.

And the Force—screaming, cowering, obeying—

Would free her.

The lightning arced toward Fury.

And Serina never made a sound.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OPERATION DAGGERFALL

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags: Serina Calis Darth Fury Allyson Locke

The blast and following sound of the halberd breaking, along with her armor and body sent the poor girl flying. Her arrogance really did know no bounds. To stand toe to toe with a Sith Lord, someone definitely not her equal, earned a measure of respect from Odrin. Even if whatever grand entry she had planned failed spectacularly.

Odrin arose from his spot, avoiding the damned tentacles of darkness swatting at anything emitting the warmth of life. Debris fell from him as dust encased the chamber from all the spent force power and activity above them. He hoped there was something to return to up there after all the fighting. Not because he cared for the planet or its insignificant population but because he still needed an escape route.

This was quickly turning into something out of either of their control. He figured that would happen though. Time to end this.

Once more igniting his red saber, Odrin glanced at the unconscious Serina before gathering his own power. Channeling the same wild energies and emotions of malice and hate within this chamber. The big guy roared in absolute hate and anger as his maelstrom began to shimmer to life. A force bubble had encased him as Fury continued his insane laughter, turning to focus on the Sith Knight now. Blocks of ferrocrete and other debris began to ride with telekinesis and hover around Odrin like a collection. He began to slowly walk forward to meet the Sith Lord.

With enough debris collected and hovering around him to practically serve as a wall, Odrin began to concentrate his lightning into each piece. Supercharging them with force energy, arcs of lightning flying off of each as his power built. It was not often he got to unleash and push the potential of his powers this way. It was exactly why he opted to tag along on this journey. This test of martial purity was everything to him. Another stepping stone on his path and a notch on his belt.

Fury began to assail his visible force bubble with spears of pure darkness, each reverberating across the surface before dissipating. His attacks grew weaker and less effective, he had spent too much of his power thus far.

Good.

With a final yell, Odrin outstretched his hands and sent the electrically charged debris outward as he channeled them towards the Sith Lord. Fury sliced through some with his saber, used telekinesis to disperse others. Yet still more and more poured forward with ample ammunition from the crumbling ruins. Eventually, his power faded and flickered as his maniacal laughter died down as the debris sliced and cut through his armor. The lightning draining him of whatever reserves he had left.

As the bubble died down and debris scattered around the chamber, force lightning arcs sputtering out, Odrin watched with bated breath. His saber at the ready within his right hand, eager to dive forward again in the ultimate test of skill. Eager to test his knowledge and skill at saber forms with a stronger and more skilled opponent. Odrin smiled in glee at the opportunity of it all. Like some twisted dream come true.

Even as Fury slowly rose from his knees, no longer laughing but still empowered to do battle. Odrin never got the chance.

He felt the drawing of power somewhere near where Serina had collapsed before he seen its final effect. The force of red lightning had poured forth and caught everyone off guard as Odrin was knocked backwards from the sudden show of unrestrained and uncontrolled power. He quickly waved his hands to bring forth multiple big pieces of fallen roofing to shield himself as lightning arced across the chamber.

The chamber itself? It began to crumble completely now. More and more debris began to fall from what was left of the ceiling as the ancient temple began to collapse on itself.

More importantly, on them.

 

[Darth Fury]

Crimson Citadel
Planet Saijo

Equipment: Robes, Armor, Lightsaber
Tags: Serina Calis Odrin Rath Allyson Locke

Fools. The both of them. All of them. Everywhere and anywhere that wasn't here. This place being of no consequence. Not anymore. He was ascending to better places, he could feel it. He felt it's draw. It's pull.

He heard the whispers of the red.

As he landed, Fury drove his red lightsaber downward against the pathetic girl cradling her pathetic halberd. How quaint. To bring such a sorry excuse of a weapon to do battle with her betters. His strength overwhelmed her ego, splitting the weapon in two as the after effect sent her tumbling away in a broken limp.

Was that it? Truly?

Pathetic. Useless. Disappointing.

The whispers seeped into his mind as his anger was overwhelmed by something else. Something more. She was of no threat now. No, no. Not anymore. The Knight. He stirred, he rose. Once more unto battle he went. Not for the last time. No. Never the last. He wasn't even here anymore.

Fury had gone.

Just like this soon to be desolate planet. As fiery debris from destroyed ships and orbital defenses came crashing onto its surface. As Legionnaires, mercenaries and Sithspawn tore the surface asunder with their fighting. With their mauling. Saijo would forever be scarred by the events of this day.

So what?

This was not his planet. Not any longer.

Fury focused his attention back on the Knight, drawing his saber forward as he felt the surge of power within the big fellow. Why was he so big? What was he? He would claim that one. He would have use for him. Oh...force barrier. Lightning. Debris.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Fury attempted to defend himself, his red saber a flurry as it cut through some of the debris. Fury utilized his powers to deflect much of it. Fury was growing tired. Fury was getting hurt. This body no longer sufficed. It was beginning to scar, wound, bleed.

It was defeated.

No worry. He was beyond this form now. Even as his Sithspawn continued to pour from underground and onto the planets surface. Even as Wraiths continued to haunt its surface. Even as fires and explosions tore the civilization asunder. Saijan City was a crater now. Filled with fire, darkness and malevolent entities. Saijan City was no more. Saijo was fallen. Fury was not Fury.

Blood fell onto the obsidian temple floor. Curious. What it was to bleed.

He tried to stand but his failing body now failed him. Not because he was wounded, not fully, but because he had spent so much energy to this point he was finally feeling it. He felt drained. Not defeated. Just empty. He was a void.

Then he sensed another surge of power. His red eyes searched for the source, blinking away the fog as blood dripped from his body.

Ah. She stirred. He laughed. He arose.

"Yes, yesss. Channel that anger. Unleash your might, lil flower." Fury continued to laugh, finding new life in this moment. "SHOW ME!" He yelled across the chamber as he felt the crescendo build around the trio. "DELIVER ME FROM HERE!"

Darkness. Quiet. He felt nothing. He was nothing. In the distance, a solo red light. Calling. Beckoning.

He approached.

​

 

[Serina Calis]

"I will trade their blood for power."

Tags - Odrin Rath , Darth Fury Allyson Locke



The heat had left her body. Not from death—but from clarity. That brief flash of obliteration, that scream of broken nerves and fire poured into every cell—it had burned away the last of her self-delusion. She saw now, not through the eyes of a governor, not as a tactician, not even as a Sith.

She saw through the lens of truth.

This had never been about power for its own sake. It had never been about revenge, or pride, or the cruel pleasures of manipulation. Those had merely been tools, fragments of her mask. But the galaxy didn't fear masks.

The galaxy feared gods.

And gods were made in moments like this—when mortals died and something else crawled out of the ruin.

The last of the storm's lightning flickered across her wrecked frame. The blood across her lips had dried. Her body was broken in many places—ribs shattered, nerves frayed, one eye nearly swollen shut. Yet when she stirred again, there was no weakness in her motion. No stagger. No pain.

Only a fluid, languid grace.

Serina rose slowly, like a curtain being drawn over an execution. The faint sparks of red lightning still crackled across her fingers as she rolled her shoulders, every motion unfolding with sensual precision. Not like someone returning to a fight. Like someone about to devour it.

Her voice, when it came, was low and measured. Cold silk dragged over a blade.

"You called me a flower."

Her footfalls were deliberate. Slow. Each one echoed with the sound of something inevitable.

"How poetic, for a man who knows nothing of bloom or harvest."

She stepped through the debris, smoke trailing behind her like a veil. Her armor was ruined, but that made her more terrifying. The exposed skin, scored with lightning and blood, was unmarred by hesitation. She chose to show it. Let them all see the cost of power. Let them all see what it took to rise.

"You never wanted to win, Fury. Not really." Her voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. It commanded. "You wanted to be destroyed. And I…" She tilted her head with a smile that was not warm—but devastating. "I do so love fulfilling a man's deepest needs."

Her hand rose.

And into it flew the broken haft of Ebon Requiem.

What remained of the halberd pulsed once. Its blade was shattered, but its will remained intact. The weapon had not died. It had evolved. Much like its wielder.

The air around Serina shimmered. Dust froze mid-air. Time seemed to contract, pulling tighter and tighter around her as the Force surged—not in jagged wrath like before, but in perfect alignment. The Dark Side did not scream with her now.

It sang.

She extended her free hand, palm outward.

"Your time draws to an end."

It was not a threat. It was not fury.

It was law.

Lightning did not arc this time. It converged. Lines of red and violet energy formed perfect geometry in the air—sigils, runes, lattices of power no sane mind should control. She wasn't unleashing chaos. She was conducting it. The Force answered her now like a creature owned.

From the heart of that lattice came a spear of condensed energy—dark, smooth, seductive—and she hurled it forward with the grace of a dancer offering a lover her final kiss.

As it flew, she walked again.

Past where Odrin stood, helmetless and slack-jawed, still catching his breath from the last bout.

She didn't even look at him.

"Take him." she said softly, like a master to a well-kept hound.

"Saijo will burn."

And then she passed him.

There was no rush in her movements. No frenzy. Fury could scream, could leap, could drown in his own crescendo of death. Serina simply walked—like a queen approaching her throne, a spider returning to her web, a god returning to claim her tithe.

The broken woman who had fallen in this chamber was gone.

What remained was Serina Calis reborn.

Her presence swelled behind her like a tidal wave made of shadow and silken perfume. Every footstep was calculated seduction and absolute domination. Not just of bodies.

But of fate.

And if the galaxy dared to ask who ruled this place now?

Let them look into her eyes.

And know fear.


Allyson Locke

The world burned.

Not in bursts, not in fits—but consistently, like a slow, methodical exhalation of death. Fires traced the spines of ruined buildings like veins of some decaying giant. Plumes of smoke choked the horizon in every direction, blooming high into the atmosphere as if the planet itself was trying to blot out the stars.

Across the surface of Saijo, Serina Calis's forces were already executing the final phase.

Evacuation.

The city, if it could still be called that, was no longer an objective. It had been claimed, bled, and emptied. What had not been destroyed was now in crates—databanks ripped from government complexes, Sith artifacts boxed and tagged, refined materials neatly stacked into portable vaults. Every vault, every datapad, every body worth preserving—already loaded. What couldn't be moved, what held no tactical or economic value, was discarded or destroyed. There would be no inheritance left for Fury's legacy to crawl back to.

And yet the Sithspawn didn't stop.

Across broken districts, they surged—feral, maddened, uncounted. Crawling out of underground vaults, ruptured temples, labs broken open during the siege. Tukata and warped hybrids sprinted through fire like demons let loose from myth. Shadow-wraiths poured like oil across the ruins, forming in corners of the eye, vanishing in full sight, then striking like razors dipped in nightmare.

And still—the mercenaries did not break.

They fought like machines. No, better than machines.

Precision teams moved through extraction zones like surgeons. Havoc Group, under Commander Solis, held the eastern approach for fifteen minutes against four waves of Sithspawn, losing only two. They collapsed the access tunnel behind them as they withdrew.

Gunship assault specialists ran continuous air support over the crumbling industrial district, strafing hordes of wraithspawn with incendiaries. They didn't even wait for clearance—they knew the dance.

And at the heart of it all—Serina's command shuttle was lifting off.

Allyson Locke saw her from a distance as she emerged from the smoke. The arc of the woman's figure, regal even amid soot and ruin, was unmistakable. Her armor—burnished black and crimson—had been repaired, if only slightly. Her golden hair had been re-braided, tucked behind her head with ceremonial precision. She moved with absolute calm, flanked by four heavy-armored mercenaries, each one scanning the horizon for threats.

Serina didn't notice Allyson.

Because Serina noticed nothing but victory.

Her gaze was lifted to the heavens, toward the dark outline of her fleet hanging above the planet like a guillotine. The skies above Saijo shimmered with activity—interception wings returning to their frigates, freighters clearing atmosphere, capital ships aligning for bombardment. The entire fleet, sharp and lean, moved with terrifying efficiency.

On the Crimson Spire, final orders had already been transmitted.

Targeting solutions locked. Orbital cannons primed. No survivors expected.

And the countdown had begun.

In one quadrant of the planet, a massive shockwave of flame bloomed up into the sky as one of Saijo's last manufactorums, still belching corrupted fumes from below, detonated from charges set an hour prior. A kilometer away, the remains of the a command tower split down the middle, a molten crack slicing it in half as if by divine decree.

The Sithspawn kept coming.

But there was nothing left to defend.

Serina paused at the base of the ramp, turning her face briefly back toward the black, broken skyline. Her expression was unreadable—neither cruel, nor triumphant. Merely… done. There was no glory in this.

Only message.

She had taken a world. She had gutted a Sith Lord. She had walked into hell, and left without bowing.

Then she ascended the ramp and disappeared into the belly of her shuttle.

Behind her, the wind shifted—hot and dry as bone.

In the distance, Allyson's ears filled with the thunder of engines and the faint, growing hum of ships readying fire from orbit.

Saijo had fallen.

Now it would be erased.