Fire over Metellos (One Sith vs Anyone)

[Darth Abyss]

Darth Abyss awoke from his sleep, for the first time in weeks. Weeks he had not slept, not rested for a second, but instead planned, schemed and manipulated. With every dieing breath of the one sith he gained more control over the empire, collected more men and woman who would follow him into their most certain death. The young sith knight rose from his bed, revealing his scarred and broken body to the dim light of his cabin. He remembered any scar, any injury that paved the path of his ascendens. Coruscant, Mindabaal, Kuat and Kartarr, any battle he had fought in left a mark on his grey skin, eternal memories of the struggles he had to go through to finally stand where he stood. Slowly he shrouded himself in the same ragged and tattered robe he wore when he first arrived at the academy, the same he had had worn since he first touched the darkness.

He watched as the shape of a planet appeared on the horizon, it looked so small from above. Every piece of the puzzle he had worked so hard for would fall in place today, and would mark an event that would remembered long after his death. The war machine of the one sith had crumbled, slowly breaking into pieces like the rest of the organization, but not today.. From all over the sith space they had been called, any ship and any man that could be spared to show the galaxy one last time what the one sith stood for. Soon they would be gone, but they would only leave ash to rule over.

It was a impressive sight as one of the remaining Darr Itah-class Grand Battlecruisers was sucked out of the hyperspace above Metellos. Without any of the high ranking One Sith Admirals daring to question his command after kuat, he took himself the liberty to give the ship a new name, one that would resemble the might they had at their hands. He knew that the Ophidia was the last thing many would see before their live would be ended.


Day One of the Blockade of Metellos

The preparations for this day had began weeks before this day, the one sith intelligence subtly replacing officials in several sectors of the planet. Only one last piece was left, and Darth Abyss would personally come to take it. A loud beep came through the communicator on board of the shuttle that had landed in front of the main central of the Metellos News Network. Everything was in place, now or never. The gate of the shuttle opened with a audible hiss, and the Sith knight descended on the surface of the planets cityscape, followed by a team of elite soldiers, armed to their teeth. Without hesitation the group moved inside the building, gunning down anyone who stood in their way. Darth Abyss had no worries that word would leave the building, as his man had already gained temporary control of the planets communication network, blocking anything but the one sith frequencies.

After only minutes and a multitude of dead reporters and civilians the group reached the top of the building, the studio where the network was recording and sending its transmissions. Blaster rifles aimed at anyone present in the room, Darth Abyss man secured the room, as the man himself entered the room, his yellow eyes piercing those of the Anchorman, that was sitting in his chair with fear in his face.

"Everyone get ready, we are going live in 10 minutes."

For the first time in weeks, Darth Abyss smiled, as one of his man presented a datapad to the anchorman and told him to read the words written on it as soon the camera would roll. Another was holding his rifle at the head of technician, presenting a datapad on his own, on it forged reports of the terror attacks that had just taken place on the planet. Forged didn't mean that the attacks hadn't happened, just that the story behind them was far different than what the one sith would tell the public.



Breaking News
"Its a sad day for our home. Ten minutes ago, we at Metellos News Network received reports from several terrorist attacks that have taken place on the planet. Alliance agents have released a fast acting, lethal bioweapon in our atmosphere and our central water supply. We recommend that you remain calm, the One Sith have already began the evacuation into refugee camps as we speak. To stop the virus from spreading the whole planet is on lockdown until a solution is found."

As the reporter spoke, videos of the alleged terrorist attacks were displayed, followed by One Sith soldiers escorting civilians or sharing supplies with them. None of it was true, in reality there was no virus, and no refugee camps, and without communications no one on the planet could actually see the broadcast.

It all started when the agents of the one sith cut the communication, followed by several explosions in the largest power plants of the planet. Any supplieline had been cut ahead of the attack, officially as a new law that regulated in and export on the planet. The water supply had been manipulated, only working in very few parts of the city. Medical centers had been raided by the one sith soldiers, taking any supplies they could find. Sooner or later the population of the planet would rip itself apart, but Darth Abyss hadn't the time for that. Starvation and thirst were effective, but having man posing as civilians that would rally them was even more effective.

The last Knight of the one sith stood at the window of his ivory tower, watching the surface under him. Oh it would be a day to remember.
[member="Darth Banshee"]

OOC

Spoiler

http://starwarsrp.net/topic/95726-fire-over-metellos-ooc/

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Abyss"]

The first sign of trouble had come three weeks ago, when her cousin Myrcus didn't show up for dinner. His new secretary, a man Selka had never met, called to give Myrcus' apologies: apparently rezblock water mains were important enough to justify standing up your family. Which they were, of course -- she'd lived in a rezblock as a kid; she still had a sense of proportion, no matter how deep Velok's personality was driven into her skull like a railroad spike -- and yet. She'd bent the galactic kolto market to her will over the course of years, run the space trains that kept interstellar freight rolling through pathetically short-lived governments, upended galactic cybernetics. Bought small, sold big, cashed out, lost hard in her personal life because she'd sacrificed it for the big picture-

You didn't tell your gorram secretary to cover for you to Selka Anthirri Ventus.

That had earned Myrcus two weeks of cold shoulder, during which he'd sensibly kept his head down. Five days ago she'd swept into his office to find that he'd been reassigned to another office block and was out anyway and could they get her anything?

She'd known enough bureaucrats and midlevel functionaries to get a sense of their subtle oddness, their mild introversion, their lack of cool. These people at Myrcus' office were too smooth, too friendly, too interested, if only by a hair. With her pendant-knife hiding her presence in the Force, she was nothing but the normie her public face required. Someone in the office might have been more careful about concealing his or her own presence if they'd sensed hers. She felt a subtle chill, a prickle on the back of her neck. She gave every impression of being irked at going to the wrong building, and quietly pissed at her cousin. Then she left just like she would normally leave, a little loud, a little gauche, even in the process of being grateful for their minimal assistance.

Then she went to that other building, because she knew they would check, not because she expected to find Myrcus at his new desk. The new secretary was cool, friendly, interested, and apologetic: Myrcus had gone on a holiday, and the fellow she'd just spoken with was covering for him for most of his job functions. He'd gone offworld, her cousin had, for a little bit of the kind of vacation you couldn't find on Metellos.

Or, you know, dumped into the reclamator chute of a rezblock's food processor. Wouldn't be the gorram first.

That was five days ago. In the ensuing time, because Selka knew how to read the writing on the wall, not to mention how to call people across the galaxy who owed her big, she put together a bit of a picture. Got her extended family offworld, and her very few employees. Took her lightsabre out of hiding and trained with it a tad, in private. Took out the Velok Emblem that she hadn't touched since her tangle with [member="Darth Odium"] over Manaan a few years ago. Called someone who knew someone who knew [member="Seydon of Arda"], who'd fought Odium alongside her and knew more or less what she was. Maybe he'd be neck-deep in some Wild Space critter den, or the guts of another Akure Leviathan, but maybe he'd be available.

She also called her remaining contacts within the higher ranks of the One Sith bureaucracy. She found them silent, scared, or dead.

Then came today, when the phones stopped working, even her private subspace and hypercomm transceivers. Planetary-scale jamming.

She poured herself a drink, sat alone in her empty offices, and watched the One Sith channels. Time for some lies.

 

[RC 212]

[member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Selka Ventus"]

Orbit: Aboard the Hades​

Darkness was fast approaching. Metellos had been blockaded by the One Sith fleet and the cards had all been played. What remained to be seen was whether the hand would stand or fall against the rest. The bluff was an amusing one. As of yet there was no virus, but that was all subject to change.

"Bring me in closer." She commanded, both black armored arms folded over her chest. Since her rebirth much of her time had been focused on building her new pet project. A Virus agent that was highly adaptable and mutated life forms into horrible rabid, primal versions of themselves. When she'd first set foot upon the Hades she'd used it to subdue the crew.

One by one they'd fallen, their bodies ripening and puss bubble popping as the insidious agent re wrote their dna. Many had died, and a few had survived. different results had come about from the experiment, some went stark raving mad and airlocked themselves. Others embraced the change, ripping apart their fellow crewmates and feasting on their flesh.

"Hmpphh."

The Xo'Xann; now her Plague carrying haunted house drew closer, engines firing as the monstrosities of her crew manipulated the controls.

"We are closing the gap Mistress. Shall we coordinate with the fleet?"

Darth Raxis laughed, a low booming sound.

"No, the fleet has no business knowing my business. Keep them occupied with lies if you have to."

Her latest subject was Xanther. He once was the captain of the Vessel, before his mind was twisted and shattered by a healthy dose of force fear, combined with her new viral agent. Now he was an eight armed monstrosity, complete with a shiny purple exoskeleton and razor sharp spines.

"Prepare the launch pods. It's time for a little...... Landscaping."

"Yes Mistress."

The horrible Xanther bowed on one knee and moved on.

Vassara stood there in silence, blazing yellow eyes sizing up her target.

She was about to earn her name.

Lady Raxis, the Plague Bearer.​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

On board the Ophidia the Kaleesh had kept to himself, never once speaking to any of the soldiers, deck hands, servants, or even fellow Sith. And none spoke to him. He was a large alien, and many of those on board gave hi ma wide berth. Especially when the rumors about who his master was spread. [member="Darth Abyss"] , the man who remained. The last true leader of the One Sith.

The last true God among men.

Phar'ra was a firm believer that while his people could only ascend to godhood after death, a true Sith was a living embodiment of the divine. With how many people this Knight had following him, fearing him, and at times giving their lives for him, it wasn't difficult for the Kaleesh to believe it was true. Within his own room, which only had a simple bed, he knelt and focused the Dark through him.

Soon, his master would call for him, and soon another war would begin.

[member="Vassara Raxis"] [member="Selka Ventus"]

 

[Darth Banshee]

Darth Banshee, was with the fleet orbiting the planet of Metelos. The dark council was debating scorched earth tactic, and this planet had been earmarked for it. She was not really one for genocide, but the idea that Galactic Alliance could take over the world in tact boost the industrial capacity, was not one she liked either. The ships took up orbit, she had ten vipers with her, these assult frigates where going to be used for an orbital bombardment. As well as the landing ships to deploy and take away assets need for other projects. She was one board a her command ship named [member="Darth Ophidia"], she only had to give order to attack. She would weep, as she did not like this, but it was the only option. The planets infrastructure had to be torched, to allow the dark side to fester and grow a new. When it did the forces of light, would spent a lot of energy, money and resources rebuilding this world and others like it. They would not be as strong for when they returned, this was the hope of scorched earth tactic being debated even know. The two torment carriers started launching there fighters and bombers, they all knew the order was going to be given, and preparation for world to ground back year dot was beginning. They had also an interdiction cruisers circling the planet, to stop anyone from just leaving. She waited for the order, and the lists of who must be killed, and who needed to be rescued.

She in stoney silence waiting for her orders, she would not flinch from doing her duty. She just wished it had not to be this way.

[member="Phar'ra"] @Vassara Raxis [member="Selka Ventus"] [member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Darth Odium"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Day Two of the Blockade of Metellos

Breaking News

"The crisis continues, and we at Metellos News Network have to tell you with sadness in our hearts that with every minute more and more of our Parents, siblings and children are left to die, because of this attack on the galaxies freedom by the Galactic Alliance.

A tear runs down the anchorman's face as he looks in the camera.

"If you are watching now, where ever you are in this galaxy, I hope your hearts and minds are here with us on Metellos. And we have a question for the Alliance: Who will be the next victim in your fight for "freedom"? How many more have to die before your fight is over?"


Chaos. Death. Darkness.

Darth Abyss felt the despair one the planets surface with every breath he took as he wandered over the burning cityscape. Thirst, starvation, infections and violence had taken hold on the dieing world and with any minute that passed more and more lives had been lost. [member="Darth Banshee"] had began the orbital bombardement, reducing many of the once so imposing Skyscrapers that made metellos what it was to burning ruins, filled with the corpses of all those who had to pay the price for what the galaxy had done to the one sith. Sure he had planned the attack to take one of the galaxies most advanced worlds out of the alliance hand before they could even grab it, but he still enjoyed his revenge. According to the one sith intelligence a not yet identified sith had launched an actual bioweapon on the planet, creating raging monstrosity's that roamed the city. Under different circumstances he would have hunted down the individual that acted without his permission, but in times like this he would allow it. By now so many had been killed that it was impossible to count in the chaos of the planets final days. Nothing should be left when the enemy would stand at their gates.

His apprentice [member="Phar'ra"] had been called on the surface, as the first part of his training would be to assist his master at the task ahead. Orbital strikes would destroy the towers and monumental buildings that composed the planets cityscape, but they were rather ineffective when it came to the lower levels, where more and more of the planets population had taken refugee. It was simple, a genocide, nothing more and nothing less, and Darth Abyss himself would lead troops down there as he and other commanders would clean the planet of any live centimeter for centimeter

[member="Vassara Raxis"] [member="Selka Ventus"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Darth Banshee"] [member="Phar'ra"] [member="Selka Ventus"]

Aboard the Hades​

​

Low Orbit​

​

​

The Hades groaned under the pressure of stellar forces. Gravity wells had a way of making vessels sound haunted, except in Vassara's case her vessel was truly haunted. Many of the souls on board where the malignant ghosts of those long slaughtered by her and her Viral agent. Each new wail was punctuated by unseen ghastly spirits which fed her mirth.

Sometimes she communed with them, taunting them and drawing energies from their eternal torment. Other times she shunned them, causing them to flee before their master. After all it was her power that kept them tethered here. They were hers and hers alone.

"We have entered low Orbit Mistress. Pod's are ready."

Her yellow ghastly eyes flashed with a renewed fire. Her mantra rolled off her tongue, dripping with evil like shades of midnight black.

"Good, good. Launch the Plague Pods."​

​

"Destroy them all!"​

"Yes Mistress."

Xanthers spiny carpace moved as his arms swung in different directions. Finger long rotten and twisted operated levers, and crewmen scurried to and fro under his command. She sensed he may yet be developing a connection to the force, manipulating his minions as if a hive mind. Or was he?

From atop the catwalk she watched, counting the seconds as dull thud's reverbrated through the deck. Each thud was marked with a flash of crystallized air and fuel as the badly mangled escape pods ripped from the flanks of the Hades, plunging down through the atmosphere. Each one was packed with a sloshing medley of Plagued guts, gore and some still living very maddened beings.

"Mistress, the fleet is preparing their weapons. I sense a base delta zero is imminent."

"Open me to their leader, this..... Darth Abyss you called him?"

"Yes as you will."

Seconds later her holoscreen flashed to life. Still counting the seconds until the pods made impact with the surface she grinned, pasty white face broken by a line of jagged teeth.

"Lord Abyss. You may have heard of me, you may not have. I've come to aid you in your little....endeavour."

Her arms uncrossed now, hanging loose by her side.

"I Understand you may have intentions with the landscape of this planet. As of right now the populace are no doubt hard at work ripping themselves apart. I also understand some of your members may be proceeding to orbitally bombard?"

Two minutes.

The pods struck the surface of the world, smashing open into splinters of jagged steel in the forums of the main city. Gore splashed across the cobblestone and asphalt of the city center. From the wreckage beasts emerged, half man half something else. Mandibles clicked and high pitched whines escaped their hungry jaws.

"I'd appreciate it if you left the City Center where my pods have dropped be. I have a special.....project I'm working on."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Vassara Raxis"] [member="Darth Banshee"] [member="Phar'ra"]

In the end, she'd sent eleven people offworld. Six were family, five were her remaining employees, most of them accountants. She was retired, but one didn't sell a substantial fraction of a galaxy-spanning operation without retaining some measure of complexity. Money required maintenance. So: she'd saved accountants, and the rest of Metellos' billion inhabitants were about to have a bad day.

Admittedly, Selka might be among them. She had reckoned on the usual crap, not on a wholesale expurgation of one of the One Sith's own worlds. Butchery for butchery's sake, teenage edgelords looking to play spite games in advance of the Galactic Alliance advance. Naturally the Alliance, the scapegoats of the moment, were nowhere to be found, even though they'd camped out on Coruscant literally next door. Truly there was a lot of heroism in progress, Selka noted to herself as she sipped brown liquor in her dark office and tasted the balance of the Force. This system leaned Dark, and she was comfortable with that -- she was, herself, a confirmed Darksider specializing in Force Drain -- but the balance had strategic implications. It meant that, regardless of the comms blackout and the transparent propaganda, there were no Jedi or Forces of Goodness™ making any serious dent in the system's fate. Which was utter nonsense, and about par for the course so far as Selka's opinion of Jedi was concerned. Then again, Jedi and their allies had wrecked her two, three times as a young woman and innocent bystander, even put her in a coma for a few months.

This was like gorram Manaan all over again. Once again, it was up to Selka fething Ventus, happily retired Sith Master, to hero things back into shape. Feth.

Such were her thoughts as she huddled in the undercity of a rezblock, among a few million of her closest friends. Far above, and far around, orbital bombardment was slagging the massive structures of Metellos. Fortunately, Selka had a specialty, and it had served her well. Drinking her fill of despair and death -- one could draw strength from them, if one had the knowledge and experience -- she stretched out with the Force. Her presence would be detectable but not something one could localize, unless one got closeish. But the Sith would sense another Dark Side presence, as vicious as any of them, reaching out to answer the bombardment.

She found the gunners in her mind's eye, far overhead, and they would now begin to die. By ones and twos, by squads. No symptoms, pyrotechnics, poltergeist telekinesis, showmanship. One moment any given turbolaser operator aboard the Darth Ophidia was alive and functional. The next, they would be decidedly less so.

She was still huddled in a makeshift bunker, wrapped in a long battered coat for anonymity. People shifted away from her and the frost forming on her.

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Draco was unaware the One Sith had hired the Republic's News and Propaganda team, but he was unsurprised when he saw it on the Holonews. Anyone with a brain-cell left would stare at this and see right through it. But, that was the thing about people, they didn't really have brains when they got in a big groups. "Yeah... Its gonna be one of those kinds of days."

Shukalar twisted in his seat to see the other people in the passenger compartment. People was a strong word for most of them, but they were on the little ship with him. He and [member="Ijaat Mereel"] had been drinking last night, watching the HoloNews and saw the reports about Metallos, and after a few more pints of ale and a few more shots of whiskey, they had come up with a plan. The type of plan sane people didn't come up with. The type of plan Faith would likely strangle him for if it didn't work out. He wasn't looking forward to sleeping on the couch, but she liked him when he was daring and courageous. Courage and stupidity often traveled hand in hand as they say.

The little ship slowed down tremendously as it approached the system, continuing to slow to a practical crawl to mask their re-entry to realspace. "Alright old man. Take it, keep it safe on you. Don't want it getting broken." He said, handing his old mentor a small electronic device, similar to the one he held in his other hand. He pressed a pair of buttons on it until it began a rhythmic beeping and then he muted it and deposited beneath the beskar plate of his chest piece where it would be safe and secure.

The other eight beings in the little ship turned their photoreceptors to the warlord as he stood. "Now you all, I want you to stow it somewhere outta sight. Then rendezvous with us back here." They nodded silently, acknowledging the warlord's orders. "Alrighty Ijaat. Let's have some fun."

The little ship slipped out of hyperspace with a good distance to target and angled towards the planet. It was better to be cautious though given their objective. Draco focused on hiding his presence, keeping himself obscured. If Ijaat did the same, they wouldn't sense the little ship coming through the Force. And no one went through that much trouble with out a stealth suite.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"] [member="Selka Ventus"] [member="Vassara Raxis"] [member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Darth Banshee"] [member="Phar'ra"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The young but once old Mandalorian smiled. Slung on his back was a gift-weapon he had been training with. His prosthetic arm had been worked out, the issues fixed thanks to [member="Irajah Ven"] and her care. Watching the artificial limb move, he sighed as he slipped the helmet of the loaned armor from Draco. It was simple, to his standards and tastes. But it was Dracos design, and he had taught the man well, even though he maintained he had just refined the natural instinct of a brilliant man. A keldabe cannon was slung on his back, and in his hands rested a trusty shacklebolt, one of his prized and absurdly intricate mass-driver assault rifles. And hiding in what looked like a thermal detonator tube strapped to a short-sword scabbard was something else. Something he was leery about, but he had coated the container in nullification resin, just in case.

Taking the object from Draco, he pocketed it in an ammo pouch and stood, HUD coming to life. Always, the lights and display made his hair rise on end, and his blood pump. Try as he might, this is what he lived for. Restrained from his other life, comparatively, he was still a fierce opponent. Even more so, with the abilities he had within the Force now. And... Well... If that hammer worked like it had training with it, he wasn't sure most people would know how to react to what he could do now.

As Draco's presence shrank, so too did Ijaat's, and the feeling of blindness assailed him. He hated it, but it was needed. And for decades he had fought without the Force, so it was something he could do. He just didn't like to do it. But the difference between a Force User that was Mandalorian was the dependency on that enhanced skillset. With or without it, Ijaat could still royally wreck someones' day. It was all just a matter of how he did it. Not if. So he racked the slide on his rifle to send it live and connect to his HUD, and then nodded to Draco. The helmet voice a canned and echoed, but it carried a faint trickle of mirth.

"Can I rewire their nav controls for a laugh? Always wanted to try and see if I could do that."

[member="Draco Vereen"] | [member="Selka Ventus"] | [member="Darth Banshee"] | @Abyss | [member="Vassara Raxis"] | [member="Phar'ra"] |

 

[Darth Banshee]

She had the planet under quarantine after the plague, her ship where to make sure nothing got in or out. Then when they could say they tried to contain it, they could burn the planet to ashes. Though certain people had to be saved, and some had to be made sure they where dead. So her vipers sent out there kill squads, as well as there rescue squads. One person on the lost to be rescued was [member="Selka Ventus"], after all she would useful later if she was willing to cooperate. She would be getting an assult group looking for her, as she was person note who had been good citizens, and no other reason. Seemed money spoke and the rest could die, horribly.

Her ships patrolled the area, so anything trying to get in would be found. She also kept up the pretence this was a pandemic caused by the galactic alliance, that they did not wish to turn it galatic event. She hated this, but knew why it had to be done. She then waited for any updates, as she had some wine.

[member="Ijaat Mereel"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Vassara Raxis"] [member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Darth Banshee"]

The assault group aiming to rescue her would find nothing. Normally she was in her office, quite a distance up, in an area that the orbital bombardment had already slagged. Down in the cold undercity gutters with the rest of Metellos, anonymous and wrapped in a plain coat, Selka was just another target for the kill squads.

Of course, their commanding officers might start realizing something was wrong when those squads stopped answering their comms. Not unlike the command ship's gun crews that had just died, for example. In fact, exactly like them. Selka's Force abilities were, in most respects, pretty limited. But she'd woken up a hunger that didn't like to be put back to bed. Force Drain, at any level and especially at hers, was deeply addictive. She was no Nihilus, but she'd helped kill a world once, to her shame. She knew the hunger better than most. She'd tasted a lot of lives.

Deep in a dark alley, near the base of a rezblock, with embers and garbage dancing on the wind, the only sound was the kill squad hitting the ground. One moment they'd been alive. The next they just weren't.

She got up, shook frost from her coat, and headed the way they'd come.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The shuttle’s ramp touched the hangar deck of the Darr Itah with a hiss of steam. Plumes of it rose from the edges of the ramp, due to a technical detail that Selka neither understood nor appreciated. The interesting bit, if she could call anything interesting just now, was how the frost on her ragged coat flashed to steam in the hangar’s warm air. Swirls mingled with the plumes rising from the ramp to become cold fog. It unfurled on the deck and stretched out farther than it should, unnatural. As her boots rang on the deck plating, the knee-high fog buried the half-dead. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]They’d met her here with a cordon, a double circle of blasters aimed at the shuttle. They’d died without ever seeing her face. Someone reached up out of the fog and tugged at her coat. She walked on.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]From across the hangar, a new squad of troopers opened fire. Selka’s lightsabre flickered to life, batting bolts away; she refused to break stride. She didn’t have the skill to send the bolts back, not en masse, but in a stray moment she flung out her off hand and they died without a mark on them. One more bite in the ravaging; one more drop in the bucket. The black, bottomless, implacable hunger had been given permission to get off its leash and go, and it was going. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Into a corridor. Bodies in dull uniforms, bodies in gleaming plasteel, still twitching. All guilty by assent, guilty of the bombardment of her homeworld. She’d killed gun crews from the surface, and on her way up. Death already put a stink in the air. Some of the new dead were medical corpsmen, carrying some of the old. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Into a turbolift, then out again. Her death field continued to expand. The vessel shuddered: escape pods launching. A young Sith stumbled out of a corridor before her. Black lines surrounded his eyes like worms under the skin, like a brutal necrotic infection. His fingers were pale and clammy on his lightsabre. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Why?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]For the first time since the shuttlecraft, Selka halted. “Where are the Sith Lords?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Darth Abyss is on the surface...his servants went down too, with the eradication squads...Darth Banshee vanished…Darth Raxis is on her own vessel...” He seemed to be on his feet and breathing due to nothing more than pride, stubbornness. In any other circumstances, she’d have respected that. Instead, she killed him with a wave of her hand. Not a mark on him. She stepped over him and kept walking.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]There would be consequences, she knew. That door in the back of her mind had stayed locked for a reason. Now that she’d opened it, she might not be able to close it again. She’d been down that road, and she was stronger now than she’d been then. But when it came to Force Drain, strength didn’t mean what it usually meant. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Main engineering. They’d died thirty seconds before she came in the door. They’d been trying to set charges; she disabled them as best she could, which was fairly well. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Main barracks. Barricades manned by the dead, white plasteel and flesh draped over crates.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]The bridge. Some of them were still alive. It didn’t last long. The stink had risen with her, level by level; now she stood in a fetid fog of woundless carnage. Bowels loosened, mainly, and incidental injuries piling up to add a tang of blood. The air circulators had failed, one of many systems that didn’t respond well to going uncrewed. The battlecruiser’s numerous guns were quiet now. Below, Metellos burned. Other, smaller Sith vessels gleamed against the pitiless dark between the stars. Selka looked at the ragdolls, the officers slumped beside or across their consoles, and knew she could never push enough buttons to destroy those ships or calm the fires. She was growing tired now, felt like it was four in the morning and she’d pushed herself too hard trading Hutt stocks or-[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]It was done. The realization came as sharp and calm as flicking a switch from on to off. She staggered, the Force vanished, the fog stopped writhing, and she caught herself against a dead man’s arm. Beside him, a hyperspace control panel blinked. They’d been trying for an emergency jump.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]One manicured finger, shaking, touched the button.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]So this is what revenge feels like.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Exeunt.[/SIZE]