S H I R A Y A - E X P A N S E
| En Route to Odavessa |
Tag:
Darth Empyrean
| Worm Emperor & Co
_________________________________________________________
It was not her fight.
In all of the inconsequential, brittle, and relentless quarrels that befell the galaxy—She reminded herself with an immovable determination.
It was not her fight.
There was always a world on fire. There was always some
great nation that capriciously felt like producing enormous fleets from thin air to decimate some poor unsuspecting system. There was always war. There was always death, destruction, and mayhem—For it was their nature. The true heart of sentient beings. To see a thing, to know, that something wondrous exists. To see it and think
only of whom it might belong to if only they had the strength to take it. People were cruel at the core.
Her heart thrummed in the darkness of her chambers within the nebula Shiraya Expanse. The sudden thud, no, the sudden crash in her chest woke her from a sound sleep. She had not been called to Odavessa for several reasons. Although she found ease and supremacy in shadows, although, she was indeed Sith—the Dread Queen held very little respect for those who followed doctrine blindly. The silvery-eyed woman despised the bleating sheep such dogma created. Neither the Jedi nor the Sith were any better than the other. Some merely managed to paint themselves more carefully to make digestion for the masses more palatable.
Sith—With their need to dominate by any and all means necessary. Jedi—With their need to express the utmost morality in a galaxy that ultimately perpetuated in varying shades of grey.
Srina was a daughter of the moon.
Echani. She did not choose to be Sith for the sake of some misguided religion. She chose it because her warrior heart always chose the better weapon. The
sharpest tool.
The light wasn't it.
"Maliphant?"
The name, spoken almost reverently to the thoughtless air, received no response. That was an oddity. He always replied. No matter when, no matter how far.
Always. The ghoulish thudding in her chest seemed to strengthen with each passing moment. It was strong enough that it felt as if her chest might crack from the pressure. An
exceedingly educated guess that something was amiss had her slipping deftly out of bed and into wakefulness. She tried calling him. Tried with her own might. Through their ever-present bond.
Through the rings that they always wore.
She could not reach him.
Crystalline eyes narrowed when she
slowly realized that her presence was being
directly blocked. Every time she reached through the void her grasp on Maliphant would slip away. As if he was surrounded by some sort of shield, barrier, that seemed specifically designed to keep her from him. To render the power of their rings inert. Srina could feel a burst of anger that arrived in a crimson haze, taste the heat of it—But she could not touch him.
Maliphant could not hear her calling.
Methodical footsteps found the statue that bore one of her many armor pieces. It wasn't the most devastating in her arsenal but it was what she had at the ready. Every movement was precise. The loss of a chemise, replaced, with a body glove. The
Wyvern's Shadow was made of deep black silk and
neithweave with a menacing, scrawling, serpent creature glaring from the chest panel.
She pushed against the barrier while she readied herself for the inevitable.
It was not her fight. The plight of the Sith had
never been her fight—And yet the needle had changed. The metric of what she would do when pressed by external forces had shifted. It took little more than a breath to ascertain the nature of the beast that
blocked her from that which she called her own. Endlessly beautiful features twisted into something menacing and cold in the pale light of several moons.
He would deny her?
The Worm Emperor
dared to deny
her?
Her light-saber leaped from its cradle and attached itself to the base of her spine. One by one, her precious things moved from their moorings and the white witch settled into her ire with a familiar glacier edge. There was peace, in cold fury. Focus, to be found, with calculated destruction. Silver eyes slowly began to bleed with fire and gold while a dark latticework mottled the tender skin beneath her eyes. She drew power from the well and pushed against the metaphysical, force-ridden barrier, that kept her from appearing on Odavessa. Both Srina and her Master considered her an apprentice. It was a misnomer, a choice, by design.
She had ceased merely existing in that framework long, long ago.
When she threw her might at the Worm Emperor through the bridge the nightmare had unintentionally created to bar her path—It would hold sole, pointed, focus. She had always held back before the many-headed beast at the wish of her beloved but there was no need to hide. No need, to pretend. Her wrath would fall like frozen hellfire and her soundless words would reach the Worm Emperor with destined finality.
<<…You will let me pass…>>
It was not a question. Merely, a statement. All she needed was one moment. One break in the river of his unfathomable power and she would pull the thread before the window could close. The self-titled Emperor would acquiesce. It was only a matter of time and she was nothing, if not patient. Her presence would be a thunderstrike, a brand, and his bane.
<<…You will let me in…>>
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