"Do you hear that?" Vyra had asked, drawing his attention back towards the entrance of the vault. Straining his unnatural, superhuman senses, outwards, he could hear it too. Some kind of loud... buzzing. Every instinct he had, honed by years upon years spent slogging through some of the galaxy's most dangerous planets and battlefields, warned him that something was terribly wrong. And sure enough, it was.
The report from his apprentice, Ingrid L'lerim, Baroness of Vengard and director of Blackwatch, the Eternal Empire's dreaded secret police, was disturbing, but the warning came in time. There was no time to waste. Stepping forward and positioning himself in front of the improvised entrance, the powerful Sith Lord cast his indomitable will into the cold, deathly currents of the Darkside and drew upon them, hard.
Whispering harsh, chilling words in an unknown, ancient language that sounded like the rending of flesh, like something from a nightmare, he pulled back the sleeve on his left arm and drew a taloned finger across his wrist, splitting it open and letting the blood flow down to the floor, where it sizzled and hissed angrily as the Sith Lord recited the harsh words of the dark spell.
As the wasps descended towards the vault entrance in an angry swarm, Darth Tacitus, Eternal Emperor of Kalidan and one of the most powerful Sith Necromancers in the galaxy, called out into the great beyond of the Netherworld. And death obeyed.
Throughout its history, Verkuyl had seen and suffered much bloodshed. Many had toiled and died, here, many had fought and bled for this planet and every death fueled the Sith Lord's terrible power and he drew it all in, like a dark, terrible breath. Thrusting his arms forward as if pushing against a great weight, Tacitus unleashed that terrible power with a grunt.
Immediately, all the vegetation within a hundred meter radius around him, desiccated and died. Cracks split the earth, spewing out tendrils of black smoke that took the rough shape of writhing snakes, fanged mouths open and wailing terrible, unending shrieks. Wraiths, the tormented souls of those who died at the vault, chained to the Sith Lord's will and compelled to do his bidding, rushed forward, gliding through the air like thousands upon thousands of arrows, writhing and slithering like a school of angry, ravenous fish.
The undead abominations fell upon the wasps like a terrible scythe, pushing them back, cutting them down by the thousands, feasting upon the insects' life force and leaving only dead husks in their wake. To protect its secrets, Verkuyl had called upon its beasts. Now, it would suffer the terrible wrath of Darth Tacitus and would feel the true power of the Darkside.
Even as the wasps outside the vault's entrance were consumed, more Wraiths emerged, spreading out like a dark cloud in a growing, dark circle, desiccating and killing the jungle as it glided towards the Imperial encampment with unnatural speed, wiping out all vegetation and wildlife within its path.
Back at the Imperial encampment, as soldiers fought and screamed and died with discipline, the dark cloud obscured the sun and fell upon the swarms of wasps assaulting the Empire's troops. Even now, the Wraiths did not stop, rushing forward and consuming the forest in their path, until they reached the villages. The natives, along with the Imperials, would be untouched by the unnatural, deathly beings. But everything that they owned, their farms, their livestock, even their beloved pets, would not be so lucky. As the unnatural cloud finally began to dissipate, it left nothing but the husks of trees and the desiccated corpses of animals in its wake, a terrible, cursed wasteland where there was once lush jungle, a circle of death several kilometers wide, where nothing would grow again for generations.
Releasing his hold upon the terrible power he had summoned, the Sith Lord leaned against the wall with a trembling, bloodied hand, breathing hard, as if he had run a marathon. He was exhausted and drained, but there was a mission to finish. So, he pushed himself off and forced himself to head back into the vault, sending orders through his comlink as he did so
"<Summon reinforcements from the nearest Imperial fleet. We are establishing a permanent presence on this planet,>" he commanded.
Reaching Vyra, he rested a weary, tired hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"We press on," he said to her, then stepped forward into the darkness. As long as there was still breath in his body, nothing would stop the Eternal Empire's advance. The galaxy could scream, recoil and throw everything it had at the Imperials, but it would have to come face to face with the Sith Lord's indomitable willpower. And he was determined to bend the galaxy to his will, to bring it back from the edge of the abyss towards which it had stumbled, even if he had to drag it back by the neck in chains, kicking and screaming.
And nothing, no living thing or unnatural Force would be allowed to stand in his way.
