Major Faction [THR] WAR ON THE REPUBLIC: Ultimatum

Kalantha’s defiance was, as it had been for days, met with excessive violence.

A gloved fist collided with her left cheek, dizzying her. The impact aggravated a steady ringing that had set in the day before, during the previous line of “questioning.” She wished she could say that it was getting easier, but their interrogation techniques only worsened with each bout. Her first day was by far the worst, though—no questions were asked. Only beatings, hour by hour, for what felt like eternity. Kalantha was sure they had broken a few of her ribs, and she shuddered to think of what her face looked like.

Another punch was thrown, this time connecting with her jaw. An unhealed wound on her lip burst open again. She spat blood onto the floor, then cut her eyes to the man who stood over her.

They called him Arcadian, and from what she’d gathered, he was majordomo to the Underlord: the brutal second-in-command of the Black Sun crime syndicate.

“Your will is strong, Madam Chancellor,” the helmeted Ubese taunted. His voice was coarse like Tatooinian sandstone, marred by years of breathing harsh air.

“But we will break you sooner or later. We always do.”

Kalantha grinned. Her teeth were stained red, and with a mouthful of fresh blood, she spat at Arcadian. He didn’t flinch or even speak. He simply responded with a terribly powerful backhand slap. His knuckles were like stones slamming into her face. The impact made her vision blur, darkening her periphery.

“What- do you- want?” Kalantha huffed through labored breaths.

“You know what we want.”

“I won’t-“

“You will,” came a second voice, swift and unflinching. She didn't have to look to know who spoke. With two simple words, he claimed the room and sent ice crawling down Kalantha's spine.

“The Republic will hear my demands, and they will hear them from you. They will capitulate… or you will die, on camera, for them all to see.”

Prince Velzari stepped closer. His robes trailed the floor like ink spilling onto paper, encircling Kalantha’s name in a sea of black. This close, she could smell his alluring pheromones, which were more akin to a fine perfume than something naturally produced. Were she not aware of the Falleen’s ability, she’d have never picked up on the scent… but knowledge of what he was doing didn’t make it much easier to resist the intoxicating effect.

“Are you ready to sing for your people, Madam Chancellor?” Velzari’s words dripped like honey. He made it sound like delivering the message was a mutual agreement. Kalantha shook her head, but was quickly met with another heavy punch from Arcadian. She struggled to keep her thoughts straight.

“Are you ready?” the Underlord repeated. This time, Kalantha’s inhibitions subsided. She tried to grasp them, hold onto her sense of will, but between the pain and allure of the Prince, she was helpless. Her head dipped low, followed by a single nod.

“Good,” Velzari purred. He snapped his manicured fingers together, and on cue, a small cam droid zipped through the air in a small circle overhead. It came to a stop next to the Underlord, hovering at eye level with Kalantha. A small bleep emitted from the droid, and Velzari nodded.

The High Chancellor—bloodied, bruised, and beaten nearly to unrecognizability—was live on the Holonet. She parted her lips to speak, but the cracked skin stung painfully. Kalantha paused a moment, eyes welling with tears. The thought of being seen this way broke her heart. Her mother and brothers; her colleagues and friends; Aiden… but for them, she had to be strong. The Republic needed to know that she was battered, not broken.

And most importantly, she was alive.

“This is- High Chancellor Inara Kalantha Berenko- of the High Republic,” she began, forcing words through chipped teeth. “I am alive. The date is- the 9th of Grizm, 1769th Year of Kwilaan. I do not know where I am, but I know that- I am being held by- Black Sun.”

Kalantha swallowed hard. “They have a brief list of demands- in exchange for my life.”

“The concession of Sepan 8,” she read from a datapad.

“Two million credits, wired to- a secured account - on Nar Shaddaa.”

“And… Interim Chancellor Aurelian Veruna- alive.”

Every word tasted like bitter tannins covering her tongue. She looked up to Velzari, whose grin left no question about how much he enjoyed her pain. “Please,” she began to plead, but Arcadian was quick to correct her.

Just as his fist landed against her temple, the camera feed died—and she slipped into the cold embrace of unconsciousness.