The battle was over.
Flying high above the industrial moons of Tion was the all-black banner of the Sith, fluttering in the mild breeze as dozens -- no hundreds -- of Star Destroyers flew in organized formation high above. Dwarfing all of them was the Malsheem, the terrible fortress of Darth Carnifex and His Kainate; blasphemous to behold. The wreckage of the Imperial fleet guarding Tion were being towed into the mighty space station's gaping maw, to be ground up and repurposed into new weapons of war for the Sith. All who fell against the blackened tide were swallowed up and spat back out, to again fight for the glory of their murderers.
Watching from the command bridge of the Malsheem, Darth Carnifex looked down upon the fallen world with a cold, callous gaze. How many times had He stood in this exact position, looking down on countless worlds, His armies victorious? How many more times would He stand here, another battle, another world? Lesser beings would become lost in the tidal wave of destruction wrought over so many decades, near a century now, but not Him. He remembered every one, could recollect every step that brought Him to this exact moment.
A moment repeated in time ad infinitum.
Behind Him were the holographic silhouettes of His warlords, those who oversaw the grand fleet arrayed in orbit. They knew what was to come, it was inevitable, but they buzzed with eagerness all the same. Like hounds fit and spoiling for the kill, their only desire to be let off their leash; and they would do anything to be granted this privilege. The Dark Lord of the Kainate turned to them, His countenance stern and grim; yet contrarily animated with malice. The warlords leaned forward in anticipation, the moment was upon them.
"Begin."
The planet of Tion and it's three moons had been placed under strict quarantine, their populations forced by threat of violence to remain planetside. The Kainate had erected an interdictor cordon around the Tion system to catch any stragglers and would-be escapees, and many of those fleeing the fighting had been forced to return. Even those taken in by Sith forces had been made to relinquish their captives, all brought back to Tion. Consequently, all Sith forces had been withdrawn not long after. And as the populace of Tion and it's moons watched fearfully at the display of strength in the sky above, thousands and thousands of turbolasers, missile batteries, and mass-drivers pivoted in their moorings.
As one, they opened fire.
Relentless volleys slammed into the industrial moons, indiscriminately targeting every inch of their surface. Firestorms raged as entire industrial sectors were engulfed in cascading turbolaser fire, missiles carrying deadly payloads bursting from the heat before they even reached the ground. Formations of star destroyers encircled each moon again and again, saturating each satellite in death and hellfire. All trapped planetside would perish horribly, their death coming before they could even realize. From Tion's surface, they would see each moon become miniature suns as they caught flame from the sustained bombardment.
But they would not be spared.
Squadrons of heavy bombers crisscrossed Tion's vast oceans, terrible viral munitions tumbling from their bays. As they slipped below the surface, they descended for several hundred meters before detonating. Carried by the ocean currents, the viral strain spread quickly and killed all organic life in it's wake. From orbit, the oceans gradually lost their vibrant color and appeared to decay, taking on disgusting hues of brown and green as life died and rotted beneath the waves. Floating cities were targeted as well, bombs breaking them apart with repeated strikes until they sank into the diseases seas. Incendiary munitions coated what little landmasses existed on Tion's surface, burning them down to bedrock and causing rotting water to rush in and sink them beneath the turgid waves.
Darth Carnifex watched from the Malsheem, His expression never shifting. This was the fate that all who had betrayed the Sith would suffer, what the entire galaxy would suffer. All would be reborn in flame, and the withered bones of the past would be covered by the ashes of it's rebirth.
"Eternal are the Sith," whispered the Dark Lord, "May all it's enemies suffer thusly."
