Gavin scanned the line of soldiers before him with a serious, appraising eye. Their armor gleamed in the hangar lights, black and crimson hues reflecting the colors of the Diarchy. Each stood tall and disciplined, yet Gavin could read the tension behind their rigid posture. He had worked with soldiers of the Diarchy before. They were well-trained, efficient, and loyal, but not always to the person giving the orders. Their loyalty lay with Reign and Rellick, as all proper soldiers of the Diarchy should. He knew that. Still, it made him wonder what they thought of him. Did they see him as a true commander, or just the weapon Reign kept on a leash?
It did not matter. Loyalty could be won in two ways: respect or fear. Gavin had no qualms about which came first. If they followed his lead and proved themselves, he would value them. If not, they would regret it.
"They'll do," Gavin said flatly, his tone offering no hint of approval or doubt. He turned away from the soldiers and fell into step beside Reign.
As they boarded the shuttle, Gavin's mind began to focus on the task ahead. The ship's interior was dimly lit, the soft hum of the engines creating a rhythm beneath his thoughts. He pulled his datapad from his belt, entered his access codes, and brought up the Network's archives. The screen flickered to life, displaying the emblem of the Diarchy before opening the encrypted files on their destination.
The name
Harridan appeared in bold letters at the top of the screen. Gavin's expression darkened as he began to scroll through the intelligence reports.
Harridan was a world steeped in decay. Once a promising industrial hub on the Outer Rim, it had long since rotted from within. The planet's surface was scarred by endless refineries, mining pits, and sprawling urban wastelands where smog hung heavy in the air. Massive transport freighters carried supplies to and from its orbital docks, but the wealth generated by Harridan's exports never reached its people. It lined the pockets of the corrupt and the powerful.
The planet's capital,
Spaceport City, dominated the northern hemisphere. It was a labyrinth of metal and grime, where massive durasteel towers rose from a sea of pollution. The streets below were choked with laborers, spice runners, and gang enforcers. The air buzzed with the sound of hovercraft and distant sirens, while the smell of burnt ozone and oil lingered in every breath. It was a city that never slept, never stopped bleeding, and never changed.
According to the dossier, two major gangs had carved the planet between them. On one side stood the
Ravagers, a brutal organization that controlled the southern districts of Spaceport City and most of the black market trade. They thrived on fear, their ranks filled with spice smugglers and mercenaries who answered only to profit. Their leader, a Zeltron named
Verris Kael, was known for his charm and cruelty. He ruled not by strength alone, but by manipulation, ensuring his rivals destroyed each other long before his enforcers needed to act.
Opposing them were the
Iron Serpents, a far more militarized syndicate that had entrenched itself in the industrial sectors and outlying settlements. Led by a grizzled Nikto named
Draek Soluun, they had seized control of the planet's most valuable asset: the
Harridan Kyber Refinement Facility. The massive plant processed kyber crystals imported from Mygeeto, refining them for use in advanced weapon systems. The operation was officially sanctioned by the planetary government, but the truth was far darker. The Serpents had their claws deep in every layer of authority, using threats, bribes, and executions to maintain control.
The factory's workers were little more than slaves. Many were indentured citizens, forced to labor in hazardous conditions while armed guards watched from above. Anyone who refused was made an example of. It was efficient, brutal, and profitable, and the government pretended not to notice.
Gavin paused on the next file, which contained information on the planet's current Chancellor. The woman's image appeared on his datapad, her face framed by fine dark hair streaked with silver.
Chancellor Merida Harn. Her records showed decades of service in the planetary bureaucracy, a sharp political mind, and a reputation for avoiding accountability. She presented herself as a reformer, but the reports painted a different picture. She had climbed to power through manipulation and double-dealing, forging quiet alliances with both gangs to keep her position secure. The Network's analysis labeled her as "complicit," but cunning enough to avoid being labeled a criminal.
Gavin leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing at the dossier. Harridan was rotten to its core. The Chancellor ruled through deceit, the gangs ruled through fear, and the people survived in the cracks between them. Bringing a world like this to heel would not be easy. He would need soldiers who obeyed without hesitation, ships to enforce the Diarchy's will, and time to crush the systems that fed the corruption.
He looked up from his datapad and toward Reign, who stood quietly at the front of the shuttle, gazing out at the stars beyond the viewport. Gavin's jaw tightened. "Chancellor Harn," Gavin began, his tone heavy with thought. "She is corrupt, but useful. I intend to use her to get my way." He slid his datapad into the pocket of his robes, his expression hardening as he turned his gaze toward the viewport. Outside, the gray expanse of Harridan's skyline stretched into the distance.
As the transport vessel descended through the clouds, the landing pad came into view. A delegation was already gathered there, small figures against the harsh metallic surface of the platform. They stood in neat formation, each one carefully dressed, their posture rigid, their movements rehearsed. Gavin recognized the performance immediately.
It was a farce.
They were not there to greet their Diarch; they were there to survive him. The men and women assembled were not leaders, not equals, but sycophants and bureaucrats clinging to whatever scraps of power they could keep. They had been sent to smile, to flatter, and to kneel. Every face in the group carried the same mix of fear and false reverence, eyes flicking nervously toward the descending shuttle. They were terrified of Reign, and rightly so.
But Gavin's interest lay elsewhere. He was not concerned with the puppets; he wanted the puppeteer. The Chancellor. The one who allowed this corruption to take root and fed it for her own benefit. He would meet with her soon enough.
The shuttle jolted lightly as it broke through the last layer of atmosphere. The engines shifted pitch, guiding them toward the platform. Gavin's reflection flickered across the viewport, a faint image of a giant contained within the confines of a soldier's discipline. His golden-trimmed robes caught the dull light, the polished black fabric almost blending with the shadows.
"Does it ever bother you," Gavin said at last, his voice low but thoughtful,
"knowing that all these people are only saying what they think you want to hear?"
It was an unusual question for him, more personal than most things he said. Normally, Gavin preferred silence or blunt orders, but the earlier conversation about Reign's father lingered in his mind. Perhaps it loosened something inside him, a curiosity he could not ignore. He had seen this kind of obedience before, the kind born not from loyalty but from fear.
Diarch Reign
Gavin Vel
