“They may. Anything, to win. Victory no matter the cost.”
The words that she uttered toward
Darth Empyrean
were touched with an edge of sharpness. She knew that path. The Exarch also remained
unaware that it was the machinations of
Laertia Io
that had first sent the torpedoes toward the Skyhook.
Daegon Corvinus
had warned of the imminent danger but not of the cause. She could only assume, logically, that it was the Maw.
The injured, ailing man, that seemed to take the lead among his rabid spitting friends would find quiet orbs watching his actions with the poise of a cobra waiting to strike. Her finger sat on the trigger.
Ready.
Taiia Locke
hadn’t been at her side in battle before. If she had—She would know that the Exarch fought with anything at her disposal. She could kill a man just as easily with a blaster as she could a medium-sized rock, but that was neither here nor there. As the negotiator disarmed himself her focus was split.
Torn. Between the disaster above—The disaster below.
"This is Colonel Ruus Kote to all CIS personnel in and around Port Sorrow. In case you feel inclined to avoid being blown to haran, I've got transports swinging by Port Sorrow. They are staying five minutes at most. Get on, or find your own way out. Good luck."
The nigh-constant communications and updates that she had been receiving from NAVCOM suddenly stopped. Her teeth clenched.
They were cut off from the fleet. Rather—The Brotherhood was jamming Confederate Communications. She could hear
Ket Cros
watching their six by shooting down any of the ravenous undead that were still appearing, as if by magic, from every corner of the Port. The stunt they had pulled in the outskirts had stemmed the tide.
Not wiped it out.
Mercurial eyes lingered on
Ignatius Rausgeber
with no small sense of disillusionment. She believed him that orbital bombardment was imminent. The Force had seen fit to warn her of that. The destruction of Eshan City had prepared her for that. Her weapon remained trained on his person no matter how many he gave up. No matter the nearly affable, nigh,
friendly way of speaking he held. He was a soldier, a slave, perhaps both. She let
Taiia Locke
have her moment.
The sky was falling.
The sky was falling. This world was burning, screaming, and rolling in the blood of those who had never asked for this life.
This man could not be trusted.
“…No, it is not.”
The decision of whether or not to fire on these fools would always fall on her shoulders. That was the burden of standing so close to the pinnacle point of a nation. Always, forever, wearing and seeing nothing but red. As soon as the eerie words left the Exarch they were punctuated by a sudden feeling of weakness. As if their very essence was being forcibly drained by something (
Darth Mori) deep, dark, and malevolent.
Then it stopped. The angle of her hand canon slipped, momentarily, but it straightened immediately. A flush of darkness, deeper still, left her breathing free air.
Darth Empyrean
was an eldritch terror in his own right, truly, but there was something in the sheer depth of his power that made her want to languish in a sea of bittersweet night. Even those without the Force would feel a chill, gooseflesh, and recognize that something wasn’t right. She let her free hand reach for his, the one that held the staff, and let her presence settle within him. As one—She pressed the protective barrier over both
Ignatius Rausgeber
,
Ket Cros
, their stealth ships, and the transports promised from
Ruus Kote
.
The Sith Lord at her side put the nail in the coffin when he spoke her name. The insurgents, slaves, whomever they were would most definitely catch it. Not that there were too many Echani within Confederate High Command these days. Maliphant was correct, as always. He would feel her acquiesce. There hadn’t been much in the way of life left in the port before the bleak void (
Darth Mori) opened up in the distance.
Now?
Now—Rhand was truly, lost.
Lifeless.
“You talk too much, Ignatius.”
His name left her lips as if she had spoken it a thousand times before. There was nothing in her glacial expression that gave away how she felt about his story, nor, about the impending doom. The Exarch made it her business to understand others at a base level. Echani eyes were keen and autonomic responses could be read, even from a distance, even, through the mangled, skinned mess of his features. From this man? There was a mix. Truth, and lie.
“I just saved your life.”
From the life-sucking ritual that
Darth Empyrean
protected them from.
“And I will save it again because there is a guillotine hanging over all our heads and no time to debate. Take your companions and leave. Leave this planet, leave this system, and should I ever see your face or hear your name again I will hunt you and your friends until the end of time. Should you become involved in the slave trade again—”, she paused, breaking her swiftly worded response,
“There will be nowhere in the galaxy for you to hide. The things I will do to you will make this Port look like a dream come true. You will long for the yoke of the Maw. Remember, this. I let you live.”
“Don’t kark it up.”
It wasn’t compassion that drove her; it was
practicality. To bandy words and fight now wasted precious moments, seconds, they no longer had. She kept her weapon trained on them before gesturing toward one of the Brotherhood transports.
“Move.”
Ket Cros
approached her with a last directive from his superior. They were also supposed to withdraw. She could sense the small pieces of respect that the Mandalorian offered her by deferring to her even if he was paid to do it. Even while the sky was falling, the world was burning.
“I understand. Take your men and move out. We’ll regroup with Confederate forces and strike back—We still have people in orbit that need us.”
That was when the situation at Port Sorrow seemed to go from bad to worse.
At that instant, Xiphos used Lana's flesh to force all it's gathered energy into the reactor and detonate, praying there would be enough of an explosion that it would blast both it and as much of the Skyhook as possible into Smithereens...
The planet tremored, crying out for a reprieve from the unholy assault directed upon it. Shockwaves swept forth first, crashing into the outskirts of the city and rippling the air with raw kinetic power, and after, came the tidal wave of baptizing flame. The land was ruined by means of holocaust, left to smolder and burn in crackling silence that stretched into the smoking, red-stained sky. Craters lay where landmarks resided previously, no trace of civilization could be seen beyond the bare frames of melted structures left behind. Mountains had been reduced to rubble and collapsed upon themselves, turning into molten slag washing down the now tumultuous slopes. Rivers of fire boiled in the exposed bedrock, lashing the air with virulent tongues muttering warning of the annihilation yet still to come.
The Praetorian-Class Star Destroyers would open fire with the powerful orbital autocannons upon the surface of Rhand, their weaponry sought to annihilate the surface without regard for any life. Taking the volleys of ion rounds to their starfighters pouring outward toward the battle ahead and clashing against the Ion Shielding of the titanic Star Destroyers. Their defenses took a heavy toll from the weaponized mayhem of the massive cannons, momentarily tending several systems offline as backup power was restored. Thankfully, the state of the art ion shielding installed kept the worst at bay. They would start near the temple and make their way off towards Port Sorrow, turbolaser fire would engage shortly after as the massive red flares pulsated forth from their thunderous weaponry.
The end was near. Those left in Port Sorrow and the Temple below did not have much time left.
The sky seemed to burst. It was almost beautiful in a macabre way when shrapnel began to fall like stars. Over and over in a flood of flame and color that she had no name for. The noise was distant but unmistakable. It was the shearing of metal against metal with a monstrous aching groan of a breaking super-structure overhead. She couldn't see exactly what was happening, not around the
Gehinnom, but she could feel it. There was nothing left in the sky but a violent expansion of energy that transmitted itself outward as a shock wave. It pushed the clouds apart and all that remained was screaming, pitiless, death. What of the Confederate Fleet that was beneath the worldship?
What of the Minister of War? Had
Kiff Brayde
listened? Was he part of it? Was he still there with his men—Or were they floating with all the others, lifeless, in space?
It was overwhelming.
And then, from nothing, an unfamiliar feeling grew.
SRINA, WHERE DO YOU NEED ME?
Ni ceri palta cin
Navan gar cin linde
Hope.
It was a strange sensation,
foreign. She almost didn't understand it. From the depths of such a travesty, she felt guilty for even entertaining such a notion. They had
failed. But, they were still fighting. For something more than this Port and more than themselves. She could hear the voice of her Queen
(as she would forever be) in her mind and it twined with that of her Master. It was a balm that she hadn't known she'd needed. Even the small, sweet tones, of her niece, were welcome where fire lashed out and the ground was slowly being turned to glass. None of them should have been anywhere near Rhand. But, they were.
When her gaze turned to
Darth Empyrean
and
Taiia Locke
she was filled with new understanding.
It was the reason she was letting
Ignatius Rausgeber
and his cohorts go despite her instincts. This place didn't need to be what the Maw made it—No matter how many times they destroyed the surface of the planet. No matter how many lives they took. The Brotherhood could take from them, body and soul, but they would only
win if the Confederacy allowed it.
<<We're leaving Rhand. With any luck, we'll be coming to you.>>
Their
transport, still whole for the time being—
Was waiting.
The only wildcard that remained was the stance of the
Ignatius Rausgeber
and those that accompanied them. Time was ticking. They could choose to fight today and die or flee and live to see the morning. It was their choice—To live, or let the Maw take them.
