Private Excursion: Kamino

[Darth Virelia]

"Try not to fight over me, thanks."

Tag - Rae Cooke , Lyssa Cluada , Kali'ka



The drop ship shook as it entered Kamino's upper atmosphere—though shook was generous. It was more like a soundless shudder, a ripple across the hull felt more through instinct than motion. The clouds were a crushing grey wall, thunder-veined and endless, stretched in roiling tiers across a world that had not known sunlight in millennia. Lightning lanced across the blackened sky like nerves twitching in the corpse of a god.

And Serina Calis stood at the edge of it, waiting.

She did not move. Not as the vessel adjusted trajectory. Not as the engines dimmed into their whisper-quiet descent configuration. Not even as the temperature inside dropped to match the freezing ocean waiting below.

Her breathing was a metronome, slow and silent within the helmet of the Revenant-Class Adaptive Stealth Suit. All external light had long since vanished—the interior lights disabled, HUD set to thermal-occlusion and sonar-based navigation. Every movement of the suit was tracked not by visual overlay but by sensation alone, translated through the gel-layer's neuro-filaments directly into her spine, her nerves, her will. It was not armor. It was a second skin. A purpose worn like a secret.

She could hear them behind her—the others.

Quiet.

Efficient.

Predators, like herself, shaped by black doctrine and sharpened by necessity. She didn't look. Didn't need to. The silence that hung around them was not from uncertainty—it was from discipline. The kind that no longer questioned whether they would survive, only whether they would complete the objective.

Only whether they could serve Serina.

She liked it that way.

Lightning lit the cockpit one last time as the pilot gave a brief signal. Nonverbal. Coded. They were here.

Below them: the shattered skeleton of Tipoca City, once the heart of Kaminoan bio-genetic supremacy, now a drowned cathedral of forgotten ambition. The great spires were bent inward like dying fingers, their skin peeled back by Clone War bombardment and centuries of corrosive rainfall. The ocean had consumed it. But not erased it.

And somewhere in the dead bones of that place, beneath collapsed birthing chambers and flooded datavaults, lay the Cloning Template Synchronizer.

A device Serina had no intention of leaving to chance, to scavengers, to time—or to Sith interference.

"You're not just building an army," Garreth had said. "You're building a power base."

No.

She was building a lineage.

The thought flared in her like cold fire, and her gloved fingers flexed once as if sculpting something out of the dark. Not merely soldiers. Not pawns. Not even tools.

Herself.

She had spent years cultivating ideology. Power. Beauty. Fear. Every piece of her had been distilled, refined, forged into a force capable of outmaneuvering the Empire's endless bureaucracy and devouring the Force's false dichotomies. And now—finally—she would preserve it. Replicate it. Not just in data, or disciples, but in flesh.

A clone of Serina Calis. Perfected. Trained. Crafted from her DNA but evolved, honed, amplified. More than a shadow. A successor without dilution.

Not yet. But soon.

If this mission succeeded.

"You want a species, not a uniform."

And she would have it.

The drop ship banked, cutting into a wind channel just above the water. The sound was gone. No engines. No hum. Just the scream of the Kaminoan storm outside, muffled to a distant pressure by the reinforced hull. The insertion point was near—a half-submerged corridor shaft that once linked the cloning archives to the behavioral conditioning halls. It now jutted from the ocean at a ragged angle, barely visible, like a broken limb trying to claw its way back to the surface.

Perfect.

Serina activated her HUD with a mental impulse—rebreather nominal, magnetic sole calibration green, internal pressure locks engaged—and stepped forward into the drop bay. The ramp hissed open without light or sound, revealing the cold abyss.

Rain hammered the outer hull, whipping sideways like knives. The ocean below was ink-black, alive with current and static charge. But Serina did not see weather. She saw a test.

And she would not be found wanting.

She turned slightly—just enough to acknowledge the presence of those behind her.

A nod.

"Are we all ready to go?"

Tipoca City waited below, like a corpse guarding its secrets.

But Serina Calis was not here to plunder the dead.

She was here to resurrect something far worse. This time, she would not share it with anyone.

Not the Assembly.

Not the Dark Council.

Not the Emperor.

Not even the stars.

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Tag - Darth Virelia , Rae Cooke , Kali'ka

When the ship shook, Lyssa shook with it, the magnetised boots of her suit anchored tightly onto the metal of the vehicle below them. She knew the sensation well, found it comforting even, after all, she had done this a hundred times before with the magnets in the soles of her own feet. The ship swayed and Lyssa swayed with it, feeling every little movement, every raindrop that fell upon the hull and wings. It was almost as if she was a part of the ship herself - just another part of the machine, another cog in the clock that ticked in time to her mistress's tune.

And that suited her just fine.

Arms crossed over herself, standing barely a breath away from her master, Lyssa was completely silent. Her tattooed face was hidden behind the mask of the suit her mistress had given her, her emotions concealed behind the layers of synthetic mesh and nano weave. Slightly bulkier at the legs, Lyssa had modified her suit to be compatible with her mechanical appendages. It had been a difficult task, but was well worth the effort, in the end. As had been stripping her legs of their secret compartments - the extra weight would not be missed when she went underwater. Her vibroblades were a small price to pay for being able to keep up with her master.

And keep up with them.

The two others. The women who followed her mistress. Who dared to call themselves apprentices of the goddess that she worshipped.

Beneath her mask, Lyssa seethed.

It was not in her nature to share. Had that not been proven again and again, a thousand times over? Bitter hatred swirled in her heart, sharpened and directed at the two women on either side of her. The unworthy, ungrateful creatures who thought they could take her place. She would be damned if they did.

Lyssa was no fool. She knew why her master had summoned these two, why she did not grant her favour to just one acolyte alone. To have many apprentices invited chaos, not harmony, and it was the way of the dark side that sith should fight to prove themselves worthy. Her mistress had surely called them together for a bloodbath, a fight to the death for her tutelage. If it was blood she craved, then blood she would have. Lyssa would willingly slaughter them both if her master gave her the chance.

But first, the mission.

The cyborg forced herself to focus on the underwater city as they approached it. Years ago, her father had told her of how the ancient Jedi had fought alongside the clones made here. Now that she was older, Lyssa looked down upon it with disdain. This was what it meant to be affiliated with the Jedi. Destruction and ruin. Failure.

Her mistress's fingers flexed and Lyssa thought of the item they had been sent out to collect - a relic that held vital information from the forgotten civilisation. Lyssa's own hand curled into a fist. She would be the one to find it, and prove herself worthier than all these other acolytes. She would prove herself worthy of her mistress's sole attention and appreciation.

Or she would die trying.

As the ship banked, Lyssa turned off the magnets on her boots, ready and waiting for the order to go outside. The impatient twitch of her muscles under her suit was evident as she eyed the insertion point, a great finger of a hand reaching out of the sea, beckoning them forward. She turned on her HUD and moved as her mistress did, a perfect shadow as she dutifully followed her onto the drop bay. Finally, her master turned back to her.

"Are we all ready to go?"

"Always, Mistress," Lyssa replied, her voice mechanical but no less devotional through the helmet's com systems. "Lead the way, and know that I will be right behind you."

 

[Kali'ka]

​

Tag: Darth Virelia Lyssa Cluada Rae Cooke

​

The dynamic aboard the craft was a palpable tension. Serina had seemed to have intentionally kept her apprentices apart and mostly ignorant of one another until that very mission. But the Mistress did nothing without a purpose, every action a working a cog in her nefarious machinations. Kali'ka could only believe there was a purpose in being left in the dark when it came to Lyssa Clauda and Rae Cooke.

It was classic Serina Calis to manipulate her apprentices, as she did everyone else. Maybe she planned on one sticking a blade in the other. But Kali'ka didn't beleive so. Her Mistress was greedy, and if Serina could have more than one adoring worshiper at her feet, she most certainly would. The Kiffar was obsessed with Serina, but she was not ignorant nor a fool.

Kali'ka studied Lyssa in every spectrum and manner in which her cybernetic eye could, as if to find some weakness. Or maybe it was the petty satisfaction of violating the Mirialan in some way. The Kiffar knew very little about her. Cybernetic legs, volatile temper, that was about it. If Kali'ka had known the almost freakish similarities between herself and Lyssa, it would have enraged her. As it were, the way Lyssa lingered by Serina like the woman's shadow ignited a visceral jealousy in Kali'ka. Kali tried not to imagine the Mirialan receiving the same attention, the dedicated training, the taunting touches...

The vessel shuddered as they entered the atmosphere. Kali'ka's gaze shifted to the fourth member of the group. Rae Cooke. Of this woman, Kali'ka knew even less. She discerned the way the woman carried herself, disciplined, military. Other than that, the woman looked no different than any of the rest of them in their diving suits. Another unknown with which to contend.

They arrived over the drop zone.

They gathered, helmets in place. Serina inqured of their readiness. Lyssa's response earned an indignant scowl from the Kiffar sorceress, who refused to acknowledge she would have made a similar, devout confession herself had she been quick enough.

 

[Rae Cooke]

//: Darth Virelia //:
//: Lyssa Cluada //: Kali'ka //:

Rae could feel their eyes on the back of her neck. They didn't like having a third wheel to their Master and Apprentices date. As much as this was entertaining, Rae wasn't in the mood to deal with two brats while trying to ensure that Serina's attention focused on her.

For the mission.

She adjusted the dive suit, ignoring the dagger-like looks she got from the two apprentices. Already, the pair screamed in silence, attention-starved. She wondered how often Serina gave them attention and what kind of attention made them this disgustingly loyal. Pausing, Rae stared out into the distance and wondered if this was how she came off with a particular someone.

Naah.

Finally turning, Rae sized up the two apprentices. They seemed strong enough - probably why Serina had favored them among others. But they were raw - which made them easy to overcome if necessary.

Rae swung her arm across her body as she stretched, trying to ignore the terrible two. The last thing she needed was to make the sharp look into sharp blades piercing her delicate, nonforce user skin.

Rae paused as her attention fell upon her Benefactor. It was odd seeing the woman outside of her usual armor, and it wasn't very often that she saw the woman's face. Moments like this, Rae forgot how young the girl was - yet she caused so much trouble for the rest of the Galaxy. She stepped forward, her own helmet still off.

Clearing her throat, she pushed her way, weaving between the two apprentices, and stopped before Serina.

"Benefactor," she started as she removed the dive suit's gloves. "Let me fix this." She had noticed a few of the screws and notches loose on Serina's dive suit. If she had dove, the suit wouldn't have pressured properly, and they would all be without the woman's wonderful presence.

Carefully, Rae reached and undid the helmet. There was no hiss, which indicated that the seal wasn't properly set. Smiling softly, the brunette woman began to fix the helmet, ensuring the seal and the rest of its functions would work properly.

"There we go, good as new." Another gentle smile was on her face as she placed the helmet back onto the woman's head. Rae paused, letting her gaze linger momentarily - catching Serina's and holding it. A small and delicate blush blossomed across the lightly freckled cheeks of the mercenary.

"Let me…" Rae's voice trailed off, lost to the quiet intimacy of the moment as her hand gently reached forward. Delicate fingertips brushed the golden strands of hair away from Serina's face, her touch tender against the porcelain skin. She hesitated, eyes softening as she realized how close she'd drawn.

"Sorry." Rae apologized, placed the helmet gently onto her Benefactor's head, and made sure to hear the hiss of the suit locking and pressurizing properly. "That should do the trick."

Again, Rae ignored the other two; her only focus was Serina's well-being.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Try not to fight over me, thanks."

Tag - Rae Cooke , Lyssa Cluada , Kali'ka


The moment split like ice under pressure.

Rae's fingers were soft against her skin—too soft, too slow. That tiny, near-ritualistic caress to sweep a golden strand away. The sort of gesture lovers made in the twilight after something violent, something sacred. The kind of touch that presumed too much.

The word "sorry" began to form, and Serina moved.

Like lightning. Like death.

Her gloved hand snapped up and caught Rae's wrist in midair, just as the woman's other hand was beginning to lift the helmet into place. There was no sound. The suit's MagSeal joints were as silent as a predator's breath. But the feel of her grip was unmistakable—an apex serpent tightening its coils.

The others didn't exist for her in that moment.

Not Lyssa, not Kali'ka, not the brewing storm that threatened to swallow Tipoca City whole. Only Rae Cooke—foolishly bold, foolishly warm, foolishly tender—stood in her grasp.

Serina didn't speak at first. Her face was framed by the last glimmer of stormlight filtering in through the drop bay doors, her lips parted faintly as if tasting the air between them. Her eyes, always cold fire, locked onto Rae's like a snare shutting around an animal's throat.

Then she smiled.

Not gently.

Not kindly.

It was a smile that did not reach her eyes, that stretched slow and curved like a blade unsheathing. The sort of smile found in ancient Sith mosaics—serpentine and filled with meanings lost to millennia of blood.

She leaned in.

Not to whisper.

Not to rage.

But to own the moment.

Rae instinctively turned her head away, Serina allowed it. Her goal wasn't to lose the mercenary, rather to teach a lesson for all.

Her voice was low and exact, a thread of satin drawn taut against a naked throat.

"You do not touch me without permission."

It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be. It was simply true.

Serina tilted her head, just enough to let her lips hover a breath from Rae's.

Her tone softened, dangerously. Almost inviting.

"You see, Rae... I allow many things. I allow devotion. I allow admiration. I even allow obsession—pure obsession."

Her fingers loosened, just a little, only to slide her grip from Rae's wrist to her hand. It was an oddly intimate motion, the kind lovers might make in a slow dance. But this was not a waltz. This was a noose.

"But touching me—skin to skin—" Serina exhaled the words like a slow-burning spell, "—that is not something you do without earning it. Without offering something of value in exchange."

Her other hand lifted—calm, deliberate—and instead of seizing the helmet Rae held, she pressed two fingers under Rae's chin and tilted her face upward. It was a considerably awkward position to have her hand in, with Rae's face away from her, but Serina would allow the mercenary the mercy of not having to come face to face with consequence.

"You didn't ask."

The words tasted of iron and frost.

And then—before Rae could speak—

Serina kissed her.

A whisper of Serina's lip on Rae's cheek, slow and exact. Not rushed. Not tender. But designed. A warning. A reward. A brand.

Her mouth was cool, impossibly soft yet firm with command. She didn't moan or sigh or seem to take enjoyment out of the action. She claimed. And when she finally pulled away, she did so by mere centimeters—close enough that her breath still hung inside the half-sealed air of the drop bay. Her eyes bore into Rae's sidelong glance with an intensity that dared her to misunderstand what had just happened.

It wasn't affection.

It was a test.

"I kiss rarely," Serina murmured, eyes half-lidded but sharp as obsidian. "And never twice without cause."

She let her fingers trail along the edge of Rae's jaw, as if memorizing the shape of a choice that had yet to be made.

Then the softness was gone.

She pulled back with regal, glacial precision, and the helmet was plucked from Rae's hands—not forcefully, but with the absolute authority of one who was not touched, but instead revered. The hiss of the helmet seal re-engaging seemed louder than it was. Final. A moment entombed.

Inside the helmet now, Serina's breath was steady. Slow.

But her pulse was a war drum beneath her skin.

She turned from Rae without another word.

And if she felt the eyes of the others on her—burning with jealousy, confusion, fury—she made no sign.

Let them see.

Let them all see.

Let Lyssa smolder in poisonous silence, her heart snapping like glass underfoot.

Let Kali'ka drink in the betrayal and taste the metallic edge of competition turned primal.

Serina wanted them watching. She wanted them spiraling, hungering, raging.

This wasn't just about dominance. It was about desire. The cultivation of it. The bending of loyalty into lust, not of the flesh—but of purpose. Serina did not simply want obedience. She wanted addiction. To her voice. To her breath. To the myth of her touch.

And Rae, for all her wit and clever little mercenary poise, had stepped into the furnace willingly.

You'll all burn in me, Serina thought.

And call it salvation.

Her voice came over the comms, crisp now, sterile in its precision.

"Let this be clear to all of you—my affection is not a prize. It is a blade. It cuts both ways. Worship me, and you will suffer. Please me…"

A pause. A calculated breath.

"…and I might let you beg for more."

A moment passed.

Rain smashed down in sheets beyond the shielded threshold, the Kaminoan ocean seething below like a black nerve. She moved to the drop point without another word, spine perfectly aligned, every movement telegraphing one message:

Control.

No lingering glance.

No repetition.

Because Serina didn't need to chase. She expected to be followed. Worshipped. Competed for. And if the others behind her felt the sting of envy, if one of them began calculating the cost of ambition, if blades began to sharpen in the shadows of that kiss…

Good.

Let them suffer.

Let them burn.

"We dive on my mark. Full cloak, no chatter. You'll follow my thermal trail through the descent vector. If I sense a deviation, I will not ask why."

She turned slightly.

"Those of you who return… will be seen."

And that was the cruelest gift of all.

To be seen by her. To be chosen. Or discarded.

Serina fell forward into the rain.

And behind her, the descent began.

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Tag - Darth Virelia , Rae Cooke , Kali'ka

Envy was more than an emotion. It was a way of life. It was a constant presence, a fierce fire that fuelled every action, every decision, every moment of Lyssa's existence. It's flames had always been there in her heart, though they had only ever served to empower her, to make her stronger and even more eager to serve.

But today, those same flames that she had controlled all these years?

They burned Lyssa alive.

They were already stronger than usual, hungrily eating up the hate that the mirialan felt towards the two women on either side of her. Their fire only grew more fierce as one of the others, Rae Cooke, noticed a flaw in her master's suit and adjusted it for her. Lyssa's hands, already curled into fists, grew even tighter, to the point that had she not been wearing her suit, her fingernails would have dug into her flesh and drawn blood. She should have been the one to notice, to help her master. The apprentice had already failed the first test of the trip, and it made her want to scream.

Almost as much as the sensation of the other woman - Kali'ka - dissecting her with her eyes made Lyssa want to throw up. She disgusted her with her ridiculously desperate behaviour. What did she hope to find? Some kind of weakness? All her gaze did was make the cyborg stand up straighter. She wasn't going to give Kali'ka the satisfaction of perceiving her as anything other than their mistress's favourite.

And the flames ate up the atmosphere between them as if it was gasoline.

But when the Cooke girl leaned forward, and gently, intimately wove her fingers through her mistress's golden hair, pulling it back gently over her ear?

Lyssa's envy was a fire no longer. It became an inferno.

Her mind became consumed with a single thought. How dare she. How dare she. The mantra of those three words drowned out everything else, to the point that she hadn't even realised she'd drawn her pike from her back and ignited it instinctively. The spluttering blade lit up her emotionless helmet in violent blood red, creating a ghastly sight that almost conveyed the level of fury that she felt inside.

The apprentice was just about ready to swing her weapon and cut Rae's head from her shoulders when her mistress moved.

She'd caught her hand, and Lyssa hoped that she would snap it off at the wrist. Instead, she watched in horror as her mistress smiled, as she taunted Rae with the truth -

"You do not touch me without permission."

Exactly. And for that crime alone the Cooke girl should be punished. But her master did not hurt her, instead, in her beautifully dangerous voice, she spoke of devotion, admiration and obsession. All of which Lyssa had willingly laid down at her feet. All of which had gone unacknowledged.

Finally, her master's tone turned colder. She chastised the girl for her lack of permission. For her boldness. And Lyssa waited for the hammer to fall. Waited for Rae Cooke to be torn limb from limb. Waited for the inevitable punishment.

Instead, her beloved mistress kissed her.

And the inferno became an explosion.

Lyssa couldn't help it. She shook. She shook with rage, hatred, jealousy, and the sheer horror of it all. What had the girl done to deserve such a reward? What had she done but disobey her mistress and dare to touch a God? The mirialan bit down on her tongue to stop the scream from escaping her lungs. She could taste her blood in her mouth, but the pain was barely even a distraction.

Oh, she would kill this girl if it was the last thing she did. She swore it on the darkside of the force.

"Let this be clear to all of you—my affection is not a prize. It is a blade. It cuts both ways. Worship me, and you will suffer. Please me…"
"…and I might let you beg for more."

The words were cold and cruel. The ice to Lyssa's fire. Her mistress was the only one who could dampen the flames in her heart. Not fully, but just enough that the apprentice managed to force herself to switch off her blade and return it to it's place on her back.

This was how it was to be, then. Love was war. An eternity of power and control, of lust and sickening, sickening envy.

So Lyssa gritted her now blood stained teeth. Bit back the raging fire within her, the explosive jealousy that threatened to tear everything she worked for apart. Instead, she pushed past Rae Cooke as roughly as she could, hoping to at least knock her off balance. She made sure to step on her feet as well, as hard as she could through their suits. Hopefully the weight of her cybernetic legs elicited at least a yelp from the girl.

Perhaps It was ridiculously childish and petty. But that was exactly why Lyssa had to do it.

Standing at the drop point where her mistress had disappeared within the roiling waves, the endless blue below her brought back memories of the mirialan's time on Kalee. The image of a lagoon returned to her, cool and refreshing on the hottest day of the summer. She had stripped down to her underclothes, jumping into the azure waters and doing lazy laps back and forth. That was how her father had found her.

"So this is how you choose to spend your free time?" He had asked disdainfully. "I'll have you know your sister is studying right now."

"But I...I taught myself," Lyssa had responded, wet hair clinging to her face. "You never showed us how to swim, so I..um..I learnt. All on my own."

"Doesn't that..." she had hesitated. "Doesn't that make you proud, father?"

"Pride is earned," he had stated sternly. "As is affection."

So it always would be. Lyssa would earn her mistress's pride. She would earn her affection. Perhaps one day, she might even earn her love.

But for now, all she had to do was prove her undying loyalty.

Without a second thought, the mirialan dived headfirst into the waves.

 

[Kali'ka]

​

Tag: Darth Virelia Lyssa Cluada Rae Cooke

​

The fourth wheel, Cooke, suddenly rose and pushed passed Kali'ka and Lyssa. The Kiffar scowled in her helmet as the woman passed, horrified as the mercenary pointed out an error in Serina's suit. A hot knife of indignation stabbed at Kali. How dare that outsider step in like some doting student sucking up in order to become teacher's pet. Then the ghost blade in Kali's gut grew ice cold as she realized something. Serina had put on her own suit, and made an unseen mistake.

At first, it was a shock. Kali had yet to see Serina fail at anything. It was like seeing a goddess bleed. Such a small incident, but for a breath, it shook Kali'ka. But the small oversight was forgotten in the new wave of disgust as she watched Cooke dare to reach and touch Serina. Not on the hem of her cloak, not a obesient brush of the toe of her boot, but a most intimate caress of the flaxen gold hair.

A volcano erupted. Kali'ka's indignation for Serina flared, her hand flexing, itching to punch a Force hole through the dog's helmet. It was repulsively apparent the Forceless grunt was striving to earn Serina's favor, ignorant of what she was doing.

The sorceress' gaze shot to Lyssa, the woman's gaze a lethal glare at Cooke, body tense, the pike in her hand suddenly igniting. She could almost feel the gravitation of the Mirialan's rage.

Yes, do it Lyssa, strike her down...

But the Mirialan didn't strike.

Then, satisfaction came.

Rae Cooke's antics were halted with the iron grip on her wrist. Serina flashed a smile. Kali'ka had learned that the dark mistress had a variety of smiles, none of which portrayed the setiment usually associated with such a gesture. Possession, wicked delight, haughty superiority... and that which was offered to Rae Cooke, unamused threat. Kali'ka awaited the retribution demanded by Cooke's insolence.

Instead, she saw her Mistress instruct, reprimand in the same way Serina dealt with Kali'ka, and probably Lyssa. The torturous, delicious seduction of cutting, slicing words and tormenting sensuality.

No. Not the soldier, not the outsider...

Then came the kiss. A kiss. That which Kali'ka craved like oxygen, that which she strove to earn. Not out of childish need for affection, or even lust, but because a kiss from Serina was the claim of possession. That simmering lava burst into a conflagration that seared everything in her body with betrayal and indignation. It was bad enough that Kali'ka had to share the coveted place at Serina's feet. But to now include this hired gun in that sacred position was a blunt pole punched through her gut.

Kali wrapped herself around those burning emotions, bringing them into submission. She had learned through hard lessons her place with Serina. She had no will. Her will was the will of the Mistress. Suddenly, the Kiffar faced another difficult challenge, something that tore at her core like an iron grappling hook. Serina had chosen all of them to participate in this mission. The Mistrss knew what each woman was, what the dynamic she was creating would be. And Serina did nothing without reason. As much as Kali'ka desired to eliminate the other two rivals, they both seved some purpose for Serina. That would have to suffice. The sense of betrayal was tempered. Its whisper in her brain, however, was not silenced.

The teeth that were gritting so hard they threatened to crack, the thudding pulse that banged against her chest wall, both eased. Serina's Forged Weapon had come so far, grown more powerful under her cruel instruction. She would obey. She wanted it, to worship and to suffer.

Lyssa forced her way to the edge of the open drop bay, leaping after Serina without a second thought. Kali'ka roughly nudged past Cooke and leaped out after the Mirialan. She activated her cloaking on the descent, fervently intent on being the one 'seen' by Serina.

 

[Rae Cooke]

//: Darth Virelia //: Lyssa Cluada //: Kali'ka //:
//: Attire //:

Her skin burned.

Rae felt the lingering brush of her lips against her cheek. She had turned her head quickly, avoiding the unwanted contact. She belonged to someone else; that person was not the one standing before her. Anger boiled at the edge of her sanity, but Rae knew she started this - she had created a scenario that allowed this to happen.

Her anger was at herself.

There was a thin veil between her reality and that of the mission. It was a place she was used to toeing the line.

"Understood, my apologies Benefactor..."

Her composure remained steady even after the Witch of Polis Massa released her. Rae suppressed the urge to glare, drawing a careful breath instead, allowing quiet defiance to settle within her chest. If she revealed even a fraction of her genuine emotions, the fragile web of her lies might unravel.

Despite the access and closeness she'd carefully gained with her target, suspicion still lingered, shadowing their so-called relationship. That word alone filled her throat with bitterness, turning her stomach until nothing remained but a hollow, unpleasant taste.

Thankfully, the immaturity of the two apprentices showed, their rage burning in the Force. Even if she couldn't feel it, the sound of the ignited lightsaber drew her attention. Rae wondered if the sniveling goon was trying to intimidate her with a crude excuse of a Sith's weapon. Her eyes locked onto the weapon and then to the face of its wielder; a devilish grin cut over her face, almost daring the child to strike.

The smile faded as Serina continued, quelling the burning fury in her underlings' hearts. Rae was thankful, even though she hated to admit it. If either of them decided to attack - her mission would be over.

Rae moved her foot but kept her place as the other apprentice tried to childishly step on her foot. A pathetic attempt at asserting dominance. She waited, letting her own irritation grow.

First, Serina dove; the other two followed - Rae did not. She waited, watching as they began to swim away. They were sitting ducks; if this was the end of her mission - it would be too easy to kill them. Stupidly, they showed their back to the hidden assassin.

Now wasn't the time, but it didn't mean she couldn't have a bit of fun with the ducklings.

Reaching through the Force, Rae focused on the mechanical energy emitting from the Mirialan's legs. The dark side surged through the Corellian's body, enhanced by the brand that cracked along her core.

Through the Force, Allyson Locke concentrated the weight of her anger on the joints of the cybernetic legs. She wanted to drown the girl, let her limbs become anchors to drag her to the bottom of the planet's ocean.

She wanted her to rot.

She wanted Serina to feel the suffering of her charge.

She wanted to go home.

The hold was brief, but she released it and took a step back. This wasn't the place or the time for her to reveal too much of herself. Exhaling, the anger dissipated, and she shoved the helmet onto her head and dove, letting the momentum and the core control of her body guide her through the water after the trio.

 

[Lyssa Cluada]

Tag - Darth Virelia , Rae Cooke , Kali'ka

Rae Cooke's sinister, mocking smile haunted Lyssa's mind as she made her way through the water with strong, practiced strokes.

The girl had surely been taunting her, making a mockery of her deep and profound desire for her mistress's approval. She knew she had the upper hand and she relished it, hanging the Sith lord's tantalising kiss over Lyssa's head like a child teasing a caged beast. How the cyborg longed to reach up and sink her teeth into the girl's neck...

But it was not her mistress's will, so it would not be so. Lyssa had more important things to fill her mind with than the mercenary's hideous grin. She had to focus on their mission below.

Tapioca city sprawled out from beneath the group, a hollow husk of the civilisation that had once inhabited it. The kaminoans had thought themselves mighty, once. They believed that their ability to harness the power of genetics made them indestructible. That it would keep their legacy intact until the end of days.

What a joke. Their legacy lay shattered on the ocean floor, broken into a thousand shards of pride and failed ambition.

Lyssa slowed down a little, noticing the lack of the third follower in the water and the way her mistress had ever so subtly turned her head in response. Though they were completely submerged in the waves, the mirialan felt as if she could take a breath for a second, and take in the weight of witnessing history being written before her. Her mistress swam ahead of her, her graceful form perfectly framed so that the cylindrical building before them formed a halo around her head.

The woman was surely nothing less than a deity, pure and magnificent.

It was in this quiet moment of appreciation, this brief second of reverence, that Lyssa began to sense a strange sensation in her legs. Usually her ability to feel through her mechanical appendages was limited at best, but she could discern every last bit of this creeping agitation as it slowly enveloped her legs. Too late, she tried to fight it with the force, tried to use her will to push back whatever was taking over her limbs. It was to no avail. Whatever had her in it's grip, it was not letting her go.

And then it pulled her down.

The apprentice barely had a moment to register the takeover before her legs, which she had so carefully prepared beforehand for underwater travel, became heavier than sin. They dragged her towards the sunken wreck of the city, and though she wildly clawed at the water with her arms, she was sinking fast.

Her master swam above her, a silhouette against the beams of fading light falling through the water. Lyssa gritted her teeth, giving up on her pathetic, undignified thrashing. Instead, she drew her lightsaber pike.

This was not going to be how she died.

The blade of her weapon hissed angrily in the water as she ignited it with a splutter of furious sparks. Gripping the staff with both hands, Lyssa screwed her eyes tight as she prepared to sever her legs clean off. There was a chance she would not die if she cut them off this way, but if she did perish, at least it would have been on her own terms.

At least it would have been as one final act of sacrifice in the name of her master.

Just as the apprentice was about to gamble with her fate, the weight disappeared. Suddenly, Lyssa's legs had returned to normal. As if nothing had ever happened, as if it had all been some kind of twisted nightmare. The sensation was gone completely, she was fully in charge of herself again. Lyssa swam back up to the surface, deactivating her weapon and returning it to her back.

Her mistress was waiting, and the apprentice could feel the deep shame and embarrassment stirring within her. She swam as close as she could to the sith lord, treading water just an arms reach away. Cutting herself off completely from Kalika and Rae, Lyssa channeled all of her shame, embarrassment, and desperate desire for forgiveness towards her master, and her master only.

Please, forgive me, she whispered in the force, her inner voice pitiful and anxious for validation. It was not my fault, nor my choice. I would never have chosen to dishonour you with such weakness.

Her moment of vulnerability communicated, Lyssa waited patiently, ready for whatever comfort or punishment her mistress saw fit to bestow. Still, deep in her heart, the mirialan knew that there was no greater punishment than failing in front of the other apprentices.

Perhaps, if they thought she was weak, it would be easier to catch them off guard and kill them, though the thought did not provide as much comfort to her as she hoped it would.