Faction Glitter, Glory and Song [DCN + Friends]

[Kaivaan Raaf]

The lights dimmed, and the cavernous venue erupted into shrieks as the next Seoul Pop group bounded onto the stage. Bass thundered through the crystalline walls, refracting light across the audience in shards of neon. Holo-screens rippled with glittering effects while thousands of voices merged into a single, chaotic roar.

Kai barely glanced at the performers. Instead, his sharp eyes fixed on his cousin. "Why must you do that?" he drawled with supreme indifference, his tone just loud enough to cut through the music. "The thing you're doing with your shoulder." He gestured with a perfectly manicured nail, disdain dripping from every movement. Running a hand through his dark hair, he shot Iskendyr a cool, unimpressed look. "No. I will not participate."

He waved away a cluster of excitable fans who had drifted far too close to him. "No. Go away. Please. Cease and desist." His words were curt, but his polished Dosuunian accent lent them a peculiar elegance, as if he were scolding servants at a family estate rather than fangirls at a concert.

Iskendyr, of course, was in his element. Blond hair shining in the refracted lights, he leaned into the crowd with his disarming smile, draping his arms around admirers as though he were born for the stage rather than the stands. "Cousin, it's simply a shoulder shimmy," he called back over the thrum of the music, his grin dazzling as he collected names and numbers like trophies. "Try it! You might even look relaxed for once."

Kai rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't stay fixed skyward. Turning his back on the spectacle, he slipped away from his cousin, moving against the current of screaming fans. The chaos pressed in from every direction glowsticks waved like tiny plasma sabers, the heat of the crowd clung to him, and the combined perfume of cologne, sugar dusted snacks, and ozone from the stage lights was overwhelming.

His gaze swept the crowd with practiced detachment, cataloguing the faces and movements without interest. Yet one figure caught his attention. She stood out amid the frenzy, enough to draw a flicker of recognition from him. Kai gave her the briefest of nods, cool, polite, and nothing more before continuing on.

But finding quiet here seemed an impossible task. Every corner of the cavern vibrated with the pulsing bass, every surface shimmered with light, every shadow was crowded with someone laughing, screaming, or dancing. The venue offered no reprieve, only relentless noise and color. Still, Kai pressed forward, determined to find a pocket of solitude in the middle of a celebration he had never wanted to attend.

Persephone Dashiell ​

 

[Drianos Bline]

Kurayami Bloodborn | el al Obj 2​

As holoscreens blared the festival at Seoul, where stars sang beneath cascades of glitter and neon and the screaming hordes of fans drowned in joy another stage had been prepared. Not one of song, but of fire and banners.

Where once the Sith had planted their blasphemous pillars and choked the plazas with idols to chaos, the Commonwealth arrived as hammer and flame. Their sigils unfurled across balconies, their soldiers tore down spires and shrines. Order demanded it. Civilization demanded it. Imperialism demanded it.

Emerging beneath the domes of Kaelestis, the pale light glinting off his visor, stepped Drianos Bline.

Son of Djorn.

Son of Ariel.

Forged not in song but in silence and myth.

He secured his helmet with a final click.

"The Sith promised salvation and delivered ash. The Jedi promise balance and deliver war. But the Empire, the Empire delivers order."

Behind him, squads advanced to rip down the last of the Sith's monuments, fire catching on crimson banners until they curled into smoke. Each artifact seized, each carving broken, each shrine ground into rubble.

To the citizens, he offered neither glitter nor glory, but iron.

"Here there will be no chaos. Here there will be no gospel of mystics. Here there will only be Imperial discipline. This city is reclaimed."

And as the festival raged far away, Ryoone too roared, not in song, but in the crack of rifles and the thunder of stone as the hammer fell.

The first pillar came down with the hiss of cutting torches and the groan of stone giving way. Ash clung to the city's translucent domes as Commonwealth banners unfurled where the Sith once raised their scripture.

Drianos Bline stood at the fore, helmet secured, his voice carried through loudhailers and holos alike. "For every pillar, a banner. For every poster, a proclamation. For every idol, a pyre. Chaos will find no foothold here."

Troopers moved with precision. Sith iconography was stripped from walls, their crimson-black posters torn down, gathered in heaps that burned beneath the open squares. Recruited priests and cultists, once proselytizing on the corners, were herded away. Their gospels confiscated and stamped beneath boots until nothing but pulp remained.

Children and civilians peered from doorways and windows as the soldiers erected new arches bearing the sigil of the Commonwealth, golden phoenix-crowned laurels replacing Sith runes. The message was unmistakable: the Empire had come not simply to erase, but to replace.

Drianos watched impassively as one of the towering obsidian spires was toppled, crashing into the square in a thunder of broken stone. He raised a hand, and the troops saluted, the cheers sharp and disciplined, not riotous.

"The Sith offered worship. The Jedi offer balance. Both are lies. What endures is order. What survives is discipline. What reigns is the Empire."

Ash curled into the air where once the red flame of Sith gospels had been painted across the city. In its place, the hammer had fallen, and the Commonwealth's seal gleamed in the dust.

He tapped his communicator on the side of his helmet, "Bloodborn, you ready? I've got troopers on the outside of the domes marking pillars that require immediate removal." A moment lingered, "uploading to your navcom now, squadrons being routed your way."

​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

​

Drianos Bline | Objective 2

Location: Ryoone, Archives and museum

Keyeing the encrypted comms between himself and R6 once more he before he even sent the comms message he could hear that things were getting a bit spicy outside. Kurayami shook his head slightly this was not as he had hoped. [["R6, finish up with the pylons and the archives we need to get the shuttle primed for a hot take off. Also may need a bit of air support so whatever you do absolutely do not mess with the IFF systems. Unless it registers as hostile hold fire."]] The droid responded with an affirmative series of beeps followed by a scream as he took off when a few blasters flew past his dome. "Shooting at my droid was very rude of your troops, sir. And a bad idea." The Sith escort turned around, his brow furrowed in confusion only to be met with a burst from the TL-50.

Instead of re-slinging the weapon, the Corellian quickly made time lading the artifacts within the museum into the hovercart. The message from Drianos came through moments later. He responded on the same channel as he began to make his way to the shuttle, R6 taking over the job of getting the hovercart to the pad. [[::I hear you loud and clear Bline. Archives are downloaded and the vox pylons are ours, broadcasts of Seoulian festivals should be starting any moment.::]] Mere seconds later the sounds of the S-Pop concert replaced the stadard drone of Sith propaganda. The security forces at the archives and museum were quick to scramble, but the support from Drianos was well on the way, in face he was sure he could hear the engines in the distance. Clicking the comms channel again he opened it as he engaged with the security forces, covering the small astromech as he contacted the Olys Turhaya. [["S3R-V0, bring the Olys Turhaya down into low orbit, maintain full stealth profile, we are going to need a quick evac soon."]] He cut the encrypted channel and continued firing, the TL-50 dropping Sith remnants with terrifying precision.