Private I R O N B O R N

[Domina Prime]

​

"You Can See God When I Take My Mask Off"

Darth Virelia ​

The commander's jaw tightened, his eyes locked onto the xeno across the table. The holoscreens flickered, one showing Domina in a smoke-filled ruin dragging a wounded trooper by the scruff of his armor, another of her silhouette wreathed in fire, axe raised as bodies lay in heaps at her feet. Images meant to intimidate most, but she only grinned at them like old trophies.

"You think you can stroll into my station, light up a cigar, and play the warlord at my table, Prime?" Sullivan muttered, fingers drumming against the datapad. "We're not some Outer Rim raider pack, and we don't bend knee to outsiders."

Domina's five eyes swiveled to him, two blinking slow, the others narrowing to insectile slits. Her azure claws clicked deliberately on the tabletop-clack…clack…clack. A rhythm like a death march.

"Whose 'playing'? This look like a GAME to you? Prime is not asking you to bend knee, little soldier." She leaned forward, voice low, every word drawn like a blade across glass. "This One is asking you to make war more…interesting."

She flicked her claws at the holoscreens, dismissing the blood and fire with the same casualness one would swat away a fly.

"You and yours are killers. Cutthroats. Pirates with fleets. This One knows what that life costs—the constant scavenging, the little wars that end with nothing but broken hulls and fewer mouths to feed. But with Prime? With Ha'rangir?" She tapped her chestplate, the beskar catching the sun streaming through the station's glass panes. "There is plunder. There is blood. There is…purpose."

The commander smirked, leaning back, testing her like he'd test the bite of a vibroblade. "And what do the Mandalorians get, exactly, out of cozying up with a colony of 'cutthroats'?"

Domina bared her teeth in something between a smile and a snarl, smoke curling from her mandibles.

"Fodder that enjoys dying," she purred impishly. "Screaming lunatics in rust-bucket ships who will throw themselves into fire for the promise of slaughter. A tide to drown our enemies in. Your people win glory. Mine win the war. And everyone gets to feast on the wreckage together."

Sullivan stared at her for a long moment, then leaned forward, datapad lowering. "You're either insane, or you're the only sane one in the room."

Her segmented jaw clicked, laughter spilling out like broken glass.

"Both, Commander~." She tipped her glass toward him in mock salute, feet still planted brazenly on his desk. "So…what shall it be? Will you drink with me…or will this come down to YOU against ME?"

Sullivan didn't flinch beneath her grin, though his men behind him stiffened. Two soldiers by the door gripped their blasters a little tighter, unsure whether to shoot or bow. The Commander leaned back in his chair, lips curling faintly as though testing her patience.

"Brutal...But you paint it pretty, Prime," he said, tone sharp. "But my people don't kneel to gods. We've made our living in the cracks between empires, raiding the weak, selling our steel. What's to say your war isn't just another leash around our necks?"

Domina's head tilted, a predator's twitch. Her claws traced the rim of her glass, a slow screech of talon against crystal. Her five eyes gleamed with reflected starlight as the sun's rays poured through the station windows and haloed her armored silhouette.

"Leash?" she hissed, voice swelling, filling the chamber. "No, little soldier. Not leash. Revelation."

Her tail curled around the chair as she rose, towering over the table, her shadow swallowing the commander whole. Azure fire bled from her scales, licking faintly across her frame, and her segmented jaw rattled with a sound like distant drums.

"My god does not chain," she growled, her voice thrumming like a war chant, "He consumes! He devours the fat of weak stars and drinks the marrow of dying worlds. He burns the heavens into feast and song. And those who march beneath His banner..." She jabbed a claw against her chestplate with a resounding CLANG. "They are given three gifts: gold to line their coffers, glory to carve their names into the bones of time, and godblood to wash their lips in the sweetest wine of victory."

The holoscreens above flickered with war-footage still, but somehow her words made the carnage there look smaller—insignificant compared to the fire that seemed to radiate off her in waves. The soldiers by the door lowered their eyes without thinking, like lesser beasts before an apex predator.

Sullivan, to his credit, didn't cower. His hand pressed flat on the datapad, knuckles white, as he leaned into her storm. "That sounds a lot like worship, Prime. You expect my fleets to fight and die not for profit, but for your god?"

Dima bent low, claws spread across the table, her mandibles clattering as the embers around her pulsed hotter.

"Not worship," she whispered, her voice reverent and savage in equal measure. "Participation...in something greater than yourselves~"

Then she slammed her claw down with a crack that split the metal table, sending sparks skittering.

"When your warriors die in the fire, their names are sung in the feast-halls of the void. When your ships fall, their wrecks are added to the monuments of flame. Your dead will live forever, Commander. That is more than credits, more than contracts. That is eternity."

Silence. The soldiers shifted uneasily. The air smelled faintly of ozone, like the moment before a lightning strike.

Sullivan stared at her, the faintest grin twitching at the edge of his lips. "…Gold, glory, godblood." He tasted the words, testing them like a vintage drink.

Dima's grin widened, fangs bared, eyes blazing. "A trinity no true warrior can resist."

For a long moment, the two locked eyes across the ruined table, firelight reflecting in the void beyond the glass.

Then Sullivan chuckled low, shaking his head. "You are mad, Prime. Completely mad. But…" He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I'll admit—there's a certain appeal to madness."

The xenos laughter rang out sharp and triumphant, a hunter's bark echoing across the chamber.

"Then drink with Prime, Commander. And let us carve your people's saga into the stars~" She opened her arms wide, gesturing him closer with her four arms opened wide as if inviting the mane into a dangerously sharp embrace.

Oh how her gods would sing~

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

The room was all heat and aftertaste when she arrived—ozone, split metal, the faint perfume of daring lingering in the air. Darth Virelia did not claim the space; she allowed it to notice her. She crossed the threshold like a rumor in silk, lacquered plates drinking the light rather than flashing it back, violet along the seams pulsing with a patient, private rhythm. She did not glance at the décor, the damage, or the witnesses. She let her gaze land where it belonged.

On Prime.

Virelia stopped a comfortable arm's length away, turned slightly so the meeting felt like a confidence rather than a challenge. One gloved hand set a small, slate-black chit on the table—no flourish, just gravity. Her smile was the kind that said she knew the ending and liked how they got there.

"You're beautiful," she said, as if stating the temperature of the room. Her eyes traveled Prime with unapologetic leisure and an expert's pleasure, returning to meet five without blinking. "Not the easy kind. The kind that happens when purpose catches fire." A beat, warm as an exhale. "Virelia, I will honour you by keeping this brief."

She didn't explain the name. Her attention never wavered, the rest of the world edited out of the frame with a quiet cruelty that felt like luxury.

"I'd like to take a walk," she went on, tone casual, almost conversational. "There's a woman who's mistaken paperwork for power. Corporate courier. Pretty smile, ugly spine. She's been buying absolutions with other people's blood and thinks signatures outrun consequences." The chit on the table caught a thin ribbon of light; an index—routes, faces, doors that opened when someone clever knocked twice. "I'm going to close her tab tonight."

Virelia inclined her head the slightest fraction, as if admiring a private joke they now shared. "Come hunt with me. I'll keep the night quiet while you make it loud." The promise was velvet but there was iron under it. "Clean or bloody..." A pause that invited invention. "I'm a generous judge of what that might be."

She let silence stretch just long enough to feel like silk drawn over skin, then eased it with a low, amused hum. "Just the simple test of whether we enjoy moving in the same direction. If we do, we keep walking. If we don't…" She made a small, elegant gesture as if dusting chalk from her fingers. "We call it a beautifully spent evening."

Virelia turned as if to leave, offering Prime the gift of pursuit instead of pressure. Over her shoulder, voice low enough to belong only to two predators and the night between them, she added, "Say yes, and I'll let you choose whether she runs or begs." A small, decadent mercy; a leash disguised as courtesy.

"Shall we?"

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᛖᚳ ᚠᛁᛚ ᛋᚣᚾᚪ ᚦᛖᚱ ᛖᛁᛏ ᚠᚪᚷᚱᛏ

Darth Virelia​

The chamber still reeked of ozone and molten alloy when the Sithling came spiraling in like some kind of dark cosmic storm rupturing the very room she lounged within. Dima, however, seemed the only one wholly unbothered, snatching a bottle of fine refreshments from the table before the trembling caused it to tinker off the edge. She had already sprawled back into her chair, taloned raptor-like legs propped upon the wreckage of the table, the teeth along her cheeks and mandibles twitching faintly in idle satisfaction. Her five eyes tracked the newcomer's every movement...not quite threateningly, but with a kind of enthralled delight, like a child watching fireworks unfold overhead.

When Virelia's words spilled into the air low, measured, sweet as venom- Dima's chest clattered with a sound like half-swallowed laughter. The compliment, the invitation, the daring bluntness of it all made her giddy, made the predator in her thrash like a schoolgirl at her first war-dance! Her claws tapped wildly against her thigh, a battle-drum given to nervous amusement~

"Good lord, By the forges!" she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Sullivan and the guards to hear. "See? She gets it, she looks like she knows how to have FUN."

The soldiers glanced at one another uneasily, but Dima was already swept up, chittering in delight at the audacity of the Sith's approach. She reclined further, pressing the back of her wrist dramatically against her brow as though overcome by swooning.

"Gold, glory, and now- godblood courtship?!" she sang, voice ringing half in jest, half in marvel. Her feet shifted atop the table's edge as though she were a war-princess awaiting more offerings. Her five eyes narrowed in exaggerated appraisal, drinking in Virelia's poised stride and unapologetic gaze.

"Ohhh, this is just DELICIOUS! Sweet as honey smoked meats mnfhm. Oh yes~" she teased, segmenting mandibles rattling with laughter. "So then, do you even know what you've done, little Sithling? This feels like the overture to a WARDATE."

She clicked her claws together sharply, like cymbals marking the rhythm of her amusement. The air thickened with her manic glee.

As Virelia turned to leave, dangling the hunt as bait, Dima rose halfway from her chair- then suddenly leaned back again, feigning weakness, the picture of melodrama! Her clawed hand beckoned lazily, five eyes glowing with anticipation!

"No, no, don't you dare fade just yet!" she crooned, voice thick with wicked pleasure. "Come back, drench me in more of it! Lay it on until I drown! Praise Prime, Sithling, and perhaps- perhaps! This one consider your invitation~"

The guards shuffled very nervously, Sullivan muttered a curse, but Dimas laughter rang high and bright, her mirth as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

"Now, go on," she urged, claws curling forward like a lady offering her hand to a fine gentleman during a grand ball! Sweeping her hair behind her long, radar-like ears girlishly as she bit her lip and rattled her tail in invitation. "Slather me in your honeyed tongue before I decide whether to carve your quarry… or you. You do look like you'd be fun to cross blades with...much more fun than one i know to be prey...so much fun going after the hunters. Even ones as deliciously sweet as yourself~" She whistled and gestued her forward, walking forward a few feet JUST to meet her half way. "Buuuuuuut, this one could be swayed...with just a little more sweetness. Juuuuuuuuust a bit~" She gestured with her lower pair of hands just the amount. The space between them starting in inches and quickly ballooning wider with each passing millisecond.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

Virelia stopped mid-turn like a dancer catching herself on the edge of a spin, amusement lighting her eyes. She came back only a step—close enough to make the air between them a promise, far enough that Prime would have to cross a little hunger to touch. "Careful," she said, voice low, intimate. "I don't drench, not yet. I dose. Sweetness is a controlled substance, and you'll take it on prescription."

Her gaze mapped Prime with leisurely precision, as if measuring where to press to make music. "You are a gorgeous calamity," she allowed, the compliment clean and expensive. "But sugar without discipline spoils." A gloved fingertip traced a small circle in the air between them—never landing, drawing a boundary like a sigil. "Earn, then taste. That's how we make it last."

She tapped the slate chit with a knuckle. It chimed. "The courier is leaving Pier Sixteen in twenty-two minutes. Two escorts, civilian skins; they think their smiles make them invisible. She carries one old habit that will kill her: she double-checks a door after she locks it." Virelia's smile warmed, wicked and approving. "We'll give her a door."

Her tone never rose; it deepened, coaxing. "Three proofs for three kisses of reward." The last word purred like velvet over a blade. "One: patience. You shadow, you let the fear soak. Hunt with your brain before you feed your claws. Two: brutality. I want to send a message with this kill. Three: obedience—mine, for the length of this song. I say left, you don't ask why. I say stop, you freeze between breaths." A beat, kind. "After, you can do as you please."

Prime's melodrama earned a slow, indulgent smile. Virelia took another half-step, close enough for scent—smoke, metal, something wild—to mix with her own: warm spice and storm. Her breath skimmed Prime's cheek without touching. "You want me to lay it on until you drown?" she murmured, sin threaded through reason. "Bring me the courier's last lie still trembling on her lips. Place it in my hand without anyone noticing it left hers. Then I'll decide how sweet to be." The promise hung, darkly opulent. "Maybe I praise. Maybe I bite. Maybe I tell you to kneel and drink from my palm until your mandibles rattle." She let the image linger, then smiled, cruel and kind. "I am very creative, very fun."

Her glove lifted, hovering beside Prime's jaw, refusing contact by a whisper. Denial as gift. "Earn it. Make me proud. Make me hungry." She let her gaze drop—invitational, assessing—then rise with a conspirator's spark. "And if you're very good, when the night is finished, I'll show you what my gratitude does to beautiful monsters."

The glove withdrew. "Window closes before shift-change," she said, back to the cool mechanics of inevitability. "We move now. You carry the noise; I erase the echoes." She tipped her head the slightest fraction, command masquerading as courtesy. "Come."

Then the faintest curve of her mouth, decadent as sin. "Prove you're worth my time, Prime. Then I'll drown you."

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᛖᚳ ᚠᛁᛚ ᛋᚣᚾᚪ ᚦᛖᚱ ᛖᛁᛏ ᚠᚪᚷᚱᛏ

Darth Virelia​

Dima tilted her head as the words poured over her like incense. Half-listening, half already drifting into some daydream of carnage. She caught pieces she liked and let them sparkle on her senses, while the rest fell away. Praise? Her ears perked, claws twitching with glee. Discipline, obedience, patience? Her gaze slid lazily elsewhere, a predator already bored of instructions.

At last she laughed. A deep, rattling cackle that split the air, her massive frame shaking with the sound. She slapped a hand against her armored thigh hard enough to clang."Hah! Not bad, little one. Trying a bit hard though, aren't we? All that velvet and all those blades, and still-" she leaned forward, grin sharp enough to bite, "You came to Prime. And Prime cannot be controlled. Only… swayed. Gently. Briefly."

Her helm tilted, voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp. "I kneel only for my god...or like...i dunno. For my wife or something." A pause, a grin curling cruel. "And since wife doesn't exist... god it is!"

She howled with laughter again, manic and delighted, claws curling like a storm breaking through her joy. Then, with a hiss of breath through her fangs, she exhaled, almost tender.

The Xeno stepped close, close enough for her shadow to swallow Virelia whole. One claw traced along the curve of the Sith's shoulder. Dangerous, a touch that could just as easily peel flesh as caress it. She leaned in with the intimacy of a beast choosing not to bite...for now.

"Mmm. Fine then. Prime will play since you want me SO bad." Her tongue clicked with hunger. "You made it sound too sweet not to. A hunt dressed in poetry, wrapped in sin? Hah! I'll take a taste."

But her grin twisted again, cruel as a warning bell.

"Though you should know, little godling." she purred, her voice breaking into a growl, "Prime finds no satisfaction in slaughtering unworthy prey."

And then, her tail lashed, snapping across Virelia's backside with a whip-crack that would send the Sith forward. Domina's laugh followed, thunderous and wild, echoing like war-drums down the corridor.

"Come then, mistress of metaphors! It's a date~"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

Virelia took the lash like a promise, breath catching only to turn into a smile that bared no teeth. She let the momentum carry her a pace, then pivoted back into Prime's shadow until their silhouettes overlapped like a sin shared. "Good," she murmured, a whisper slick as lacquer. Two fingers hovered over the path the tail had traced—never quite touching, denial sharpened to a knife-edge. "Earn the next stroke. I collect what I mark."

—

The docks breathed cold metal and brine. Sodium lamps hissed in halos; cargo spiders and swing-cranes ticked like clocks with rusting hearts. Virelia moved as if she owned the angles: head slightly bowed, eyes working, hands empty, promise full. Ahead, Pier Sixteen's feeder lane split around a low customs gantry—and squatting in its shadow was the problem.

Eight legs, carbon-black, joints banded in ceramic white; a bulbous thorax studded with sensor pearls and a preacher's crown of antennae. Its ventral chassis bristled with twin arc-lances and a canister rack whose stenciling lied about "non-lethal restraint." The machine tracked the lane with a spider's patience and a bureaucrat's malice.

"Mm," Virelia hummed, the sound a private laugh. "Our little courier brought a chaperone with fangs."

Her gaze skimmed the lattice of catwalks, the reflection of status LEDs in oily puddles, the rhythmic blink of a roofline repeater. "Uplink on the east spine, redundant on the west. Four guard-drones asleep behind those crates; they wake loud. Courier's path threads right under that gantry in ninety seconds."

She turned her chin, violet eyes hungry and amused. "Prepare to get violent."

A fingertip drew a neat circle in the air: a kill box only she seemed to see. "I'll black the feeds, gag the repeater, and freeze the drones' hearts. When my hand lifts, you take the spider on." A breath, wicked with reward. "Bring me the courier whole and breathing terror, and I'll decide how sweet the night gets."

She started forward, voice a thread between command and caress. "Ready, Prime?"

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᛖᚳ ᚠᛁᛚ ᛋᚣᚾᚪ ᚦᛖᚱ ᛖᛁᛏ ᚠᚪᚷᚱᛏ

Darth Virelia​

Dima lingered impishly just over the stranger's shoulder, her five eyes following every sweep of the docks as though aligning her sight with whatever Virelia was plotting. The massive axe she carried thunked into the plasteel floor with a cratered bite, her stance loose, stretching her four arms like a predator lounging dismissively and yawned heavily behind her mask.

"Just to be clear~," she drawled, tilting her head with a grin hidden behind her mask, "I'm scrapping the metal and savoring the flesh, yes? You want him alive and pretty, not a mangled mess, right? Lets get evil~"

Without waiting for an answer, she stepped lazily out into the open, cloak rippling behind her. The docklights and sensor beams found her immediately, a half-dozen targeting lasers painting across her body. She slipped her cloak from her shoulders like a matador tempting a bull, whistling loud enough to echo across the bay as the spider-droids adjusted their aim.

The first volley roared to life—plasma fire and lances of energy screaming toward her position. But Dima only laughed, flourishing her cloak in a blur of purple silk that devoured her silhouette. A billow of smoke and ozone swallowed her, and when the fabric fell, she was already gone. Propelled skyward in a piston-limbed leap that cracked the deck beneath her.

She came down like a meteor, taloned feet spearing through the carapace of the lead spider's chassis, shredding steel as if it were parchment. In a single motion she backflipped from the ruin, spinning beneath its bulk as threads of glimmering azure silk whipped from her wrists, snaring the guard-drones in a tangled net that dragged them into their master's collapse. One of the tank's legs snapped under her claws with a shriek of rending metal, and the whole mass of machines toppled sideways in a screaming heap.

Domina landed lightly amid the chaos, brushing the dust from her skirt with the prim air of a lady adjusting her dress after a dance. Her mask tilted toward the courier, who froze in disbelief, and she snapped her claws with a devilish impatience.

"Ah ah ah—don't even think about running. Prime doesn't like to chase~" Her tail uncoiled and looped around his waist, dragging him forward with an almost playful tug. A sharp smack to his rear urged him into motion, the beast's mockery laced with menace.

Then, with a flourish of all four arms, she looked back toward Virelia's perch and threw up FOUR GLEAMING THUMBS UP in triumph! An absurdly comical gesture if not for the wreckage burning around her, the shadows of a conqueror who treated carnage like a game. Though, it was to be understood. That Dima feasted for prey who challenged, and what better prey than that of a god? This? This was...practice! A fun warm up before the coming war that lied in wait upon the fringes of the stars.

So this, this at the very least was an advertisement to the Mistress of Metaphors. Mandalorians tended to blur and blend together with their jetpacks, gadgets and brightly colored plates of beskar. But to witness Prime was to witness a breed of Mandalorian long thought extinct.

A god-fearing child of the old gods~

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

Virelia watched from the gantry, one hand resting lightly on the cold rail, the other tucked behind her back. Where Prime thundered like a meteor, she remained still as a dagger hidden in silk. The violence below played out like theater, but her smile was private, reserved for herself—and for the prey that had just stumbled into her stage.

Domina's chaos had the desired effect. The guards scattered like startled vermin, two dragging their blasters up to bear, another fumbling with a commlink. The courier herself froze in wide-eyed horror, tail already hooked around her waist. The air reeked of ozone, fried circuitry, and the faintest trace of perfume still clinging to the woman's corporate coat.

"Pretty," Virelia murmured, almost to herself. "And very loud."

She lifted her gloved hand. A ripple whispered outward from her palm—lights dimmed, sensors blinked dead, the commlink in the guard's hand shrieked once before melting to slag. Shadows thickened unnaturally across the hangar floor, swallowing distance, muffling sound. She had erased the echoes, exactly as promised.

Then, with decadent ease, she descended. Not leaping, not rushing, but walking down the gantry stairs as if she were stepping into a ballroom rather than a battlefield. Every step was slow enough to savor the wreckage Prime had wrought.

The guards who had rallied barely lifted their weapons before invisible fingers snapped their spines sideways, laying them in elegant arcs across the floor. Virelia barely glanced at them. Her eyes were for Prime—and for the trembling courier bound in her coils.

"Exquisite," she purred, coming close enough for the courier to hear and shudder. "You do make a convincing advertisement, Prime. Savage wrapped in silk." Her gaze dropped, deliberate, tracing the lines of azure thread still glimmering from Prime's wrists to the drones caught like flies. "A goddess's child, indeed."

She tilted her chin toward the courier, violet light playing along her features like stage-light. "Now, our little songbird. She is yours to bruise, but not to break. She still owes me her secrets, and I prefer lips intact when they tell lies." Her glove lifted and, with a lazy flick, the courier's mouth locked in silence—her fear made louder by the absence of any sound.

Virelia drifted closer, brushing the edge of Prime's shoulder with her own, letting the faintest contact hum like a threat and a promise. "You've earned sweetness," she whispered, tone decadent as poured wine. "But I prefer to feed it in layers. Hunt first, taste after."

Her eyes burned with intelligence and lust both, violet neon cutting into Prime's five. "The real game begins when her employers come looking. The spider was only a prelude. There will be more—uglier, sharper, louder. We will play them like strings." She drew a finger lazily across Prime's mandibles, just shy of touching. "And if you keep playing this beautifully, I may decide you are worth drowning after all."

She stepped past, her cloak brushing Prime's frame as she moved toward the courier, fingers curling with delicate ownership. "Drag her along, darling. And make certain her heart keeps racing. Fear makes the sweetest wine."

The chamber hissed with distant alarms, red lights beginning to strobe down the dock. Virelia's smile widened, licentious and knowing. "Ah. The encore."

She turned her head slightly, voice low, commanding, intimate. "Prepare yourself, Prime. Now we dance."

The strobing crimson spilled down the dock as fresh boots thundered in—half a dozen guards in blackened armor, blasters raised, backed by two more spider-droids dragging their legs in sharp, metallic cadence. Sirens wailed overhead, drowning out the courier's muffled sobs. Virelia didn't flinch; she rolled her shoulders back, violet eyes gleaming like lanterns in the haze.

"Symmetry," she murmured, almost pleased. "Two spiders, six men, one songbird." Her hand brushed Prime's arm, an intimate spark amid the storm. "Take the stage, darling. Make them believe they interrupt gods at play."

Virelia stepped aside, cloak flowing, already weaving shadow into snares.

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᛖᚳ ᚠᛁᛚ ᛋᚣᚾᚪ ᚦᛖᚱ ᛖᛁᛏ ᚠᚪᚷᚱᛏ

Darth Virelia​

Domina found herself smitten, no, exalted by the praise of her god's work. The zealot in her stirred, spine straightening as the chittering hum of pleasure rippled through her throat. Her massive tail lashed behind her like a living censer, its rattle and sway punctuating her delight. She folded her four arms neatly behind her back, a mockery of composure, as she watched the Sith temptress work her art of terror upon their trembling prize.

Her claws flexed idly, obsidian tips catching the dim emergency light as she inspected them with girlish fascination, like a schoolgirl preening before the mirror of her own chaos.

When Virelia instructed her not to maim the captive, Dima exhaled through her helm, a low, mechanical sigh of irritation that came out more like a growl. Her tail lashed once, sharply. The Warpriest rolled her eyes behind her mask and gave the bound courier a dismissive glance, like a disappointed predator turning from a runt.

"Preying upon the weak," she muttered, tone light but edged with scorn, "does little to please my god."

Her attention shifted back to Virelia, drawn by the faint brush of a gloved finger tracing the edge of her mask, where her mandibles would meet. That simple, teasing touch made her tail twitch and rattle like a serpent coiling in amusement. Dima's laughter bubbled up, bright and incongruous amid the tension.

"O–oh, you," she purred, curling a strand of white hair around her azure claws, fangs flashing as she bit her lip. "You always know how to butter me up, temptress~"

The moment was fleeting. The alarms shifted pitch. The air thickened with the coming of violence. Reinforcements spilled from the shadows—armored guards, their visors glinting in the red haze, the thunder of spider-droid legs marking the rhythm of their advance.

"Mnf...to be continued then, temptress~" she cooed, voice dripping with honey and warlust.

Her fingers grazed the runes carved into her armor's plates. The inscriptions pulsed, alive with stored sunfire, and an azure radiance crawled along the seams of her beskar like veins of molten glass. Energy gathered around her hands until the air screamed with it. Blue fire blossoming from her palms like captured stars.

From that celestial flame, she pulled not metal, but meaning. A hilt, then a shape, then the great blade itself: Starfang, her radiant relic of the forge and the faith. It erupted into form, longer than she was tall, burning with divine fury.

She thrust it downward with a reverent slam, the impact cracking the durasteel floor. The sound alone was enough to halt the advancing soldiers. The ground beneath them pulsed with heat, a spreading corona of azure fire licking at their boots, daring them to step closer.

None did. Even through their visors, they could feel it, the sense that to cross that invisible threshold was to trespass into something sacred and profane in equal measure.

When Virelia brushed her arm again, Dima tilted her helm just slightly, as though acknowledging the cue of a dance begun. Her tail uncoiled in a slow, sinuous motion as she leaned forward, dragging Starfang along the ground. The sword's edge carved a glowing scar through the metal, sparks hissing upward like offerings.

"Hail," she began, voice rising, echoing with the conviction of a sermon shouted through the void, "To the one true god~"

The words hit like a hammerblow, echoing in the hangar and through the comms of every soldier who heard them. To the Sith, it was theater. To Dima, it was worship. The air stank of starlight, blood, and something divine.

And as she strode forward, laughter spilling from behind her mask, she was not just a warrior.

She was the hymn. The offering.

The living flame of Ha'rangir's will.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

Virelia did not move at first. She simply watched.

Prime's radiance was a holy storm—wild, consuming, radiant enough to make even a Sith pause. The soldiers faltered, their courage drowning in the blue tide of her faith, and Virelia drank in the sight with the slow pleasure of one who knew beauty best when it was dangerous. Her smile was small, private, born of equal parts admiration and calculation. The violet glow in her eyes softened to something almost tender.

When she finally stepped forward, it was like the shadow of the flame had come alive. Her boots met the scorched floor with deliberate grace, cloak trailing through the heat that licked at its hem but never dared consume it. The air smelled of ion and incense.

"Magnificent," she murmured, voice low and reverent in a way that still managed to sound like a caress. "You make zealotry look divine."

She reached Prime slowly—no rush, no command, just inevitability. The azure light coiled around them both, painting her armor in blue fire and violet dusk. Her gloved hand came to rest on Prime's shoulder, gentle enough to be mistaken for affection, firm enough to be ownership.

"You speak your god's name with the conviction of a galaxy burning," Virelia whispered against the shell of her helm. "He would be pleased. And so am I." Her fingers drifted downward, tracing the seam of armor where plates met flesh. "You see, I've been building something—a Court, a congregation of sorts. Alongside it, Mandalorians who crave more than contracts and coin. The kind who kneel to gods in the dark and still know how to aim true."

Her tone shifted, deepening, intimate but inescapable. "You would fit beautifully among them. You would worship, you would feast, you would bleed in his name… and all of it, all of it, beneath mine."

She leaned close until her words brushed like silk against Prime's mask. "Understand that clearly, my dear zealot. In your heavens, you are free to howl, to praise, to revel in Ha'rangir's fire. But in the mortal realm?" Her lips curved into a cruel smile, and her breath tasted of heat and danger.

Her hand slipped up, two fingers pressing lightly beneath Prime's chin, tilting her gaze upward with languid dominance. "I will never chain your faith. I only wish to see how bright it burns when aimed... properly."

Virelia's gaze flicked toward the trembling courier and the soldiers still frozen at the edge of the inferno. "Tell me," she purred, voice low, decadent. "Can your god's hymn spare a verse for conquest? For a galaxy remade by hands like ours?"

She smiled again, soft and ruinous. "Join me in the Dark Court, and I will give you a temple of your own to burn."

 

[Domina Prime]

​

ᛖᚳ ᚠᛁᛚ ᛋᚣᚾᚪ ᚦᛖᚱ ᛖᛁᛏ ᚠᚪᚷᚱᛏ

Darth Virelia​

The dust of her enemies scattered to the wind, glowing faintly in the fading blue storm. The docks were quiet now, save for the crackle of fire and the whimper of those few too slow to flee. Dima dragged her blade along the durasteel, the edge sparking as it carved a shallow scar through the ground.

She rolled her shoulder, snorted, and muttered to no one in particular,

"This work's better suited for pirates and thugs. Hardly the labor of gods."

Half-pleased with the lavish praise that had followed her performance, half-annoyed by the dull simplicity of it all, she stared at the trembling soldiers with undisguised boredom. These weren't warriors. They were fodder. And bullying the weak never sat right with her. It didn't feel like strength, it felt like decay.

Still...the Sith's honeyed voice was enough to make her forget, for a moment, how sour the victory tasted.

Her laughter came soft, musical even, as Virelia spoke, her tone an intoxicating mix of reverence and threat. Dima almost leaned into the touch, claws flexing at her sides as the Queen of Shadows traced a path along her armor. But then came the words, those cursed, beautiful words.

"You would fit beautifully among them. You would worship, you would feast, you would bleed in his name...and all of it, all of it, beneath mine."

The last syllable hadn't even faded before Dima's hand shot up.

Her claws closed around Virelia's wrist with a snap, the sound sharp enough to echo off the ruined walls. She yanked her close, so close their masks clinked together in a kiss of metal and ozone.

Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr.

"You speak sweetly, kitten. So sweetly I almost forget the poison in your words."

A low chuckle escaped her throat as her claws traced lazy, predatory circles along the Sith's shoulder.

"But there's something important you should understand before you purr too loud."

She leaned in until her breath fogged Virelia's visor.

"To place yourself above my god... may work on the faithless, those of my kin whose only altar is a credit chip. But when you speak to Prime..."

Her grip tightened, claws pricking through the fine weave of the Queen's glove.

"...you speak to His voice made flesh. And god speaks above all else. Even you, my pretty little temptress."

She held that gaze a moment longer before releasing her with a slow, deliberate grace.

"I have only three rules," she continued, stepping back with a flick of her tail. "One, my blade never turns against my kin. Two, the word of my god is absolute. I will hear no blasphemy of His will. And three, if you want the help of Prime..."

She gestured casually toward the smoldering wreckage and the corpses still smoking in the light.

"...then the enemy must be worthy. Do not summon me for whatever the kark this is."

Her fanged grin glimmered in the firelight.

"Consider this a preview, a small taste of what you'd be buying. But remember this…"

She stepped forward again, towering, radiant, eyes burning like blue suns through the haze.

"My knee only bends for god. And if you want me on my knees, then I expect a proposal."

A slow, wicked smile curved her lips.

"Only my consort may command me so, for love, for passion, for loyalty to an ancient bond. You want to wield me, my Queen?"

Her claws clinked together like ringing bells as she spread her four arms wide in challenge and invitation alike.

"Then learn this: I am no minion to be aimed. I am a storm to be unleashed. And if you think you can ride me-" she laughed, low and taunting, "-then you'd better hold on tight."

The air between them thrummed, sacred blue against sacrilegious violet, as if the gods themselves leaned close to listen.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Hunt them down."

Tags - Domina Prime

"You mistake me," she said softly, her voice slipping through the space between them like smoke, "if you think I ask you to kneel for me."

Her free hand rose, slow as a sunrise, resting on the side of Prime's helm—not to restrain, but to guide. Her thumb traced the edge where ceramite met chitin, where faith met flesh. The touch was deliberate, claiming, intimate. "I do not stand above your god. I simply recognize His reflection when it stares back through you. You burn in His image. I—" her eyes flared violet, twin stars of possession and intellect "—intend to make the galaxy remember what that image looks like."

She twisted her wrist within Prime's grasp, not pulling away, but turning their hands until the claws pressed into her palm instead. It was a gesture of indulgent reversal—an offering disguised as defiance. "Hold tight, then, storm. But know this…"

Her tone sank to a dark purr. "I do not ride you. I conduct you. You call it Ha'rangir's will, I call it design. Whatever the name, I make it beautiful. I make it last."

She leaned in until her breath brushed the seam of Prime's mask, voice lowering until it was almost a whisper. "You think to frighten me with thunder? I have broken worlds with a sigh. You think to tempt me with fire? I was born in one."

Her lips almost touched the edge of Prime's cheekplate; her words vibrated through metal and bone. "Do not mistake discipline for leash, or reverence for submission. You will fight for gods, yes… but you will learn from monsters. And when this war of ours burns across the stars, I will not aim you like a weapon." Her tongue flicked the word aim as if tasting it. "I will unleash you in chorus. Because I know what a storm does to empires when it's conducted properly."

Virelia slid her hand down, tracing Prime's forearm, leaving a faint smear of her own blood against azure armor. It glimmered violet under the firelight. "You speak of proposals," she murmured, stepping closer until every word tasted like promise. "So let this be mine: I will not bind you, Prime. I will elevate you. You will worship your god, and I will build you a world worthy of Him to burn."

Her lips brushed the side of Prime's jawplate—barely. "You call me temptress. Perhaps. But temptation is a tool. Obedience, a conversation." Her voice dropped to a growl, sultry and sharp. "Learn to listen, and I will show you what worship feels like when the divine answers back."

She drew back a fraction, eyes gleaming like amethyst embers. "Now tell me, my storm," she purred, "do you still think I can't hold on?"