Then
Cyprian sat atop an empty fuel barrel, polishing his vibrosword amid a captive audience of nearly two dozen bloodied shirtless pirates in an airlock. They were arranged in a semicircle, all kneeling in stress positions, leaning backward on their haunches with their hands resting on top of their heads. Many had begun to tremble and wobble - they had been holding position for so long - but none dared to fall over and relax.
Smoldering mounds of ash piled before them provided a stark and constant reminder of the consequence for doing so.
So there they kneeled, and Cyprian sat, in complete silence save for the occasional whoosh from the slice of his sword through the air. The broadsword was large, but he handled it as easily as a paring knife.
The silence was only broken as Cyprian was approached by his second of command, Velt openly sneering at the defeated pirates with his helmet nestled under his arm. As per usual, Cyprian remained helmeted. Even on Shatterstar, few had ever witnessed the Lord Commander out of his armor, and even then it was within the private confines of his personal quarters. Some Aspirants initially mistook him as some flavor of Mandalorian, but he would simply tell them that he always liked to be prepared - as they should be. Wild Space was well, wild.
"Our Reaver friends were sitting on a full vault, and many of their vessels remain intact. Quite a good haul, I'd say."
He turned from Cyprian to the pirates, winking.
The Balarac were growing steadily, but such growth could not be sustained without a steady source of income. In Wild Space, they had found one: piracy. Pirating the pirates to be exact. No one would shed a tear over the parasites. It was pest control.
He sheathed his sword, now back to business. "What of our casualties, and the Reaver's slaves?"
"Light. Maybe a few dozen seriously wounded, and a handful slain. We really did catch these buggers with their pants down. As for the captives, they're secured. A few require medical attention. Also...two women identified themselves as members of the Silver Service Corps, engineers. Apparently, their team was ambushed along the frontier of Concord space weeks ago. Their command probably thinks they're dead by now."
"Silvers too?" he asked as he slowly craned his neck scanning the room. "How bold."
Stupid, he meant.
"They are all free men now," he announced loudly to everyone present. "See to it that they are transferred to Swordwind. Inform the Corpsman that we'll attempt to make contact with their Silver cohorts once our operation is complete. Now, to deal with the riff raff."
Velt nodded, then departed with a wave at pirates for one last time.
Cyprian rose from the barrel, hand resting on his sword's pommel as he began to slowly pace.
"Your group has - had - quite a gruesome reputation in this sector. You're quite infamous for a certain tactic - forcing conquered settlers who resisted you to commit decimation among themselves. Eventually, people just started paying tithes before you even landed your forces. Clearly you understand the value of terror..."
He had made his way to a console set into the wall. With a few button presses, there came the loud whine of servos, and then a hiss. More than a few pirates quivered in place, understanding the implication.
"I don't believe in Karma, but I like to think I have a wicked sense of humor," he chuckled. "I think there would be nothing more humorous than to treat you to the same end as your victims, but with my own personal twist. In decimation, traditionally one of nine is sacrificed, but among you, only one will be able to remain. To tell the story of what happened here today. I estimate at the current rate of depressurization, you only have about 7 or 8 more minutes to decide. Tick tock."
Like Velt, he waved as he left the airlock for the inner station doors, then when they closed behind them, he closed his hand into a fist. The console he had used earlier flickered, sparked, and died as it crumpled into itself.
He turned back to watch them through the viewport. Previously paralyzed by fear of disintegration, panic had swept through the pirates as they face a new one of asphyxiation. In the first couple minutes, they bolted from their positions, beating against the door and screaming as Cyprian looked on, expression unknowable under his helm.
When it became clear that Cyprian would not budge, and their breathing was becoming noticeably more strained, they finally began to turn on each other. Just like he expected. When there was nothing else for the rats to take, they would consume themselves.
However, he didn't let the royale play out its conclusion. Witnessing their final debasement was enough. A single button press on an inner console sent everything within the airlock flying out into the abyss as the vacuum of space sucked them out through fully opened doors.
"Our sigil, and their corpses will suffice." he clarified "Let us remain an enigma to our enemies and allow their imaginations to run wild."
No greater horror existed than those born of the mind.
Cyprian sat atop an empty fuel barrel, polishing his vibrosword amid a captive audience of nearly two dozen bloodied shirtless pirates in an airlock. They were arranged in a semicircle, all kneeling in stress positions, leaning backward on their haunches with their hands resting on top of their heads. Many had begun to tremble and wobble - they had been holding position for so long - but none dared to fall over and relax.
Smoldering mounds of ash piled before them provided a stark and constant reminder of the consequence for doing so.
So there they kneeled, and Cyprian sat, in complete silence save for the occasional whoosh from the slice of his sword through the air. The broadsword was large, but he handled it as easily as a paring knife.
The silence was only broken as Cyprian was approached by his second of command, Velt openly sneering at the defeated pirates with his helmet nestled under his arm. As per usual, Cyprian remained helmeted. Even on Shatterstar, few had ever witnessed the Lord Commander out of his armor, and even then it was within the private confines of his personal quarters. Some Aspirants initially mistook him as some flavor of Mandalorian, but he would simply tell them that he always liked to be prepared - as they should be. Wild Space was well, wild.
"Our Reaver friends were sitting on a full vault, and many of their vessels remain intact. Quite a good haul, I'd say."
He turned from Cyprian to the pirates, winking.
The Balarac were growing steadily, but such growth could not be sustained without a steady source of income. In Wild Space, they had found one: piracy. Pirating the pirates to be exact. No one would shed a tear over the parasites. It was pest control.
He sheathed his sword, now back to business. "What of our casualties, and the Reaver's slaves?"
"Light. Maybe a few dozen seriously wounded, and a handful slain. We really did catch these buggers with their pants down. As for the captives, they're secured. A few require medical attention. Also...two women identified themselves as members of the Silver Service Corps, engineers. Apparently, their team was ambushed along the frontier of Concord space weeks ago. Their command probably thinks they're dead by now."
"Silvers too?" he asked as he slowly craned his neck scanning the room. "How bold."
Stupid, he meant.
"They are all free men now," he announced loudly to everyone present. "See to it that they are transferred to Swordwind. Inform the Corpsman that we'll attempt to make contact with their Silver cohorts once our operation is complete. Now, to deal with the riff raff."
Velt nodded, then departed with a wave at pirates for one last time.
Cyprian rose from the barrel, hand resting on his sword's pommel as he began to slowly pace.
"Your group has - had - quite a gruesome reputation in this sector. You're quite infamous for a certain tactic - forcing conquered settlers who resisted you to commit decimation among themselves. Eventually, people just started paying tithes before you even landed your forces. Clearly you understand the value of terror..."
He had made his way to a console set into the wall. With a few button presses, there came the loud whine of servos, and then a hiss. More than a few pirates quivered in place, understanding the implication.
"I don't believe in Karma, but I like to think I have a wicked sense of humor," he chuckled. "I think there would be nothing more humorous than to treat you to the same end as your victims, but with my own personal twist. In decimation, traditionally one of nine is sacrificed, but among you, only one will be able to remain. To tell the story of what happened here today. I estimate at the current rate of depressurization, you only have about 7 or 8 more minutes to decide. Tick tock."
Like Velt, he waved as he left the airlock for the inner station doors, then when they closed behind them, he closed his hand into a fist. The console he had used earlier flickered, sparked, and died as it crumpled into itself.
He turned back to watch them through the viewport. Previously paralyzed by fear of disintegration, panic had swept through the pirates as they face a new one of asphyxiation. In the first couple minutes, they bolted from their positions, beating against the door and screaming as Cyprian looked on, expression unknowable under his helm.
When it became clear that Cyprian would not budge, and their breathing was becoming noticeably more strained, they finally began to turn on each other. Just like he expected. When there was nothing else for the rats to take, they would consume themselves.
However, he didn't let the royale play out its conclusion. Witnessing their final debasement was enough. A single button press on an inner console sent everything within the airlock flying out into the abyss as the vacuum of space sucked them out through fully opened doors.
---------------------
"Were we not going to keep some survivors?" Velt asked as they both stood in the main hangar of the station. "I thought you wanted to spook the other outfits?"
"Our sigil, and their corpses will suffice." he clarified "Let us remain an enigma to our enemies and allow their imaginations to run wild."
No greater horror existed than those born of the mind.