Private Severance

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Most weren't privy to the private plans of the Galactic Powers, but Cedric still had his connections. Word from the grapevine was that the New Imperial Order intended to make their defection from the Sith Empire total. The errant knight had full intention of being there when that separation came to light, but he had his own plans. The imperial knights employed by the NIO were capable enough, but they couldn't fight like he could, didn't understand how to kill them the same way he did.

To destroy the Sith, one needed to strike at their passions. They were slaves to their emotions, and one could control a slave easily enough so long as they had whatever that slave desired most. For many of them, it was prestige that drove the heart, and it was that very prestige that Cedric intended to strike.

The Zambranos were a soulless people, and he doubted they would care much on a personal level if one of their number was harmed, but they would certainly recoil at the indignation that would follow the capture of their kin. It was that humiliation that Cedric craved. The carrion lords of the Bogan would need to be reminded of their mortality.

Word was that one of the emperor's daughters was aboard this station on the border between Sith and NIO space. Cedric didn't have all the details, and he didn't much care why the woman was spending her days among her father's enemies. He would simply overpower her, as he had done to those before, and make certain that her execution would be as public as the razing of his homeworld. After she was dead, he'd just find another, stack up the bodies until he could no longer be ignored. The empire would remember Ession.

Clad in his trenchcoat, Cedric was a relatively invisible figure moving among the crowds. His cowl was drawn heavy over his face, shrouding his features in shadow as he followed the path the empyrean laid out before him. There were multiple Sith aboard the station, he could sense their depravity; it was a feeling similar to walking into a building and getting hit by the lovely scent of a pile of bantha shit. Certain that the Zambrano girl would be the most powerful of them, Cedric made a beeline for the biggest pile.

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

The discussion within the room fell upon deaf ears. Equipped with only the most impassive expression, Evelynn's emerald stare bore a hole through the wall before her.

The woman sat confined within her latest prison, her wheelchair; the result of a hastily repaired spinal fracture as she considered everything that had lead her life to this point, and there was so much to consider. A litany of what-ifs, and alternating scenarios repeating over and over as if such fruitless thinking could ever change what was the now.

Normally accustomed to such grievous injuries it was a wonder why this one left her trapped in a vortex of actual misery.

Of course, losing the use of one's legs was more than enough reason to despair but in the same breath, she had been assured by a specialised physiotherapist that this was only temporary. It would take time and effort, but eventually, the woman would be back up on her own feet. A mere setback, nothing in the grand scheme of things.

And yet it was discouraging.

Having cast off the shackles of her past madness-made masochism Evelynn felt as if her destiny was still rooted in suffering. Only instead of her crime being one of rampant indulgence, it was now for that audacity of trying to make progress. To become a proper Sith and one of her own merit and ambition. The blonde hadn't sought enemies in this process, simply trying to improve herself and yet it still wasn't enough.

Here she was, the crippled turncoat child; forever destined to be the joke.

The very thought was like swallowing bile, and it left the woman's temperament foul and her spirit exhausted. She couldn't just die, no, that would be too easy, that wouldn't sate the galaxy's thirst for cruelty at her expense.

So as those around her continued their impassioned discussions of ambition, Evelynn simply sat there, staring blindly.

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He picked up on her scent like a hound on the hunt. He knew Zambrano blood better than most, he'd certainly spilt enough of it to know it when it was near. The knight errant made his way through the crisscross of corridors, avoiding contact whenever possible, and playing off his presence as a simple knight trainee whenever asked. A handful rquired more convincing, which he eagerly provided via mental manipulation. In the past, he might have felt a bit guilty about manipulating the minds of the innocent, but things had changed.

If he was going to free the homeworld, then that would require a certain degree of ruthlessness. He needed the mindset of his youth, that of a man constantly at war with the world. If he could think that way, then he could justify just about and anything, and he'd only have to linger on it for the rest of his life as a tradeoff.

It was a price he was willing to pay. So much so that it almost frightened him, but then the reality of his situation would set in and quickly murder those doubts. He was done living the way others needed him to, and he was done living by the limitations others set upon him. This liberation would be of his own design, and damn the galaxy is it tried to stop him.

He eventually found himself by some meeting room. He could feel her on the other side, lingering there, taking up space like the rest of her degenerate family, offering nothing to the galaxy other than a need to draw breath and bring about misery.

He'd kill her. Make her understand the hell her people had brought to his, and for a moment, Cedric would feel whole again.

An open hand slammed against the door, and it responded by flying straight off the hinges. A number of imperial officers and what looked to be force users were within. Cedric paid them no heed. A twisting of the fluids flowing through the brains of the non-force users sent them slumping to the floor, alive, but certainly out of the fight.

One of the Sith ignited a blade and raised it to strike him down. With a gesture of telekinetic will, Cedric forced the man's hand to jam left, and in turn impale himself with his own blade. He fell to a heap in silence.

The Essonian's gaze whipped toward Beatrice Govan , murderous intent obvious in his glare. "Zambrano?"

 

[Beatrice Govan]

So consumed was she by the cycle of self-pity that the woman didn't notice a single thing out of place, not surprising given that she wasn't fully aware of things that were in place either.

When the door burst free from its hinges and hit the carpet with a very heavy thud Evelynn's attentions were finally shifted, alarm cresting upon her severe features and an eyebrow instantly rocketing in perturbed curiosity. As the uniforms suddenly fell to the floor in synchronicity the expression changed, morphing into what was a very hideous variety of anger.

“Oo uh ee fuien oyen,” she actually remarked aloud, her lack of tongue ensuring that all of her verbal fury was held in strange vowels.

Evelynn observed as one of her fellow Sith fell victim to his own lightsaber, before, of course, the intruder's attentions were directed towards her. The woman's face twitched in response to his face of death and her hands gripped the armrests of her wheelchair not out of fear, but out of sheer rage.

No, I'm Evelynn, the rat-faced girl, her venomous telepathic tone shot back immediately, completely lacking her usual frigid tone and instead dripping with sarcasm.

Why wouldn't this happen? Why wouldn't there be more misery to pile atop her current existence? There wasn't enough suffering! Clearly what she had been lacking this entire time was more attempted assassinations, that was it, that was where Evelynn Zambrano/Dorn/The Rat-Faced Girl had been going wrong. There hadn't been enough trouble!

Her patience was evidently gone.

Yes? What is it? The blonde inquired with that same furious intonation, her golden hand actively crushing the armrest it sat upon. Are you going to maim me? Murder me? Throw me out the window perhaps? Oh, do be sure to spit on me first, it wouldn't be bloody right if you didn't do that!

Her nose, still showing the signs of being broken not long ago scrunched into a snarl and telepathically she screeched.

Out with it!

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This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The death of the Sith warrior brought Cedric no small amount of satisfaction. They weren't people, not really, just sycophants, slaves by another name. They existed solely to bring about the suffering of others, and slaughtering them was righteous. He'd made a mistake offering their ilk mercy before. they'd always stab him in the back. Everyone would.

So why in the ever living fuck was this one as she was. Seated in a wheelchair, the Zambrano girl was about as much of a threat as your average child. To another, her power of the empyrean likely would have been threatening, but to Cedric, she was little more than a cripple with a meager graps over the Force. Or perhaps more - truthfully he did not care. She wasn't the challenge he'd come hunting for. She couldn't provide him with the life or death struggle he craved in his very bones.

He simultaneously longed to feel the bones in her neck collapse in his grip, and pitied her. The warring emotions formed a cocktail that Cedric was wholly unused to, and that made him hesitate.

The woman hissed in his mind. His instinct was to lock her out entirely, but the odd words-that-were-not-words she spoke stilled his action. Perhaps she could only communicate through telepathy.

"Murder was on the agenda, yes," he replied, his voice simmering with barely contained hatred. "I can smell your kind from a mile away. Zambranos all have the same stink," he spat, letting the glob burst against the floor as he approached the woman.

A foot or so separated them as Cedric crouched down, eyes of storm cloud met emerald, and for a moment his anger abated. "I intend to wipe out your entire family. Every Zambrano flayed for all to see. Your people are a cancer upon the galaxy, and I am the cure." He snarled. He only had a few minutes before security forces responded. Time to get to work.

"Do you have final words?"

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Oh, as if it couldn't get worse, not only was murder on the agenda, she was also apparently smelly, the notion of which caused the woman's head to tilt, her expression still seething but now tinged with incredulity.

It was almost absurd, she might have even laughed were it not for her currently foul disposition.

The intruder drew eye-level and spoke his purpose, a vile snort emerging from the diminutive woman at the very prospect of being flayed and why?

Because of her father, not for her own crimes, no, that would make too much sense.

Oh, yes. Flay the cripple, her metaphysical voice spat back, still overloaded with scorn as she leaned forwards in her chair, drawing her face closer to his, very noble, I'm sure they'll have a parade in your honour as the galaxy miraculously heals upon my demise. Saviour of the masses! He killed a woman in a wheelchair for us! Hurrah!

There was a fleeting temptation to just lean back and allow the man what he wanted, to let him kill her right there and then in an anticlimactic display. However, that was just the dour voice of the woman's current predicament speaking. If she truly wished to die then she would have given the pleasure to the New Imperial Order and wouldn't have even been here in the first place.

And tell me, what are my crimes?

Enough self-ambition was still held to warrant survival, plans didn't stop because allegiances changed.

Aside from existing, of course, a great misfortune that I couldn't prevent even if I wished it so, Evelynn continued, before snapping once more, her golden hand releasing the armrest of the chair and pointing a sharp finger towards herself, and no, not my father's crimes, not the crimes of my siblings or whichever relative lurks in the shadow. What have I done, specifically, to deserve this?

Her jaw hung open in her ire, revealing teeth and a mouth that did not hold a tongue, the blonde's entire body trembling with seething rage.

Do tell, for I'd really like to bloody know!

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He didn't have an answer for her. Not truthfully anyway. He hadn't known this Zambrano existed until he'd arrived in NIO space, and her existence was about the only thing he knew. It hadn't mattered much one way or the other. Their ilk were all the same, and the ones that acted like they had the barest shred of a conscience always disappointed. They always snapped.

The sound of bootfalls outside drew Cedric from his thoughts. Annoyance colored his expression as he outstretched a hand, the two soldiers that came charging through the door suddenly halting in place. With a wave of that hand, those men went tumbling backward. He called upon the door he'd smashed inward, and placed it over the entry way, hoping it would buy him a few moments.

"It isn't about what you've done, and this has nothing to do with nobility." Cedric grumbled as he turned back to face the woman. "The galaxy is an unfair and cruel place. Your people didn't stop to consider what the people on my homeworld had ever done to them. None of the admiralty spared much concern for the innocent while they rained hellfire down on our cities."

The Jedi rumbled with bitter laughter.

"And I sense nothing but the Bogan from you. Ashla knows what depravity you've taken part in in the past." His free hand outstretched. The lightsaber of the fallen Sith rose to meet his palm, and its crimson blade roared as it came to life.

The first of many. So much to be accounted for. So many that would have to die to bring back the balance. The other Jedi lacked the strength of character to do what needed to be done, but Cedric understood the realities of the galaxy. There could be no mercy for those that raped the Ashla and terrorized the people. Only a cleansing: a holy flame to encompass the galaxy, until only the pure of heart remained.

He'd never felt more free in his life than he was now, arcing the Sith's weapon to cut the woman down from shoulder to hip. He felt alive, his limbs burning with energy, his heart heavy with righteous vindication.

And then he stopped, the blade hovering a hair's breath from the pale woman's throat. His face twisted up with frustration as an internal war was fought. It seemed some one side won as he turned on his heel, doused the blade, and hurled it angrily at the terminal the officers had been using for their presentation. The screen shattered on impact, raining glittering shards of glass upon the unconscious men.

"Damnit!" Cedric snapped as he ran a hand over his head, flabbergasted by his own inaction. He kept his gaze on the floor, his chest rising and falling angrily as he tried to center himself.

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Even the arrival of the soldiers drew annoyance from the woman, her head tilting to look behind the crusader and shoot a withering glance at the pair that were promptly sent flying out of their lovely conversation.

“Oh, ov coah! Mah peeo!” Evelynn exclaimed caustically over his explanation very rudely, even her clumsy vowels were frustrated.

Didn't it always just boil down to this? Your friends killed my friends, who killed their friends who had a problem with their friends who may have slaughtered those friends and historically there's been a lot of deaths and you must pay for that.

It was evident that she would be unable to budge him from his convictions with the man having made it perfectly clear that it didn't matter who she was, or what she had ever done. Why, personally, she had suffered far more at the hands of her father than this religious cretin ever had. By the Force, she used to be a sweet, stammering, young woman with a pet kath hound that only wished to see the galaxy and settled down with a family! Oh, but the association with the Sith nullified all of this.

Naturally.

Ah, he was right in one sense; the galaxy was an unfair and cruel place.

She leaned back, basking in the glow of the crimson blade as it sprang to life, her gaunt face still exuding nothing but wicked irritation. In the face of her own demise, it had to be said that the woman was rather composed. Did she wish for death? No. Had she experienced it prior? Yes. There were no great surprises lurking round the corner of mortality.

Would the Emperor wait another twenty years before bringing her back from the void for a third chance to be anything less than a failure?

By the Force, she hoped not.

Not even a flinch was summoned as the lightsaber stopped just short of her throat. Reluctance? My, he seemed so full of conviction! The pale slivers of her eyebrows leapt in befuddlement as the intruder threw the iconic weapon away and begun the process of his own nervous breakdown.

The relief at not being dead certainly softened her foul mood somewhat.

A wise choice, Evelynn crowed into the man's mind with a snide smirk before continuing, look at the men littered around you, she continued, gesturing to the unconscious bodies clad in uniforms distinctly not of her father's Empire, you almost did Kaine Zambrano a favour!

Peculiar laughter suddenly emerged from the blonde's throat at the thought of the entire scenario, or perhaps that was the relief really kicking in. What a thrill to be alive.

You look like you require a therapist, I know a few if you'd like.

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There was definitely a nuance to the situation that Cedric was not entirely privy to. He understood that the NIO were imperial defectors, but the possibility that some among the Sith might have chosen to side with them had not occurred to the errant knight. To him, the Sith were a collection of sycophants and slaves ruled by a small ruling elite - a hive mind of debauchery. That any of them would have elected to go against the Emperor simply didn't seem realistic, given his experience with their kind, and he still found himself doubting as the woman's words echoed in his mind.

Had he been of a better mind, he might have rationalized the situation better. As things were, Cedric could only sigh, and rest his head in his hands as he tried to dictate his next course of action.

"They'll all wake up fine. Malacia isn't lethal," he explained, more to himself than to the woman. A rationalization of his actions. "As for the Sith, I could care less," he gestured toward the dead man. "They have a tendency of playing nice until you turn your back, if only for a second, and then the dagger comes sliding in."

He shook his head, and began to pace. The thumping on the other side of the door certainly didn't help his situation. "I don't do therapists," he added, finally engaging with the woman as he met her gaze. "I put down Sith before their cancer can be spread. If one finds a malignant tumor, they'll try to remove it. The intentions of the tumor don't matter - the end result would be death if it remained."

His brow furrowed as he warred with conviction and disgust, an unpleasant cocktail of emotions that he was keen to be rid of. "But I can't kill an unarmed prisoner, no matter their affiliations. Explain yourself before those men get through the door. Are there other Sith working against the empire?"

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

She couldn't really argue with the entire notion of the Sith's backstabbing pre-disposition and for a brief moment the woman's face flashed in bemused agreement. Although, she wouldn't have framed it so bluntly, preferring to think of it as biding one's time in the name of ambition.

Well, perhaps you should, Evelynn retorted swiftly, rolling her eyes as he continued to waffle his Sith pestilence metaphors before her, was it an upgrade or a downgrade to not just be a tumour but a smelly one at that?

Your mind is not rooted in healthy places and your methods will only exacerbate.

The crippled woman supposed that this was the benefit of being weak; it forced you to consider your actions more often than not. The strong could just charge into any situation with a head full of convictions, no matter the consequence but all sentient beings could benefit from stopping, thinking and most importantly, talking.

Cancer cancer. Death death. Kill kill. By the stars, you came here with the intention of flaying me! I mean, come now, flaying! Beheading is far less questionable but flaying, that's cold-blooded torture!

I mean, she would know.

If you have enquiries regarding the New Imperial Order, I can direct you to our Sovereign Imperator, I'm sure the pair of you would have plenty to discuss, the blonde continued, her tone more matter-of-fact in the instance of any actual business, but I'd rather not talk about that, I'd rather talk about you.

Beat.

You are a mess. You wish to flay, but not the cripple. To strike out at the Emperor, but here you are at the feet of his treacherous spawn instead. If you didn't speak with such conviction I'd be convinced that you were here to intentionally get yourself killed.

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oof

 

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This wasn't what he'd come here for. The time for talk had long since passed. It seemed all anyone ever wanted to do was talk, and his more actionable personality was having difficulty meshing with it. He didn't reply to the woman, at least not at first. He simply continued to pace like a caged animal, trying to discern his next course of action as her words rang in his skull.

As she 'spoke' her final words, his pacing grew still. His gaze was locked with the floor as he forced himself to consider them. The simple truth of the matter was that what he had previously thought to be an eternal connection to the Ashla had gone dim. It was still there, wavering, rising and falling like the chest of a frail and sickly child gasping for breath.

It would be a simple thing to strangle it and see this madness done.

"My intention was to hunt down every Zambrano and every Sith of note that I could find, and deliver their bodies to Bastion. The Sith's greatest weakness is pride, or at least it has been in my experience. To shame them with failure, to bring their best and brightest low, that was my intent. Then I could draw the leaders out, goad them on their arrogance and put them down too." He explained with the mundaneness of one discussing their next dinner.

A pause.

"I thought you were a captured loyalist, something of that kind. I apologize," his lips pressed into a tight frown. That was part of the truth. What he failed to mention, and what he failed to truly accept himself, was that this was the truest form of venting he knew. There was no place where frail emotion and the meek trappings of humanity could be better cast aside than in the midst of a life or death struggle, and Cedric craved that personal heaven.

One of the men groaned as he began to awaken. Annoyed, Cedric reached out a hand, and with the ease of which one might fold a paper clip, sent his mind spinning into the abyss once again.

"Whom are you?"

Beatrice Govan

 

[Beatrice Govan]

Observing him as he paced, Evelynn couldn't help but feel a small modicum of sympathy for the man. She understood such unfortunate shoes, even if she gave off an air of frigid irritation. He was a zealot and a lost one at that; if his convictions truly held firm then he would have surely cut her down with little issues.

Not that she would complain about that.

Ah, I see where you went wrong. I am not the best nor the brightest. Although furthest from the most inept, she thought to herself with a delicious degree of snideness. Nor do I host such pride, as you can plainly see. Chance would be a fine thing.

He wasn't wrong in terms of a captured loyalist, but her father had set her out once more into the galaxy to be a better Sith, not a mindlessly devoted one. Ah, his mistake, not hers. Perhaps next time the Emperor would simply brainwash her into familial fervour. Bah, don't even think about such circumstance, he might get ideas from across the galaxy.

Nonetheless, she didn't correct him on that point.

I suppose you may call me Evelynn Dorn now, she attempted to reply softly but instead came across rather constipated, I am still unapologetically a Sith but not one of my father's Empire, however, believe me, I have no wish to annihilate the galaxy in remorseless conquest. No, were I to have things my way, I would be cast into the darkest corner of the galaxy, left to my own devices to find purpose in ardent self-improvement.

The woman smiled, her thin lips bending in a rather coy manner.

I wish not for a galaxy of turmoil and bloodshed but that isn't quite the expected narrative, is it?

Her body language relaxed somewhat in the chair, ready to call off the guards that threatened to break through the door and intrude on their conversation. There was no guaranteed safety for the blonde in the situation, their conversation only a potential beginning of something less...murdery but it was a start.

And you? Who is it that paces before me? The man beyond the crusade.

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Evelynn Dorn. Not one of the hated.

The errant's stomach turned.

Never before had he drawn so close to the calls of the Bogan. Even in the depths of war, in the midst of seas of blood, he had always kept his countenance. Balance had ever been his way. This was unlike him - it spat in the face of the very teachings he proselytized whenever the opportunity presented itself. The Essonian could only drop his arms, press his hand to his brow, and shake his head.

"My name is Cedric," he halted before giving the surname. Only a short time ago, his Imperium had been a galactic power. Friendly or not, odd as that was, Miss Dorn might not be keen on his ancestral house. "I don't expect something so dramatic of you," he added, his voice finally losing a bit of that edge. "Many Sith I have spoken to have noted inoffensive goals, but it is the method that brings strife. That being said, I will not hold you accountable for your place in the Force. At least not for now."

It was the best he could offer given the circumstances.

He'd given her an answer to the question, but it was not a whole one: a name and nothing more. In rare moment of vulnerability, the former Imperator spoke. "There is no man behind the crusade. I am the crusade." He spoke from the heart. the words didn't sound wrong to him. They had purpose behind them. Meaning. He had a role, a place in life, and he was certain of it. Most people spent their entire lives looking for such certainty.

"Or, I was," he allowed, a hint of hesitation poisoning his words.

Beatrice Govan