Private Stoking the fire of ambition

[Lord Depravious]

// Location: Polis Masa
// Tags: Serina Calis

Lord Depravious' freighter descended onto the barren surface of Polis Massa, its landing precise, deliberate—like the man himself. Long before his arrival, he had secured docking clearance and personally petitioned the governess for an audience. Such courtesies were not typical of him, but then again, this meeting was far from typical.

Their last encounter had concluded with her fading into obscurity and Depravious deeming her unworthy of further pursuit. But time has a way of shifting priorities. Since then, Shaidin Kamari had sealed an old wound—with a spear as black as a starless void—and in doing so, hardened what remained of a vulnerable heart. Now, he returned to the woman he once cast aside, not out of sentiment, but strategy.

He knew she possessed a certain finesse—an elegance in the way she manipulated the light, seductive and dangerous in equal measure. It was precisely that talent he intended to redirect. Her flirtation with the luminous was a liability, but with patience, she might yet embrace the full truth of the bogan, surrendering herself to its vast, untempered power. That would take time, of course—and careful cultivation.

He did not expect her to kneel. Perhaps, he mused, he still bore the scars of an age long past—when power meant obedience, and defiance was crushed without ceremony. The galaxy had changed since the days when he ruled it with a will of iron and fire.

But power... power remained. And in this new era, it wore a different face—one of diplomacy, subtlety, and mutual necessity. She, for all her games, could be useful to him. If they could speak frankly—if even a sliver of trust could be brokered between them—then she might prove the very resource he now required.

Could he trust her? Perhaps no more than two thieves might trust each other—so long as the prize remained worth the risk.

As he strode toward the governess' chambers, Lord Depravious allowed himself a brief moment of stillness. He knew this meeting might humble him—but pride was a luxury he no longer cared to indulge. His vision mattered more.

And if nothing else, she was—he admitted to himself—still pleasant enough to look at.

 

[Serina Calis]

"Arrogance is something I have grown, quite familiar with myself."

Tag - Lord Depravious



The scent of ozone and alchemical failure still clung to the air.

The laboratory was alive with the hum of dying machines, the faint crackle of loose wires arcing electricity between hanging coils, and the unmistakable, slippery sound of pink sludge oozing across the fractured durasteel floor. Crimson and black lighting flickered overhead, casting rhythmic pulses of shadow across glass canisters, ruined databanks, and dissected kyber cores. Everything in the room breathed darkness—not the brute, mindless kind—but the curated, intentional art of entropy.

In the center of it all stood Serina Calis.

She did not turn when the hiss of the laboratory doors signaled his arrival. She did not greet him. She didn't even look up. She merely stood still, back to him, arms behind her back, her posture a masterwork of relaxed dominance.

Her silhouette, draped in elegant menace, was almost obscured by the dim light—save for the pulsing lines of crimson and magenta glowing along her armor. They shimmered across her bodice like the breath of something not quite alive, curling down her arms, threading across the sharp heart-shaped crest at her chest, and pulsing at the edges of her cape like a heartbeat slowed to a calculated rhythm.

And then, without looking, she spoke.

"Mind your step," Serina murmured, her voice like warm silk poured over razors. "The sludge is reactive, and I'm in no mood to lose another guest."

The pink substance writhed between her boots, licking up the armored plates like a pet made of corruption. It clung to the folds of her skirt, streaked across her gauntlets, shimmered faintly on her cheekbone like the trace of a kiss from a dying god. Her beauty was untouched by it. Enhanced by it. Claimed by it.

"I will have it cleaned up soon," she added, finally turning her head slightly, just enough to let one glowing blue eye lock onto him. "But you'll be pleased to know it was the result of an experiment gone right."

She pivoted fully now, revealing herself.

Every line of her armor was designed to draw the eye—cut to frame the hourglass of her form while suggesting the edge of a blade. Her cape flared as she turned, revealing violet lining that shimmered like venom under the light. She took a single step forward, the sound of her boot slicing through the sludge like a knife.

The pink slime recoiled.

"Lord Depravious," she purred, finally acknowledging him with the faintest smile—an expression equal parts charm and challenge. "How… ceremonial of you to request an audience this time. Has sentiment softened you? Or have the tombs simply grown lonely?"

She raised one gloved hand and studied it—still dripping with viscous magenta goo—before flicking it aside with effortless grace. The droplets hit the wall, and the wall shuddered.

Her expression didn't shift.

"I admit, I had almost expected you to stay lost in your crusade of vengeance and void. But here you are… in my lab. Drenched in humility. Or perhaps just strategy." Her eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly, as if seeing through to the marrow of his bones. "Tell me, are you here to offer partnership?"

She stepped forward again, this time close enough that the scent of chemicals and sweet decay trailed from her like perfume.

"Or are you here to ask me to finish what she couldn't?" she whispered.

And then she smiled—truly smiled.

Not cruelly. Not seductively.

But as a woman who knew she had already won the first move.