Shadows of the Aether

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 10 - Incarceration - Part 1

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

[

They were hot, dirty, and angry.

For three days they had been carving a bloody path through the Cathedral mountains, hundreds of kilometers of tunnels, enormous underground factories and sickening ‘nurseries’ where caged force fed females produced offspring to supply the needs of Rhandite elite, vast lightless schools crammed with pallid children who openly murdered each other for scraps ensuring only the most devious and strong survived to adulthood.

That was for the Nag’hi species - far worse were the bestial Taung warrens where the rabid males roamed free braying and fighting so only the strongest passed their genes on. .

The Aethan’s Telepathaeon lobes now a near blinding scratch in their heads from the undiminished Shadow in the Aether, they had no patience for any being they encountered, brutally bisecting or crushing every sentient after the briefest of interrogations.

It hardly mattered. While the 18 Aethans on planet in groups of three killed perhaps 500 a day, it was nothing compared to the thousands that the twisted Rhandite societies suicidal, gundark eat gundark nature slew every hour and astonishingly less than the tens of thousands forcibly birthed to replenish the stock each day.

It was painfully slow trying to find the Sorcerer who oversaw this vast city beneath a mountain range, there were no maps or sign posts, only Collectors and their Taung Patrols moved about freely - a form of administrative branch they ensured critical areas had sufficient manpower by appropriating it from wherever they could, some even fighting each other for beings in ‘Appropriation Wars’ - more than once they had passed dead Collectors and their retinues slain by another.

The Rhandite society operated at the very edge of anarchy, the visceral fear of the Sorcerers powers the only thing that kept the lower beings in line, fanatical commitment to the precept Destruction is Eternal etched into the higher strata’s making improvement of the underclasses lot meaningless.

Taryn could feel squelching every time he moved, he had been in full armour for over a week and his undersuit was soaked, the humidity preventing any drying.

With Taran and Maekal covering he would relieve himself in corners on occasion, arguably only improving satiation,  trusting superhuman physiology to carry him through on dwindling rations, too deep to leave for resupply, unwilling to eat or drink any of the blood tainted food and water.

They pushed on, crawling, crouching, sneaking through the warrens, communicating with the others when they could to develop a broad map of the complex, thousands of kilometers of tunnels beneath a continent spanning mountain range.

Moon sized chunks of the mountain were hollowed out for raw materials and filled back with factories and living space.  Narrow rock walkways left behind by the miners served as thoroughfares of a sort, slowly worn by feet over decades, sharp falls off the sides into black depths, the echo of throat chanting heard every now and then.

It was this chanting they began to follow as soon as they heard it, knowing the Sorcerer's sacrificial needs included the ritual liturgies of the Choirs of Ghul’Sho.

The first groups were initiates, babbling painfully out of tune on their rounds, occasionally set upon by the vagabonds and robbers that were not part of some warren or enclave - cannibals and the mentally deranged these were ‘outcasts’ even of the dysfunctional Rhandite system that the Aethans and Taung alike killed like Kre-roaches when they bothered to notice them at all.

The Choirs they followed to the Collectors den’s, the administrative classes accommodations featured numerous caged ‘breeders’ at various stages of gestation and malnutrition producing ever more beings to feed the malefic machine of the Cathedral World.

Taryn tried to speak with one, a filthy ragged thing with bone white hair - she simply spat at him and gargled incoherently, her ‘children’ about her feet in the tiny cage eating scraps thrown by the Collector who now lay in a pool of blood outside the cavern he kept his chosen breeders in.

Taryn had seen vile, despicable things in his time as a Runt in the bowels of a Nar Shadda based pirate vessel - Aethan indifference to Outsider suffering was a genetic wall that soon ensured any traumatic image was filed neatly as data - still such scenes caused a brief moment of empathy for the Outsider, wondering if ending it’s life was more merciful than letting them live in these conditions.

Ignoring it they pressed on through rank caverns barely lit, ancient durasteel pillars holding a kilometer of stone over their head, some filled to the point of choking with gas from the factories.

They barely needed to hide, the air near black with carbon, the large industrial cavern thrumming with constant noise as weapons and ship components were produced by the thousand.

They twisted from conveyor to conveyor nonetheless, out of habit of concealment rather than need.  None of the workers if they saw them would’ve cared.

Taran took a moment to pluck a few items from the large bins of final goods waiting to be sent up on massive chain lifts to the surface docks. 

The components were of good quality, a puzzlement given the conditions until they found a section where the production was not up to standard.

There bodies were hung, flayed and in many cases partially eaten on silent machinery, a warning to all the others - adequate quality got you food, water, maybe some time with the ‘breeders’ - failure to meet the quota or the standard led to ‘Embracing the Dark’ and being replaced by the innumerable starving ‘unemployed’ that lolled around the fringes of the factory caverns.

“An effective motivation system,” Maekal mused “but one reliant on infinite pools of labour to draw from,” he sighed

“Not one we can replicate…yet…” his tone was regretful, the former ‘God-King’ of an entire world looked upon the Rhandite system (if not their philosophy which was childishly simplistic) with curiosity, occupying his mind with plans on how to increase efficiency and obedience as they pushed ahead, imagining how they might usurp the Sorcerers and convert their entire system to Worship and Serve the Goddesses of Aethas.

They went deeper and deeper into the complex, seeking out the Choirs hidden Convents.

<<<<>>>>

Abyss of Memory

“You’ll not take me…” he growled at the spectres that even now were trailing their bone thin fingers over his skin.

“Not Yet…”

The images swirled in his mind.  Mardenes, Faveah…beaten by despicable Gaijin, the Witch, or Shinigami, whatever she was or might be twisting into her place then out again.

And the faces kept getting closer.

“Not Yet…” he hissed standing in a ready pose, his Tremor-Katana above his head to strike down the Mandalorian invaders.

The ‘super commando’s led by the obnoxiously titled Mandalore the Ultimate were raging across the Republic once more, razing worlds for no seeming purpose but the thrill of battle.

They would find more than a match in the Anzat.  The Foundering was not yet complete, some houses still held on in those days.

Lek’un warriors manned mobile Ground-to-Space Cannons that sheltered in the deep mountain passes around Azherri, the rocky terrain serving to cover them as they fired at the blazing comets that were Mandalorian Basilisks.

He stood in the Great Lemniscate of Azherri, where in ancient times the Kindes gathered atop the peak before a city was built around it, he waited - waited for the Mandalorians, waited for the Hungry Ghosts of his own making.

In a flash they were upon him, his Tremor sword biting into beskar, disruptor rifles deflagrating his Sword Kenin beside him.

He hacked and tore the helm off one Mandalorian, his ebony skin a curiosity.  Without a thought Rannek viciously stabbed his proboscis into his nose, violently and quickly supping the surface knowledge - all that could be collected in a fast meal of Soup.

It was enough to help him understand the battle plan of his enemies to direct his troops.

He dropped the body to the ground.  But the Soul of the Mandalorian did not move.

This wasn’t what happened…he never thought of that ebony skinned warrior again.  And yet the Mandalorian stared at him, and began to rise on phantom wings apart from his body.

“Not Yet!” he hacked at the ghost he had made,
“To ME!” he demanded of his Kinju - but the battle was done now, bodies strewn about the Great Lemniscate, its mosaic paving that represented the Silent voices cracked and covered in blood, piles of bodies, Mando and Lek’un, Anzat with back banners scattered among them - the flower of a generation pruned in a single week.

But the Souls…the Souls remained.  Oily black they wafted toward him with outstretched rotting hands, their noses wide and dripping from where Rannek had fed on them, hungry for their revenge.

And at their head…at their head…

“No…Not Yet! Let Your curse go on Vel, I will not fall till my children are in my arms safe once more!” he yelled at the phantoms and slashed, bit, stabbed, fought.

He was so close to succumbing, closer than he had ever been!

They were dragging him down, the mosaics swirled into a whirlpool of Black madness, the Kuru mande manifest seeking to drag him down

He raged and pushed against its tides as the ghost leaped into the gluggy waves that surrounded him, spinning ever faster.

Above him was a light…he reached for it with his one free hand, the other sunk, fingers with long rotten nails clawed at his face.

It was red, it burnt, he felt its heat as it seared away the bile that ate at his mind, and in it’s centre were eyes….eyes of,,,,

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 10 - Incarceration - Part 2

497 BBY — Katarr High Orbit

***Thanks to The Dutchman for the original outline of this section***
Emerald eyes blinking, Milaea’s mind finally caught up to her blurred, groggy vision. 

Where was she?  How had she gotten here?  What had even happened to her? 

Memories came trickling back, if slowly.

Katarr, the wet dead world, the Anzat, the Flow Sight…the Miraluka hybrids, Jedi and Anzat fighting millenia before then utter exhaustion as the Shadow overwhelmed her.

Creaking up, she looked around the room as a diffuse orange light illuminated everything from square scones in the wall.

Her rapid meticulously crafted eyes surveyed every bit of furniture, every wall-hanging, every room decoration.  Then she looked down at herself, seeing for the first time what she had unconsciously felt since awakening.

She wore robes of the finest silk, although they seemed somewhat stiff with age. 

Vibrant colors of many birds that she did not recognize were set upon a backdrop of the purest white, all of it gathered by a wide, purple belt.  Upon her feet she wore comfortable socks that had splits between the big & first toes, probably to wear the thonged sandals set just inside the... She squinted in disbelief.

Milaea couldn't be sure but she thought that at least one of the walls was just simple softwood and...could it be, rice paper? 

Another wall displayed a large painting, one that she didn't recognize. 
Looking closer, she could've sworn that the figure seemed to be an Anzat in ancient lacquered splint-mail armor, swinging an old-time naginata.

Next to the armored figure was an ideogram of a language that she had never seen yet understood, it represented something imperfectly translated into Basic as ‘Q’Atrox Overcomes’ or ‘Q’Atrox Triumphs’. 

Somewhere deep in the back of her mind were memories of reading and writing that script with delicate brushes on fine papers, over, and over again, a hand not her own, indeed slightly grey hued, perfecting the art.

On the other wall were several shelves, ornate cha sets arranged what she assumed was artfully. 

But it was when her eyes fell upon the last wall that she felt her spine run cold...

Taking up the entire wall from floor to ceiling was a faded painting of a woman kneeling.  She wore a kimono--precisely like the one Milaea now wore--the large lavender obi holding a tanto, a closed old-style fan, and what looked to be a short length of bamboo-like wood. 

Feeling her own belt, she was alarmed to find all three items secured at her waist.  But that wasn't all...

Staring at the painting, Milaea saw that the woman's hair was arranged in the nihongami-style - a style she shouldn’t know the name of yet did, adorned with several willow kanzashi flowers. 

But that's not what had really given pause...

The face in the painting looked familiar, not in the exactness of the features but the emotion -  In it she could she herself, Ari, every Aethan woman in the assured playfulness the artist had captured so perfectly

“Forgive me Majo, there were no other clothes appropriate for your figure,” came a whisper from the corner, Milaea finally sitting bolt upright, hand seeking the Tanto that slid with a satisfying crisp sound from it’s sheath.

Druhanne bowed his eyes remaining closed as he gestured the serving women in to attend to their captive.

Again Milaea felt unnerved at understanding the language of the Anzati, but replied in kind, the words still unfamiliar on her tongue.

“Where am I? What do you want?”

“Majo, you are in the apartment of the Most Beloved Enfanta Sínã Faveah mare-Q'Atrox aboard the Space Faring Vessel Kitsune...as a…guest…of the Honourable Clucir Rannek-soma…”

“I remember,” she spun to sit on the bed, Tanto held in a reverse grip across her body defensively

Druhanne remained with his eyes closed as the serving Lek’un entered
“These servants will attend to your toilette, the Hanshõ has requested your presence as soon as possible…” he paused slightly as Milaea stood, far taller than Lek’un women and heavier with her ultra-dense cells the ladies had mentioned great difficulty in lifting her limbs to redress her - requiring the Sonae - naturally blindfolded to preserve the guests modesty - to aid them.

“...I am instructed to inform you, so long as you comply you will be treated with dignity and respect, and your companions will not be harmed - beyond the degree already inflicted to ensure their confinement.”

With the Shadow in the aether thick Milaea couldn’t sense any of the other women nearby, and as quickly as she might dispatch a few of the Lek’un with the Tanto and her superhuman speed and strength, it would be a losing battle once the Anzat got involved.

Lowering the blade she relented,

“I have no choice,”

<<<<>>>>

497 BBY — Aethas

When your species had faced obliteration twice, the vast majority of encounters with other cultures and factions ended in violence and every child of your race was currently unconscious and being fed by tube, no amount of additional security could be considered excessive.

So it was that every Aethan vessel was fitted with internal sensors that analysed thermal, mass and particulate readings in addition to the more typical visual to detect any non-Aethan or Yuuzhan Vong that appeared on board.

This sent an alert across the entire Aethan fleet and to the Fortress built within Mount Aelia. 

As soon as the first Lek’un boarding party had step foot on the Aephoradaea, rendered supine by the Anzat Ancients influence over Xanaea, distress signals had been sent, within seconds the Verndari - 3.5 meter tall products of the Aethan Technocracies Project Aertemisaea to create Super-endurance soldiers from revived dead Aethans - were planning a response.

It was Ninth’s duty to inform the Matriarch.

Descending the internal hand driven elevator - old technology to avoid any risk of hacking or disruption by EMP weapons - the vast warrior had to stoop through the labyrinthine cavern network to where the masses of mothers and listless children remained huddled together, hoping somehow proximity to the sacred spaces beneath the mountains could dampen the Shadow in the Aether that sliced their powers down to barely a quarter of what they once were.

Candles were burning low as the mood, the mothers and grandmothers, after no improvement to their children in a week, had rapidly established efficient processes for the bathing, tube hydration and feeding of all the children and continuing to work the fields, farms and equipment to ensure supply was maintained.

The immediate needs of the children were largely seen to by the women that were currently pregnant, Matriarch Karintha included.

The strain of suppressing her unborn child’s growth to avoid potentially deleterious impacts of the Shadow with limited aether energy was showing, her eyes dark in the yellow light of the torches and fireplace.

Ninth was aware she ought to show ‘sympathy’ and offer supportive gestures - but there was no time for such irrelevances.

“The Aephoradea has been boarded by armoured sentients of unknown species who appear to be of the Homo-Lekku genus - given the lack of response to our hails likely captured in high orbit over the world Xanaea indicated was most likely Katarr.”

In the midst of gently washing little Mari, Sofa’s daughter, Karintha’s face fell with the news.

“We are preparing the Aethenaea now to assist, 32 Extolled and 3 Verndari, are you able to spare any of the women?” Ninth did not pause.

“Still no contact from the Hecate?” Karintha asked hopefully of half their population fighting for the Chiss who had been out of contact for nearly two weeks now.

“None,”

“Send your force as is, then lock down the System,” Karintha replied sternly, any attack against the Aephroadea had to be relieved, combined with the men’s absence and lack of communication she could take no more chances.

“Confirmed,” Ninth replied, spinning quickly to enact her orders.

Karintha returned to her own tasks, brushing the hair from the sleeping little girl's face, wondering if she would ever wake.

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 10 - Incarceration - Part 3

3947 BBY — Byss Run

“What. The. Frell.”

Mira pounded down on the console as Isas as the others sat while the Pallas Athena bumped in hyperspace.

“Who the hell were those guys with face tentacles in fancy outfits, clearly your one lekku buddy brought them there, you had that gas ready to fight them. Shav that psycho lady in the fancy outfit tried to eat me or something awful, I know they weren’t the nicest, but frell, it looks a hell of a lot like you set this all up.”

The Old Man’s lips tightened, Varasian looked away, Alixa defiant, all bearing fresh ruddy scars and antisept-patches. Isas replied.

“We knew there was a possibility of encountering them, but it was only the will of the Force they arrived at that exact moment,” the Miraluka explained 
“Even accounting for Kullat- the single lekku passenger - Lek’un by species - planning it was highly unlikely.”

“Who are ‘them?’” Mira demanded, Visas and Atris also on her side of the holographic projector table, the blue light beaming up in her face, the only illumination in the dark control room behind the cockpit.

The three semi and former Jedi could all feel the Anzat and ‘Lek’un’ captives in the large holds below, watched over by the Katas family and ship security. 

The Pallas Athena which had been so empty when Mira first arrived was now full of captives and Katarr refugees, headed back to Aethas.

“Anzat, a species of…soul consumers,”

Mira’s eyebrows raised
“Soul consumers? You’re going out of your way to ‘encounter’ these frellicks? They nearly did Maw knows what to us all!”  she was only getting more confused, her kolto patched injuries still biting, the marks of the fight still all over the others faces.

She shook her head, rich red hair heavy filled with the dried mud of Katarr still.

“You know what I don’t care, I did my job, found more Katarr survivors, found Visas, I want my money and I want to get off this ship,”

Isas nodded sadly

“I understand…we are en-route to Aethas now…once we arrive I will arrange for your payment immediately.  Thank you Mira, for your assistance, we could not have found anyone without you,”

Mira’s mouth curled with incredulity
“Yeah, sure, whatever,”

<<<<>>>>

497 BBY — Katarr High Orbit

They were clever, Kiraea had to acknowledge that.

The Lek’un had divided the Aethan women between the vessels belonging to the enthralled Anzat, ensuring they couldn’t communicate or co-ordinate.

Their limbs broken, bound, gagged, blindfolded, heat increased and air limited in the cramped spaces they were kept in to ensure their bodies were suppressed beyond the hope of resistance - the Lek’un of Q’Atrox replicating as best they could the infamous Pit of their Hansho’s Stormhold where prisoners were alternately placed in blazing morning sun, then lightless humid boxes.

Effective enough on lesser beings,  Kiraea quickly realised they underestimated Aethan biology as so many outsiders did. 

60 degrees celsius was not even close to being uncomfortable, oxygen deprivation an irrelevance for nuclear fission based cellular respiration.

She could easily kill the fat-tentacle heads once she got at them if her bones were set. Genecrafted healing meant even now her body was alive with the fluid itch of repair, but vastly slower than if she had the aether to speed it.

Her physical confines dark as the Shadow in Aether that suppressed her power, she sought with thermal sight and mass sense her surrounds, feeling the vibration of beating hearts pulsing warm yellow blood through the squidgy mass of imperfect humanoid forms.

She felt them for a little while as the bruising from the breakages died down, making her squashed position beneath some piece of heat generating machinery marginally less uncomfortable as relative trace particles of metal, plastics, coolants and oils gave her an idea of the type of ship she was on.

The thought struck her suddenly. 

She didn’t have full access to the Aether…but the tentacle heads did - however repellantly limited their capacity was.

With what little aether power she had she sought the disgusting aura of the nearest being, avoiding the looming Shadow’s metaphysical eye by staying ‘small’.

She focused on the eidetically recalled image of the source of the Shadow - Rannek-Soma Mare Q’atrox as his little quim declared him in a language she didn’t know she knew till she heard it, buried in the depths of her Memory cortices.

He…HE was the reason her Blessed Children lay unconscious in the caverns, He was the reason their bodies fell limp in her arms, HE, HE HE would be Punished.

Latching onto the Lek’uns very essence she twisted her own eldritch energies into a conceptual ‘knife’ slicing into the amorphous barrier to leech the life energies within. 

Twisting her formless energy into two ‘hands’ she widened the incision, the Aether flowing freely in and out as the ‘cord’ that linked to her opened up to take in the energy of the Lek’un and the Force flowing through him at an accelerated rate.

The Sonae felt a sense of dread, an indefinable draining sensation that seemed to have no physical cause, though in his mind he sought one - the air filtration on this ship, some malady from their exotic prisoners, space sickness?

Kiraea left him to such ignorant speculation as she used the stolen power to send out another tendril, then another, and another, latching onto and feeding from all 12 Lek’un on board within minutes.

She channelled every ounce of aether energy flowing through them she could, red sparks criss-crossing her body as she gathered just enough from these insignificant pfsaaks to start some shatter point healing.

The aether through the lesser beings was bland, barely adequate for her needs, but it circumvented the Shadow in the Aether. 

It was not sustainable or undetectable, the Lek’un began talking, noting their respective fatigue and seeking causes for what could be affecting them all.

It took only minutes for the efficient creatures to rule out any environmental contaminants and whisper -  ‘Witch’

<<<<>>>>

“Witch…” Rannek glowered down at Milaea from his throne, his Lek’un attendants arrayed perfectly about him according to their station, empty chairs where his children should be seated either side of him.

Milaea stepped forward uncomfortable in the sandals, musks and perfumes flowing from everywhere following the Lek’un ladies-in waiting administrations.

The Anzat elder sat in rich embroidered attire, his ‘court’ of Lek’un arrayed in robes and hats that would not look out of place at a museum of fashion, all meticulously maintained, if showing signs of advanced age.

Only a handful of Anzat attended him, her eyes fixed on one.

 “I told you what would happen if I saw you again Vzin Kree,” Milaea spoke out of turn, Druhanne about to correct the breach in protocol when Rannek lifted a hand to have him wait, intrigued how this would play out.

Vzin Kree was not the same patient, ingenious and considered ‘Sensei’ - Master Anzati Assassin - Evyn and Evaea had spoken of.  This was a pain wracked shell of the Anzat he had been, despising his enthrallment to the mighty Ancient - Milaea could read that in his face.

The Anzati Master Assassin offered a dismissive shake of his head, the Ancient Clucir might hate him, but he was still useful.

Or so he thought.
“I showed you mercy,” Milaea snapped, then nodded toward Rannek
“Is this your revenge?”

“Mercy, to starve for fifteen years breathing in the noxious fumes of a desolate moon that cut my lungs like knives?” Kree replied bitterly, striding forward enraged, he pressed close against her, his proboscis circling her face, again Rannek staying Druhanne and the Sonae’s intervention.

“You can’t feed, can you, He won’t let you,” she realised quickly.

Kree growled affirmative.

“And I can’t harm Him,” Milaea said with regret just before her eyes flashed hard and angry

“I promised you….”

Kree, like most Anzat, twice as strong as an athletic human, four times with the Force behind their blows, -

He struck first hard and fast fists hammering Milaea’s breast then side of her face. 

She smiled.

His blows were nothing compared to what she got training with her biological father Jarys, an Aethan who could push his strength to ten times that of a human Knight for hours on end.

Inhumanly flexible she pivoted round and under his kick, elbowing hard in his ribs to a satisfying wet crack, then raising into an uppercut smashing his lower jaw into his palate, his own teeth breaking each other.

“...If I ever saw you again…” she hissed flipping round him, placing his neck in a headlock
“...I would turn you to dust!” he bit and clawed against her tough skin as her lock slowly twisted the neck

“A Witches curse is not to be trifled with Durf,” Rannek taunted, finding this greatly amusing.

With a wet pop Kree’s head spun 720 degrees, spine clattering in his back as his body writhed in dying spasms

“...that will have to do,” she finished, her impotent rage at Rannek transferred to Kree, providing fleeting satisfaction.

The Clucir’s lips curled in the semblance of a smile, Kree’s usefulness was at an end, and that was…entertaining.

“Perhaps you are Shinigami,” he mused as Lek’un rushed to drag away the remains of Vzin Kree.

“You were at the site the Prophecy Foretold, Why…” he asked as Milaea stood smoothing back her hair, Druhanne slightly aghast at the blood stains on her Kimono.

He leaned forward slightly, patrician features stained by decades of depravity only showing cruelty.

“Your powers are great, yet are slave to the Yokusei, Why?”

Yokusei? that is what he calls the Shadow and his power over us, Milaea deduced.

It was clear from the Witches own Anima that she was no wiser than he as to the Mystery.  Perhaps she was a Shinigami somehow linked to him, her powers repressed until he found his precious children.

“Your companions will remain without further harm so long as you comply,”  he began outlining how her submission to his Will would be ensured.

“What have you done to them?”

“All prisoners of the Q’atrox have their arms and legs broken to prevent escape or resistance…it took some effort your species bones and flesh are abnormally strong,”

Milaea’ anger spiked once more, only partially dulled knowing that Ari and the others Aethan genetics meant such damage was rapidly fixed, this time the Yokusei kept her rage contained.

“You will take me to the world Aethas, spoken of in the Vision, and there we will find my Children.” Rannek insisted his commanding voice was scratchy from age but all the more grinding on her ears for it.

“Never,” she replied.

Rannek gripped her breast and throat telekinetically like a vice.

Milaea remained unmoved, mouth only twisting slightly as the Anima of millions of victims pushed at her to submit herself utterly.

Rannek held her gaze, strengthening his grip, driving ephemeral daggers of power into her flesh that yielded no response.  Just like the others of her species, they did not seem to feel physical pain making torture impossible.

She felt the red-haze of the damage, but no visceral sensation.  If Rannek wanted her to obey he was limited to crushing her Will.

That was not without cost, once more his mind rattled with the screams, gasps and pleas of his victims, ghosts of their faces flashed before his eyes as he delved the Anima collected from the gallons of Soup he had drunk over centuries.

“Submit,” he demanded as her face began to twitch, a modicum of success.

Milaea held out for another twenty three painful seconds - before she gasped crashing onto the deck.

“You are strong, Witch, but be wary - my patience thin,” Rannek conceded as her resistance snapped

“Now provide the coordinates of Aethas,”

The Lek’un pilots stood ready to write them down and memorise.

“It’s not that easy to reach, and you can’t get there…” she hissed on her elbows and knees, the Lavender scents from her belt filling her nose
“...not in this ship…”

“Why,” the Clucir leaned forward,

Milaea had realised a key fact.
She could not outright lie to the Anzat due to the Shadow or ‘Yokusei’ - but she could be careful in her replies.

Rannek lacked key information, he didn’t know her name or species, had no idea she was from Aethas so he couldn’t ask the right questions of her, giving Milaea crucial wriggle room.

And while Milaea was just as curious as to what her homeworld had to do with his lost children, she would never allow him near it. 

She would do anything to protect her vulnerable nieces and nephews.

“Aethas…is in a region of dangerous gravity and radiation fluxes, only the most hardy craft with specialised shields, hulls and navigation equipment can safely make the journey…”

“Then it is fortunate we have captured your Warship,”  Rannek replied, knowing she could not lie, and that her own warship would surely be capable of traversing such troubled waters.

“You won’t be able to fly it, your pilots wouldn’t be familiar with the systems, and controls are Gene locked and have Ultradense materials in them that only respond to my species Force Presence,”

“Then you shall pilot it yourself, or see your companions suffer” Rannek conceded with irritation trusting in the Yokusei and her own self preservation to prevent any treachery - unwittingly giving Milaea exactly what she wanted.

“Efendí, transfer all Lek’un and Anzat to the Captured vessel within three hours…I will retire to my chambers.”

Removing his more concentrated power Milaea felt a vast weight lift from her as the Clucir stood from his throne, passing the bowing Lek’un.

Milaea felt the sour taste of the backwash of being forced to use his power so much over the last few hours, the twisted Madness of the Kuru bubbling beneath the Anzat’s consciousness threatening to overwhelm him.

Just beside her she saw amidst the vacant clothes of Vzin Kree yet to be collected by the Lek’un a phase dagger.

As a Lek’un slid the paper-like door open for the Hanshõ Milaea made her move.

Fluid and smooth she rolled to grab the dagger, activate its Baryonic Phase blade and hurl it at Ranneks back, pushing what aetheric strength she could into the blow.

For a brief moment as it sliced open the back of his rich doublet she thought she’d succeeded in getting him at a vulnerable moment.

But the blade stopped dead, Rannek pausing. 

She had come closer than he dared admit by virtue of the Kuru still afflicting him.

Her face dropped with the dagger to the floor.

“Your viciousness is commendable, Witch,” he seethed, the Kuru biting - he needed to ‘meditate’ again.

“I will forgive this attempt as your dispatching the Druf was most amusing - but do not test me again or your companions will suffer the Second Correction.
Whether your species can feel it or not, they will not enjoy the inconvenience of being absent so much of their faces and extremities.” 

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 10 - Incarceration - Part 4

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

It had been unintentional at first.

Grabbing the Choirmaster from behind Taryn had instinctively sought to mind rip him for memories - the Shadow that suppressed their telepathaeon lobe denying him that…

But somewhere in the muddle of physical and aether assault he found a trace taste of something, a pool of energy to draw from.

Pressing the hapless servant into a corner he pushed further with what limited aether power he could muster to ‘latch’ onto the choirmasters aura and by extension the pathetic sub-beings connection to the Force.

In a rough analogy the Choirmaster was like a battery and he was hooking up a coupling to drain it.

The flow of Aether energy was euphoric, ice cold alpine water quenching a dry hot thirst, bringing such relief he did it again to the next chorist.

The entire Convent was chaos as the singers rushed to the only door of their drab shared bunk room only for Taran to smash them back, Maekal covering the entrance, Taryn had gone in to interrogate them.

All unarmed, most barely able to see or hear, and all universally malnourished and weaker than even average Naghi, they were brittle as dried twigs, snapping with the slightest touch of Aethan strength.

Knocking over bunks and small cupboards Taryn killed three by accident before ‘draining’ the next, then another and another.

With each consumption his strength regrew, his depleted Aether energies restored if only by a fraction each time - and more than all that when he fed upon them the itching pain in his Telepatheon lobe was dulled further as the feeding released pleasure hormones akin to, but still unique from, eating rich sugar and fat laced foods through his brain.

Taran and Maekal quickly noticed the difference.

“These little frellick’s aren’t bad feeding…you just push like you would to mind rip ‘em and sort of bite their presence,” Taryn tried to explain the more voracious method of consumption he had stumbled upon at the same time Kiraea was feeding with the same mechanism albeit with numerous smaller ‘mouths’ upon Lek’un souls.

With a nod to Maekal to watch the door, Taran grabbed one of his own, gently as the largest of the Aethan men could so as not to kill it outright - the pale faced singer’s deep black pupil’s frantically spinning in fear was quite comical to him as he replicated Taryn’s feeding imperfectly at first - they were still all learning, too much of what might be considered a ‘soup’ of their energy spilling out - but more precisely the second time.

The singers tried to hide, plead, even fight  -it did them no good, they were disposable morsels to the Aethans now, Maekal soon taking his turn to consume five, with each gnashing swallow they became better at it.

Relief and satiety however was temporary, the gnawing itches returning, the stolen power quickly diminishing - but it was still something - and with each consumption they got a little bit of knowledge from their meals just like they would if they could have mind ripped as normal.

Enough to grant them a few more pieces of the puzzle to the Sorcerers location.

Rolling his head eyes closed as he let the aether energies reinvigorate his limbs Taryn opened his eyes to a mess of bodies and fallen broken furniture, they had barely noticed how many they had consumed or killed in the frenzy, hands and boots all wet with blood, terrified gaping faces staring at them frozen in place by seized muscles.

“Tell the others how to do it, not much, but it gets us some power back,” Taryn ordered

“We’ll need every bit to face the Sorcerers - consume as we go, rebuild our stores of energy,” he kicked over one man in the simple burlap robe of the Choir, sneering back at the petrified face and eyes rolled back in its little Naghi head.

He was already getting hungry for more power and relief, the Shadows bite returning.

<<<<<>>>>

497 BBY — Katarr High Orbit

Seated in Faveah's apartment, Milaea only saw the briefest snippets of the work undertaken to decamp to the Aephrodaea, but what she did spy gave her much understanding. 

The Single lekku, ‘Lek’un’ were the servants of the Anzat, proficient and energised ones at that. Even the smallest actions they undertook with the utmost care and precision, their movements almost programmed to perfection. 

The maids had her undress from her soiled Kimono and wear another from the vast collection in the fine wooden chests, all the while Milaea could not stop thinking about where Ari and the others were, and what had been done to them. 

Assuming they were incapacitated it was up to her to find a way to subvert or eliminate Rannek, she hoped once he died the Shadow in the Aether would die with him, then Ari and the others would be able to use their full energy to heal, and she could shred the Anzat and Lek’un apart with her full powers.

She now had options to delay and obfuscate him.

And while she had no idea who those beings glimpsed in the Flow Walking heading to Aethas after fighting Anzat were, she felt certain the hologram of Soron Varas did.

She needed a way to get in contact with Karintha or the Verndari - a rescue had likely already departed - but they were unaware of the enormous danger that now travelled with the Aephrodaea.

Rannek could not be allowed anywhere near Aethas when all the women were caring for unconscious children, the Verndari and Extolled retinues were strong and could dispatch the Lek’un soldiers and Anzat thralls based on the numbers she’d seen, but Rannek himself was all but invincible.

The best way to destroy him was while in transit - blast whatever ship he was on apart - that he could likely survive with a kinetic shield - but sent hurtling into the void he only needed to be kept away from another vessel or pressurized oxygen source for a few minutes before his lungs exploded. 

Surely even Rannek could not survive the vacuum of space.

Alone with his compulsion Milaea knew she couldn’t attempt a suicide run with the Aephrodaea - but she knew exactly where to find help.

<<<<>>>>

With a grimace Druhanne ordered the tasteless images that decorated the captured vessel to be put away, overseeing with all carefulness the redecoration of the Gaijin craft to meet, as best he could, his Lord's aesthetic tastes.

“Efendi,” the Comis interrupted with a bow
“Half the Sonae are on board, the others moving forthwith, the prisoners remain on the other craft about us, has the Hanshõ instructed what is to be done with them?”

“The Hanshõ remains at his meditations,” Druhanne replied as servants rolled tatami along the bridge of the vessel, the dead world of Katarr a dark blot through the view screen.

“Of course,” Berkant replied bowing as if to leave,
“Efendi…”
“Yes Comis ÇelÍk,” Druhanne replied with the name the Hanshõ had given the Comis - intentionally Druahnne assured himself, not as a result of a memory slip…
“...the Hanshõ’s strategy is…clouded to me - I fear I will not be able to serve him adequately,”

The underlying message was clear - the Hanshõ’s mind was not stable.  He had taken them to a strange world, fought then captured women of an unknown species and now was taking them to another planet none had heard of for reasons utterly unknown to the Lek’un.

“We must trust in the Hanshõ’s wisdom, he is privy to many secrets we are not trustworthy enough to share in,” Druhanne insisted, straightening himself.

Berkant’s mouth twitched with a reply, but he kept it sealed in his mouth, returning to complete his tasks.

The Comis gone Druhanne breathed out a heavy sigh, he too shared misgivings, the Hanshõ had always been forthright and energetic, but his meditations were increasing in frequency, his words becoming more jumbled, his wa clearly disrupted.

The Kuru…but…the Hanshõ was too strong to fall to such - wasn’t he?

<<<<>>>>

A heavy thick fist slammed into her face for the fourteenth time.

“Your witchcraft will be punished!” the Lek’un repeated - they had already gagged her to prevent her casting ‘spells’ completely unaware with each moment she was feeding on more and more of their energy, her bones nearly repaired enough to walk.

Everything in Kiraea’s mind had been reduced to the simplest possible concepts and motivations.

All had to be set aside, her worry for her children, her husband, her many younger siblings to allow the full potential of her gene-hanced mind to perform the necessary functions to ‘solve’ the Problem of the Shadow in the Aether.

Each step was methodically set out for her to achieve that.  She was no longer Kiraea so much as an instrument of the Goddesses will.

The brutish Lek’un ceased his beating as another spoke.

“Commander, Orders have arrived -  we are to take the Prisoners to the Pit immediately, the Hanshõ departs on the enemy vessel imminently.”

“Hai! The Hanshõ’s will be done!,” he sniffed rising up from her seemingly broken form - they had mistaken Aethan’s greater range of joint movement for dislocations.

“Remove her tongue to ensure she speaks no more curses, then the eyes to prevent her hexing us,” he ordered as he headed to the cockpit.

Two Lek’un were left with her, one drawing his tanto, the other grabbing her head, and pulling her gag back.
Now come closer you tentacle headed pfsaaks

The Lek’un obliged pressing his blade to her lips - she spat in his face a glob of spittle laced with her pheromones - her dehydration ensuring it was barely diluted causing the scent to pound into the Lek’uns olfactory glands even as she slammed her head back into the other Lek’un.

Swinging her head forward she bit the Tanto ripping it from the briefly stunned coughing Lek’un, the aether swiftly moving the blade to slice the bonds on her feet apart.

All occurring in barely a second she launched up and on unsteady still partially fractured legs, managed to plant her unclothed feet into the Lek’un as the ship shuddered with the jump to hyperspace.

That was a complication she didn’t need - but it simply added another check on the list to accomplishing her goal.

The Lek’un’s armour couldn’t save them from Aethan superhuman strength -every kick she landed cracked bone and ruined muscles, and as they fell she used the Aether she had drained from them strategically to Life Drain what remained from them to accelerate her healing further.

It was a pathetic amount, but as their bodies decayed unnaturally fast, the life of the cells converted to pure Aether energy, her limbs repaired sufficiently to leap out of the small store room and at her next target.

Her shoulder rammed into him before he could react, her teeth ripped into his throat as surely as her powers were ripping into his soul, draining him in every way.

Her children were in danger - she couldn’t be Kiraea any more, individuality was a waste of precious limited resources.   

She was Mother - Protector - Assassin.

The Lek’un were impediments / resources.

Rannek was Target.

That was All.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 10 - Incarceration - Part 5

It was astonishing what Lek’un could achieve in a matter of hours, the entire bridge of the Aephroadea had been redecorated beyond recognition apart from the main outline of the walls, Rannek’s throne transferred, tatami mats laid and banners of Kinde Q’atrox hung.

Milaea was ushered in by her ladies in waiting, no guards required while the Yokusei and the threat of torment to her wife and sisters compelled her to obey.

Rannek was waiting for her.

“Your companions have been sent to the Pit, there they will remain until I decide otherwise,” his patrician tone condescending and assured with only a hint of the anticipation he must be feeling to at last have a lead to follow.

“Any delay will only extend their suffering,” he added as if she needed reminding.
“Activate the controls, and tell my pilots how to enter the information required.”

With a bitter lock of his bloody red eyes she proceeded to the main control chair, pausing as she held the palm print scanners on the side of the main control console.

“I need the Force to unlock the controls, the material used to lock them down only reacts to my kind,”

Rannek briefly pushed a cold dart of Yokusei power to confirm she was speaking the truth, it shot in the back of her head like a knife confirming the veracity of her words.

“The minimum you need, no more,” he growled.
 
“It will take numerous hyperspace jumps to reach Aethas, we have to go fully around the Inner rim at least.” she explained as the scanner identified her prints and she unlocked the Blackstone dead-lock, then stood to allow the Lek’un pilots to take her place.

The interface was relatively straight forward, they selected their destination by zooming in on a galactic chart, then the navi-computer sought any updates from Navi-beacons along that route to compute the best routes.

Rannek was patient for the moment, allowing his pilots to thoroughly interrogate the machines to ensure there was no trickery, the witch did not seem the type to fly them into a star, but one could never tell.

The Lek’un were assiduous, cross referencing the vectors to their own navigation system on the Kitsune - a task made difficult by the fact the Aethas system was not on any of their maps and unknown even to their deep memory.

“The system was colonized only 4000 years ago, it’s population avoids attention,” Milaea had to explain regarding it’s absence in their memories and systems   

“Five jumps, estimated time 17 hours at maximum speed,” the Lek’un finally noted of the fastest route.

“Hanshõ, the route is valid, and as the Majo indicated is in a region of space the Kitsune is not equipped to transit through safely”

“Then proceed,” Rannek ordered his patience now wearing thin.

Milaea pointed out the critical controls for the Lek’un to begin steering the ship to the first jump point, the servants of the Anzat quick learners.

She had been completely honest to Rannek, she was taking them somewhere with dangerous gravity and radiation fluctuations as promised.

But the Anzat Nobleman had one critical weakness - his reliance and dismissiveness toward his reliable servant race - he had never instructed her not to manipulate the Lek’un.

A tiny mind trick, a scrambling of letters in their perception changing what they saw on the Galactic map - the indicator that read Aethas was swapped in their minds with that which read the name of the Aethans Super Destroyer, where she knew Taryn, once he sensed the source of the Shadow in the Aether aboard, would not hesitate to blast the Aephroadea out of the sky - even with her on it. 

She was sending them into the Unknown regions - straight to the Hecate.

<<<<>>>>

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

Like Vorynx they leapt upon Taung and Nag’hi, bashing their physical resistance aside to suck upon their souls.

The dark warrens of the Cathedral mountains, endless tunnels and chasms were a hunting ground for the twelve Aethan’s, who had found, if not a way to avoid the Shadow in the Aether, then a temporary means of relief from it.

Their fists were caked in dried blood, their victims weren’t armed well enough to even need weapons to break. 

With every Naghi or Taung they consumed a small amount of power trickled back to them, the throbbing pain of their Telepathaeon Lobe reduced - but only ever temporarily.

The sensation was strange - new yet familiar as if they had unlocked some part of their god like biology that till now had been - not so much suppressed - as ‘hibernating’ - the Shadow that denied them the aether forcing them to pry open some primal ‘aura’ eating capacity deep within the nexus between the Telepathaeon Lobe and Aethenaea Cortex. 

The snippets of knowledge gathered from the feedings led them ever closer to their true target - the Sorcerer and his retinue who would surely have the texts for translation necessary to find the sorcery which had, to the best of their knowledge caused the Shadow what seemed a life time ago amidst the battle in the void.

Creeping to the mottled daylight shimmering through the wide uneven cavern, the ground worn by feet, gutters filled with dried blood to the side, Taryn knew he was close - he could smell it - the foetid stench of decay and the dead, the metal tang of blood - they were near a sacrificial altar.

He held his fist as they peeked round an annex, Choirs wandering past with censers that if anything made the putrid smell stronger, behind them Taung Harpies pushing drawn faced naked Nag’hi - a procession of sacrifices.

Pain scratching at him again he was tempted to leap out and consume the lot of them - how many had he ‘fed’ on now?  How long since the first?

His eidetic memory told him - it had been four solar days, 148 kilometers west and 861 meters deeper since that first one. 92 had followed since.

How long since the last? 163 minutes….

They had to be careful here, the Sorcerers and their guards were far more deadly and aware of unexplained corpses than the dregs that inhabited the lower levels.

Waiting till the procession had passed Taryn, Maekal and Taran swiftly moved in the shadows along the edge of the path, peering out at the end a predatory smile at last crossed Taryn's face.

This was it, the Sorcerer who ruled this Cathedral world was here, and with him the answers to breaking the Shadow in the Aether - and then…

Then they’d really show these bastards the price of messing with the Aethan race.

His eyes flicked to activate his Helmets Quantum communicator, blinks typing a message,
[Target Located. Co-ords linked.  Bring Hecate close. Ghost Girl on standby]

[Confirmed] Arryn swiftly replied from the Hecate

[Bomb positioned] Jarys confirmed [on our way] - he and Valens having gone deep into the mountains base to find the perfect location to plant the Naqxium bomb they had with them to cause utmost devastation.

[Moving from East] Melron added as Taryn’s location scrolled past his eyes, the oldest Aethan with Narys and Kadyn scaling over the ice crusted ruins of former mountain top temples, the growing Armada still looming over them visible through the frosty blue sky as cuts of black.

Taryn would wait till everyone was assembled and the Hecate in place, then the fun would really begin.

<<<<>>>>

[For Tyeth]

Hi LSG,

This was a fascinating read, I never thought about how this ship was gonna be piloted when I built it but this chapter set the procedures out! And it has a "Throne Room" now?

I do have to say the "Force Connection" idea takes me back to a group of non Jedi Force Sensitives I read about in the Thrawn novel (I think), who could sense and track electrical impulses in a ship's circuitry/engines then interact with the systems to enact repairs. Keep up the great stories.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 11 - Betrayals - Part 1

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

The Mountaintop Altar was the pinnacle of sacrificial efficiency.

The tip of one peak on the Cathedral world had been cleaved off to a polished granite slab peppered with garnet that shimmered in the deep orange sun, surrounded by its craggy brethren that reached to the  flecks of the armada above. 

Nearly three kilometers in rough diameter, the artificial plateau was covered in multiple levels of altars, stairways bringing victims up from within the mountain after ritual preparation, drains carrying the blood they left behind into huge vats to be taken along with the bodies up to the Armada.

Thousands of beings fed the precise machine, every route carefully set out and repeated so there was no cluttering or intersections that could potentially cause a delay in the procession of sacrifice.

The altars were made of the stuff of the mountain, carved in Nahiri runes, Nag’hi Priests in blood stained robes chanted over each offering, Taung patrolling between faded yellow lines that was their own special route through the network of motion, occasionally ensuring those whose faith wavered ‘Embraced the Void’ no matter what.

There were at least 3000 attendants, acolytes, initiates and priests operating what the Aethan observers counted as 52 altars.

Overseeing all of this a gaunt Sorcerer of Rhand, peticules from his back linking him to eight feeder helots who variously transcribed text, recited from scrolls, or performed bodily functions the Sorcerers emaciated body seemed no longer capable of. The helots were themselves attended by aspirants who envied their linkage by blood and flesh to the Holy Nag’hi Kanzer Exile.

He moved on a large palaquin hefted by over muscled blinded slaves, Choirs of Ghul’Sho following both before and after him, their deep throat singing lending a sickening depth to the hellscape visual.

This was the Sorcerer's Philosophy manifested in perhaps its most pure physical form - the barely understanding illiterate masses fed into the grinder to bless the vessels that would spread Eternal Destruction to other Star Systems, onward, and onward.

In the throng it was easy enough for the Aethan infiltrators to hide, 12 in all divided into four Teams had made their way through the mountain complexes to here, Taryn with Maekal and Taran at the southern end. Lydan led Evyn and Varan, Melron, Narys and Kadyn to the east where they had linked. 

To the North were Kisaea, Davys and Maeson who were able to share vital intelligence regarding a particular class of Rhandites through their silent Quantum comms.

They had witnessed a mass suicide of Knell cultists when an especially self mutilated ragged ‘preist’ had fallen off one of the narrow walkways deep in the mountains.  curious they slit the throat of another near the Knell barracks, again to the same result. 

Maekal, his expertise in theological matters once more proving its worth, hypothesized these were the so called ‘Sin-Eaters’ mentioned in a few of the texts he managed to translate. He had previously assumed the ‘Sin-Eater’ was concept only - never put into practice - but as with so much of the Rhandite society the gritty reality and the letter of the texts did not align, this time to their advantage.   

At one of the vats of blood Cultists of the Knell bathed themselves, overseen by one such Sin Eater, from Maekals analysis the creatures role was to take on the sin of living for a religion that valued destruction above all else- a ‘vicarious salvific aura’ - so the others could continue to exist without maddening themselves by the inherent contradictions of their Philosophy versus praxis. Without the Sin eater of course they had to embrace the Dark swiftly or be punished with the ultimate anathema for the Destruction worshipers - rebirth into another life.   

They waited only for Valens and Jarys, the brothers diverted to plant the only bomb they had brought with them near to the heavily guarded Confessionor Barracks, close to a natural fault beneath the mountain chain they hoped to jolt into a catastrophic full slide, or at least an earthquake.

They would snipe the Sin Eaters first, hopefully causing mass suicides of their Cultists, reducing that threat. 

Their true target was the Sorcerer, the scrolls beneath his throne and his linked helots who could read and write High Nahiri - it was unlikely without the aether they could make them comply - only the most devoted were allowed near the Sorcerers - but it was worth a shot, and the scrolls and books would at least provide translation fodder, and hopefully include the Dark Severing power that they believed caused the Shadow in the Aether.

Taryn felt edgy, his fingers twitching to kill and consume, he couldn’t take the absence of his power much longer, the restlessness, the feeling of weakness and limitation abhorrent to a species that were closer to Divine than mortal.

The temporary relief from ‘consuming’ the lesser beings had worn off after a gluttony of deaths at their hand, only a scattered trace level of aether energy from it remained stored for the attack.

Only with their full power could they hope to deal with the Armada in any meaningful way - they needed Yorna and the other Teleportation experts back, their Terror and Malacia Orbs, the ability to mind control menials to sabotage ships engines and fire weapons at each other. 

None of this they could do while the Shadow in the Aether kept them dimmed.

The machine of murder continued as they waited in the shadows, score by score beings were sacrificed, drained and placed  ready for transit to decorate the Armada.

Finally the Brothers joined Kisaea, who tapped on the radio speaker to the others, if any Taung were on that frequency it would seem nothing more than random interference.

[Hecate moving into position] Arryn communicated via HUD text, the Malefic Class Super Destroyers Void shields active to absorb any and all forms of energy from the craft, even more effective than the Stygium cloaking system, it required four of the ships six Solar Ionization Reactors to power, making the vessel incredibly vulnerable should it be detected.

Everything had to be precisely timed - the Sin Eaters killed, the Sorcerer disabled, his helots and scripts captured and put on their escape ships as quickly as possible, then the Naqxium bombs detonated the meter they were out of range - link up to the Hecate, and hope the ship was not detected and then punch it to hyperspace…and only then…finally, Goddesses willing they would find an answer to lifting the Shadow.

Crawling forward they moved cover to cover, the noise of the choir and darkness of the dusk sky covering their abyssal armour and motions effectively as their careful approach.

Sin Eater’s were pinpointed, Kisaea, Evyn and Narys zeroing them with their Hades Sniper rifles from a distance as the rest moved to lock them with Rifles.

Tense moments passed as they got into position, minutes in which the procession of blood spilling continued unabated, two ships full of corpses from the endless supply of withered creatures bred in the mountains departed to adorn the fleet with its grim trophies.

[In position] Arryn typed - but before he could hit send in the cool blue-grey bridge beneath the mural of the Goddesses that guided their vessel an alert chimed, another Aethan vessel had sent an auto-hail to advise of its presence.

From seemingly nowhere Aephrodaea arrived.

Booming through a tear in space-time, contrails of blue following the Light Eating spearhead vessels exit from pseudo motion, utterly uncloaked and into the midst of the Rhandite Armada

Chaos followed.

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 11 - Betrayals - Part 2

3947 BBY — Aethas

The yellow shimmering field spliced open in a perfect rectangle as the Pallas Athena returned from its long journey.

Soron Varas watched from his rad-glazed window as it descended, the shield closing behind it. 

Powerful as the Magnetosphere of Aethas was, the relentless radiation of the Deep Core environment was stronger, necessitating not only the Radiation shield but thick walled lead lined structures, mostly underground, for the Human and Miraluka colonists to survive.

Turning back to his desk, he glanced over the screens of six high end Quantum-Skip Cognitors each to pursue different aspects of his Great Work - Genesis Deus he indulged in a brief fancy of the day in 8-9 Generations his creation, a True People of Aethas, could walk this world without fear of radiation - indeed it would be absorbed by photosensitive skin to rebind the waste products of nuclear fission in mitochondria he was designing - an almost unlimited source of nuclear cellular energy to power his Gods.

With a satisfied smile he clicked off the screen and went to meet his ‘family’.

<<<<>>>>

The first thing that hit her was the gravity - at least twice the average Mira felt sluggish moving, the second was the thrumming ‘intent’ that was everywhere - this was a planet filled with beings on a mission.

The third was, among the security and ground crew busying themselves around the Athena a single figure that seemed to be the fulcrum around which the entire planet was spinning.

A tall, thin, bespeckled human, a slight smirk of self assuredness and superiority on his face.

Striding down the ramp Isas Marr walked to him first, a chaste kiss shared between them,
“My darling how I have missed you,” Soron Varas greeted his wife, behind him came Varasian, the young man’s gaze low, much of his face still purpled and cut from Katarr, but the 11 day trip to the deep core had caused much of the swelling to subside.

“And my son,” Varas patted Varasians arms, the younger man’s head bowed before his far shorter father.

“How strong you’ve grown, truly the Boy has left and a Man has returned!”

“Thank You Father,”

“And Alixa,” Varas strode forward to greet the rest
“Your beauty grows by the very hour!” he said to the red haired hybrid, then turned to the rest of the group that had come down the ramp.

“And you must be Jedi Master Atris,” there was no mistaking her glistening white hair and outfit

“To you, I extend the welcome of the whole colony and our appreciation of your choice to take up leadership of the Colony,”

That shocked Mira for a moment, she could piece the basics together, this guy had obviously sprung Atris from prison for her betrayal at Telos in exchange for helping them find more Miraluka - but taking over a colony? Why a disgraced Jedi Master?

Why not Isas if this was to be a new human/Miraluka colony for Katarr survivors?
What else was going on here?

“Thank you for the invitation,” Atris replied evenly well aware between Aethas and prison there was very little real choice.

“And this…” Varas turned to the young Miraluka whom Isas took the hand of

“Is my niece Visas,” Isas said triumphantly

“Delicious!” Varas clapped his hands in glee
“It is so wonderful to meet you at last, we had feared the worst, my deepest condolences on the loss of your Homeworld, I hope this reunion of our families can bring some solace, my wife has been tireless in her efforts to bring together the lost of Katarr, and I see you have found even more,”

He moved to the Katas family, the elderly Daro in a hover-chair pushed by Kera

“Honoured Sene, you are most welcome to take your rest here,” Varas deferred in words if not heart to the ageing Luka-Sene.

Varas greeted each of the other Katarr refugees in turn, his welcomes fulsome and warm, but Mira noticed how eyes behind those glasses were cool, clinical, as if dissecting each person he looked at to the very nucleus, seeking something of worth? Value?

“Welcome to Aethas, Mira,” Varasian interrupted her observations, the young man gesturing to the high snow capped mountains beyond the colonies rising buildings.

“My home, and it can be yours too,”

<<<<>>>

 

“You have out done yourself Xan…” Varas paused before he finished the name now anathema to the man who once bore it.
“Forgive me, but truly...this is beyond what I had hoped for…”

They stood on the observation platform of the largest of the underground laboratories - while most colonies prioritised agriculture or mining, the Aethas colony first buildings had been medical.

Below the heavily sedated Anzat captured on Katarr lolled in their suppression cradles, limbs pinned as numbing agents were pumped through their veins. 

“Pure bloods, Nobility even, the best of the Anzat genestock - not the tainted pollution twisted distortions of our own age..and these ‘Lek’un’...I had no idea of their existence…I wonder what treasures their lekku hold.”

At that the Old Man stiffened

“The Lek’un, Kullat, assisted us in capturing the Anzat…”

There were not enough chemical restraints for all the Lek’un, most were simply tied together at the neck, and were already proving problematic constantly attempting to escape to reach their Lords.

“What of it,” Varas replied coldly eyes already scrolling over a datapad with preliminary gene-sequencing from initial blood samples,”

“We are letting him leave?” the Old Man asked, knowing in his heart the answer

Varas chuckled

“Your deadpan humour never fails to amuse me…no these are much too valuable…”

He gazed down as the Lek’un waiting patiently on their knees in bonds were separated by sex, sorted into groups based on skin colour thereafter.

“The darker ones with flatter noses are less useful to us, we can start with them,”
Varas made a note to himself, the Old Man’s stomach turning at how Varas saw beings as mere ingredients, selecting for characteristics based on aesthetic preference as much as genetic potential.

“Varas…” the Old man’s gravely throat held some softness as old guilts bubbled from his gut.

“Have no fear my friend, all the pieces for Genesis Deus are in place, now is my time to work and yours to rest after such travail,”

The Old Man found neither solace nor comfort in his ‘friends’ words.

<<<<>>>>

497BBY - Katarr Outer System

They had barely dropped from hyperspace when their tracers read they were too late.

The Aephrodaea was already gone, based on the readouts from the emergency tracing beacons coming through it was headed toward….

“The Unknown Regions,” Ninth scrutinised the proposed route, noting the location of their other vessels supporting the Chiss.

It could be headed nowhere other than to join theAethan Chiss-Auxillary strike force comprised of the Hecate, Lyssia and Alixaea. 

Yet why? A desperate attempt to seek help against the Homo-Lekku boarding party - they would’ve been better off waiting for the Aethenaea to arrive.

Ninth lacked sufficient information - turning to fifth grade causative probabilities she discerned with 87.3% certainty the Aephrodaea was under partial Aethan control - the Homo-Lekku attackers had nominal power and an urgent need to leave this system, but the Aethan crew had enacted a ruse, diverting them toward the Hecate for assistance, giving the illusion they were heading to the Homo-Lekku’s preferred destination.

“Commander, a transmission - unknown sender Ident, but it has passed all our authenticating protocols and was directed straight to Emergency Frequency Seven,” Third informed her, along with Sixth the other member of the Verdari deployed to relive the Aephrodaea along with the Extolled retinue.

Stepping round the war-rooms holo of the galactic map she took the data-tablet from Third, the message beneath the authenticator lines and various Aethan ciphers to confirm identity as being from Kiraea was a simple set of coordinates and dire tidings.

[A,X,L,E hostage, injured, M/Aeph abducted. Lek’un/Anzat enemy 500+, Prime Target Anzat SITL 300+]

Aresaea, Xanaea, Lyaea and Evaea were thus all injured, Milaea and the Aephrodaea taken - though obviously Milaea had diverted the enemy toward the Hecate as Ninth had suspected, and their enemy…with a Standardised Individual Threat Level of 300 would be difficult, even Milaea was only rated at 145.

Still her next step was clear, Milaea was already more than halfway to the Hecate, Ninth could not catch up in time, and Kiraea needed immediate assistance.

“We leave for those coordinates immediately,” Ninth ordered.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 11 - Betrayals - Part 3

497 BBY — Anzat Prime - High Orbit

[Confirmed enroute eta 5 hours] the reply came back succinctly and quickly.

Kiraea felt no relaxation, her body still primed, mind cold as ice with a singular focus on eliminating the Target.

She stood over the communications terminal in the cramped cockpit of a mid-tier Corellian Freighter that had once belonged to an Anzat scholar, the vessel, and the Anzat appropriated by the Target.

Every one of the fifteen Lek’un on the vessel were in some state of death or ‘harvesting’ - limbs broken as they had hers, metaphysical teeth in their aura’s as she used their connection to the Aether to flow energy to her, barely a tenth of what she normally obtained, but better than nothing. 

The muscled leader of the Sonae was propped in the pilot's chair still, a vibro Yari through the chair and his chest pinning him in place but not yet killing him -  if the other vessels in the irregular flotilla tried to communicate there was a face however grainy to look at.

Twisting the Yari the Lek’un grunted as Kiraea used the force to twist his mouth with words of her will.  She had to be economical with her use of the aether.

“Our vessel is damaged requesting transfer of prisoner and Sonae” he said, body alive, brain dead.

“Confirmed,” the Lek’un were always swift, and - to a fault - confident and trusting in their Lord and each other to their deaths.

She had only to wait.

<<<<>>>>

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

It burst out of hyperspace barely 10,000 kilometers from the planet, well into medium orbit, an Oblivion Dagger point that spun end over end in uncontrolled rotation.

Captain’s across the Rhandite armada detected the intrusion as immediately as Arryn recognized it as the Aephrodaea.

The Aethan mechanical genius briefly wondered what, by the Goddesses, it was doing, the Taung admirals immediately opened fire.

Pink-white Needle Cannons smashed into the hastily activated shields, ruining any chance of the ship righting itself as it’s forward momentum propelled it to the planet.

There was no time and nothing Arryn could do to help the ship, it was moving at over 100 kliks per second, the Rhandite fire already lost as the Blackstone vessel hit the upper atmosphere, a halo of flaming reentry heat surrounding it.

On board the out of control vessel the Witch and the Gaki acted in concert to try to arrest the uncontrolled plunge. 

Milaea had not considered the Hecate would be so close to a planet, had not had the time to contemplate the dangers of using it as the anchor for her ruse to keep Rannek for Aethas. Now she risked destroying herself along with him.

She would have accepted that sacrifice to end the threat the Anzat posed to the People - but Rannek would not allow it.

His Anima gripped the vessel with brutal force, acting to stabilise the out of control spin and try to slow the terminal velocity to the planets surface that would surely disintegrate them.

Her powers unlocked by Rannek’s will to survive, permission given by the Yokusei -  Milaea pushed a kinetic shield around the ship to prevent the friction of the atmosphere shredding apart the hull, strong as the Ultradense material was it could only survive so much.

All the while they were thrown bodily through the bridge, smashing into walls, ceilings, Lek’un and Anzat thralls, artificial gravity and inertia dampers long since burnt out. 

Milaea’s weight unintentionally crushed one Lek’un Yari-gami to death, Druhanne held onto Ranneks’ throne lamenting the disorderly state of things, an Anzat ganger smashed their head open on a beam, the weapons console ripped from the floor to smash into the view screen.

With a grunting stomp Rannek anchored himself into the floor, cracking it apart and cutting his legs, arms outstretched as he physically manifested the counter push to the pull of gravity he was attempting.

The vessel began to slow enough for Milaea to add her own more focused shunts to guide it to a spot where she could just feel her People.

The Aephroadaea smashed into one of the taller peaks of the Cathedral mountains.

The comparatively weaker stone of the world give way to the heated Blackstone and caused a landslide that engulfed dozens of mountaintop facilities and temples, blotting them beneath rock and ice in an instant.

Down to a manageable 200 kilometers per hour the ship slammed through the side of one peak and into the depression between mounts where the Altars stood.

Disciplined Taung warriors and fanatical Priests ignored the vast black object hurtling toward them, continuing their sacred tasks of overseeing the sacrifices to the Eternal Dark, even as the first chunks of flying rock splattered them into projectile strings of bone and meat.

The port edge of the Aephrodaea cut into the rocky ground, gouging tracks of stone behind it, shredding itself to pieces, superheating friction turning solid to liquid then back again as the cold of the elevation bit.

Dozens of cavern entrances and altars were annihilated as it finally slowed, thousands of beings killed in the rapid collision.

The Sorcerer of Rand leaning back on his palanquin behind kinetic shields observed the event with curiosity as Taryn peeked over the altar piece he had crouched behind for some cover.

The Aethan pirate recognizing one of the ships of the Aethan fleet instantly, wondering what by the Goddesses Bloody Red Eyes the Aephrodaea was doing here smashing into the ground.

<<<<<>>>>

“Treacherous Witch!” Rannek boomed struggling from the holes he had anchored himself in, dozens of cuts and bruises across his body repairing under forceful use of his Anima.

His eyes narrowed in frustrated rage, the Yokusei it seemed suppressed the witches  power drastically but could not completely subsume her Will and body as it did Anzat.

Milaea raised her head from the deck, a large cut on her forehead from collapsed in metal beams.

“Did you really think I’d help you!” she snapped as she spat out blood, her body shaking from the collision.

“What is this place, where are we?!” he demanded, pushing the wreckage aside to get to her.

“I don’t know anything except this - the Men of my People are here, and if they don’t kill, the Rhandite Armada that shot at us sure as Tartarus will,”

Before she could even stand he gripped the back of her torn, soiled, Kimono lifting her despite her nearly 350 kilo dense bodies weight.

“No mere ‘Men’, ‘Sorcerers’ or ‘Armada’ will keep me from my Children! Sonae! Assemble! Secure the crash zone, send scouts to find another vessel, kill anything you encounter!”

“Thy will be Done!” came the surviving Sonae’s response.

<<<<>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 11 - Betrayals - Part 4

3947 BBY — The Lek’Un

A rhythm was established, a hiss then click as a device breathed for his brother.

Kullat, his own side wrapped in kolto patches after being shot, sat with Celeano -  or what remained of him after suffering the First Correction from the Sword Kenin for his treachery - on life support. 

The Aethas doctor had been quite clear, there was no hope of recovery, his condition would slowly worsen in days, if Kullat wished he could deactivate the hissing life support at any time.

Kullat held the stump of where his brother's hand had once been.

“We have succeeded brother, our Oath is fulfilled,”  he didn’t know whether Celeano could hear him or not.
“The Anathema will suffer all the days of his life, he will never find his precious spawn here in the future and deep into the Core,”

He looked about the small room, prefabricated metals and plastics, so crass and unadorned compared to their home among the mountains of Shiva’s, the rich decor of even the simplest Lek’un dwelling that would have graphite etchings of House Head’s of the Banu line going back centuries and devotional portraits of Hansho’s past sitting above offering plates of spices and grain.

His mind fell to Fallyn, the brother they had left in the ‘past’, dead all these millenia - how he must miss them among the Silent Voices. 

Kullat was certain Fallyn was in a place of honour serving the Kinde Ovarug in the Pure Realms, restored and whole, he had given up more than Kullat or Celeano to enact the Curse of Ovarug upon the Anathema, he deserved the most reward.

“We will join Fallyn soon brother, in the service of our beloved Hanshõ,” tears fell from his eyes as he sought comfort in the deep genetic memories of his ancestor, the last Efendi of Kinde Ovarug, Obdullah, reflecting on the glorious face of Tyrell vel-Ovarug - a great and just Lord - he would be sure to reward all the brothers, performing their Completion Ceremony had he been alive. 

Yet they sought no reward - duty to the Kinde was its own reward, Kullat felt nothing but gratitude to have had the opportunity to serve, and knew Celeano and Fallyn would pass to the Voices feeling the same.

The thin metal door opened behind him, Kullat quickly composing himself.

“Master,” Kullat nodded
“Have the Anathema’s spawn been executed?”

The Old Man stood cold and silent, knowing the fate of the Anzat would be far far worse than that, he had little sympathy for the Soup drinking creatures.

“They will suffer, and never leave this world,”

Kullat nodded his thanks.

“Gratitude of the Kinde Ovarug, and the Blessings of the Gods be upon you for delivering justice,” Kullat replied, words that meant nothing to the Old Man as, hand in the fold of his long robe he thumbed the stun blaster.

“Please Master, if possible I wish to return to Anzat Prime with my brothers remains - he will pass soon - that we might be interred with our ancestors,”

The Old Man was no stranger to desecrating bodies, nor turning on his friends and family - sarcophagi of the Draay family, and his own Clan’s ossuaries before that - what were two mere Lek’un?

“You will never leave either. For the next generation,”

Kullat’s puzzlement ended with stiffened twitching as the Old Man stunned him unconscious, Kullat flopping onto his brother's chest that rose and fell in time with the artificial lung.

Heavily stepping over to the pair as he fulfilled another of the grim tasks to secure the future superiority of his descendants his hand hovered over the deactivation switch for the life support - had not this wretch suffered enough?

His finger hovered over the red glowing switch ready to show some mercy.

Bitterly, despite the morality the Book of the Way had taught him, he withdrew his finger and gave the Lek’un up to Varas experimentations.

<<<<>>>>

3947 BBY — Aethas

“You will release me immediately!” Enfanta Sínã Faveah mare-Q'Atrox demanded her held high with dignity even as she floated naked in a force cage, her dark hair floating upward from static electric pressure, the blue white light beneath keeping her suspended two foot from the ground as petulant Gaijin in white coats stumbled about on strange tasks.

But one, a slightly taller, thin male homo-sapien with glass circles before his eyes beneath wispy grey hair stood still leering at her with a victorious grin.

Oh how she would see that grin vanish when he was humiliated through every degree of punishment by the Sonae.

“If you treat me according to my exalted station from this moment onward I will assuage my Fathers wrath enough to let you have the honour of being consumed by Anzat,” she offered

Soron Varas gently chuckled at her foolishness.

“My dear child, you are gravely ignorant of the situation, your Father, this Duke of Anzat is never going to come, your species is so rare and dispersed it was bordering on miraculous we even found you…”

Her face remained set in the impassivity of a trained Noblewoman.

“The ‘Lek’un’ have such a vicious hatred of your father they implemented what I must admit is an inspired scheme…” an orderly arrived with the small wheeled cart on which his instruments were neatly arranged, an assortment of extractors and vials for samples.

“...by flying at the rim of the singularities of the Maw they made use of the temporal distortions of the blackhole, whilst you experienced perhaps an hour of time, the rest of the galaxy moved on approximately 8000 years…” Varas smiled, selecting the thin needled extractor suited for inter-vertebrae sampling.

“...your father is long since dead, your species scattered and corrupted, your civilization a ruin, modern Anzat tainted by pollution and unnatural toxins…but you,”

The Extractor lit with a gentle pulsing glow of the Numb-field, a low grade version of the energy used in stun blasts around the needle

“Are pure noble stock, your thin nose, pale skin…you should be proud child”

Her purple eyes widened as the needle passed through the Force cage without resistance, the energy barrier preventing only biological matter from passing through.

“Your children will not be mere Nobility - but Gods,”

<<<<>>>>

       

“It’s kinda pretty I have to admit…” Mira said as she sat on a small hill just outside the array of pre-fabricated buildings and landed craft that comprised the Colony of Aethas, new buildings being erected against the heavy gravity beneath the yellow field that protected the humans and Miraluka from the Deep core radiation.

With Visas she had taken a walk round the grass hills that surrounded the colonies largest outpost, the alpine forests and snow capped mountains just behind the Radiation shield - it felt good to breath fresh air and feel life around them, the midday sun seeming to burn off the wet dead taint of their time on Katarr.

“Reminds me of Alderaan…or the picts of it at least,” Mira added as she spun her arm, her injuries from Katarr quickly healing with a force meditation and kolto patches

“So you planning to stay, help ‘new Katarr’?” she asked her Miraluka companion

“Perhaps, my aunt is insistent, but something about this place feels…”

“Yeah…that,” Mira agreed, there was something wrong here, something she could articulate - it wasn’t Dark like they’d experienced on Malachor, or cruel like Kreia when she had turned on them and Meetra - it felt more -perverted.

The array of strange events kept playing in Mira’s head, the Old Man visiting the tombs on Draay 2, the So and Sa - Sene demanding gametes from Varasian and Alixa, the fight with the Anzat, the way Soron Varas looked at people like pieces in a grand puzzle…

It was all too much for her.

“Soon as my ship’s ready I’m outta here,” Mira said standing and brushing the loose grass off her black synth leather pants.

“Why don’t you come with, I can drop you off…wherever…Or I could really use a hand helping reunite families back on the Rings?”

Visas paused contemplative, remaining cross legged on the grass, the contrast to her meditations on dead Katarr could not be starker, their life was gone, here it was just beginning.

“I will consider it.  Thank You Mira, for everything.  My Aunt is not a bad woman, but she is scarred by Katarr, as are we all, I fear her Vision of a new world taking the best of Katarr, though laudable, is indifferent to the ripples it causes others,”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Mira added, stretching out before spying a figure approaching up the hill.

Varasian.

She hadn’t spoken to him since Katarr, avoided him at the small kitchen they got their meals after arriving despite his efforts.

“I will head back, I think you should talk to him,” Visas suggested, rising.  Mira grunted a concession.  Visas in her vermillion robes headed down, briefly stopping to speak with her - what was he, cousin? - Mira supposed, before heading on.

“Everything is arranged, your ship is ready, coordinates uploaded, the credits we promised added to your accounts, with a bonus for your assistance on Katarr,” Varasian explained still heading toward her, his scars all but gone, the Aethas Force seemingly healing more with every breath,

“You are, free to leave at any moment…unless…” he paused uncertain as a teen trying to woo the local beauty

“Unless you would like to stay?”

“Stay? After all the crazy dren that just happened? Are you on Death sticks?” she snapped back quickly, his posture instantly shrinking away.

“Look this was was just a job, help find some Miraluka, catch up with Visas, now…” she gazed up to the dimming sky, turning her back on him and the colony
“Now off to the next gig,”

He remained silent for a few moments, then shook his head, his tone swapping from cautious to firm in an instant.

“You don’t really want that Mira,” he reached out to turn her but she pulled from his grasp.

“How do you know what I want, you don’t even know me, we had a few run ins and close calls together that’s it, nothing special ‘bout it,”

Undeterred he spoke on.

“Mira, I know more than you think,” his words held assuredness as he looked deep into her very soul with the gifts of his blended heritages - not just Miraluka, but those transmitted through his biological ‘partial grandfather’ the Old Man.

“You’ve spent years helping others separated by war find their families, because you keep hoping by doing that one day you might just find yours - your true family, the one the Mandalorians took you from,” he stepped round her taking her hands together - she didn’t stop him this time, the words striking too deep.

“You can keep looking for your family out there, or you can make your own family here, with me, away from the wars, the crimes, the violence of the galaxy,”

She was about to speak when he interrupted.

“Don’t say you’re not interested, I know you are,”

“Sure maybe, a little curious, you have your moments, but what do you think’s gonna happen?” she turned to eye him directly

“I just hop into a prefab, become your little wifey, plop out six kids? Spend my days watching holo-drama’s and telling tales of when I was a bad-girl bounty hunter on Nar Shadda?  Sorry bud but that ain’t the life for me,”

Now Varasian was taken aback, his hopes shattered once more.

“Look you’re a nice guy, even good in a fight - and that’s your problem, you’re too nice - getting used by that Old Man, Isas and Alixa for something…something I don’t even wanna know what, but we’re not gonna have a happy ending riding off into the sunset together, you get me?”

It was hard, but he needed to hear it.

“I understand,” he nodded glumly. Alixa had warned him this might happen, and he had come prepared.

“There is just one last thing I would ask of you…though I know you will refuse,”

“What?” she looked puzzled - then shocked as with a swift fluid motion he pressed an injector pen into her neck with almost gentleness, cool numbness trickling across her as the beautiful landscape became muffled and dim.

With a swift step forward he caught her falling body.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 11 - Betrayals - Part 5

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

“What the Frell are they thinking!?” Taryn cursed as despite the still falling chunks of rock the sacrificial processions continued - after all a cult that worshipped destruction hardly cared when their own were killed.
“They’ll bring the whole dren dumpster of Rhandies down on our heads!”

The Taung warriors however quickly gathered, Harpies and Gorgons bluntly killing priest and acolytes to establish a perimeter around the Aephrodaea, altars, chunks of rock and slabs of Blackstone torn from the ships hull used as cover points.

High above the Armada began to reposition itself in a more defensive formation, clustering in dozens of tactical fleet groups around Void Chariots in anticipation of another attack, so far it seemed the Hecate, Lyssia and Alixaea remained undetected.

“I don’t think anyone intended that!” Maekal replied drawing his sword and rifle knowing a fight was now inevitable.  Taryn’s team was closest to the Aephrodaea the rest of the Aethan ground force awaiting his instruction.

The Taung were pouring out of the nearby tunnels to the mountains by the dozen, some working to rip rubble free from collapsed openings to allow more out   They were surrounding the scarred wreck of the Aephrodaea.

Much of the ships Ultradense Blackstone plating had been shorn off by the atmosphere and in the crash, leaving the under lying doonium layers exposed, Chiss Cris Phrik-Steel alloy supports visibly jutting out where the impact had pushed them through the inner hull, itself still glowing a dull orange with excess heat.

Pipes and crystalline circuits had been vomited out violently, the only reason the Solar Ionization reactors hadn’t been comprised was, to Taryn’s mind, most likely the emergency shut-off had activated dousing the intense power generators with near zero Kelvin helium turning the energy cores into solid balls of rapidly cooling elements that would form into metals.

The ship, tilted on its side with the upper section facing the altars, would never fly again. 

Taryn peered looking for any sign of life, finally spying one upper hatch on the smoking wreck, a tentative pair on binoculars poking out.  Then a handful of grenades.

The frag grenades exploded with sharp micro-metals, Taryn’s eyes narrowing as the Taung kept their distance, securing their positions further. 

All Aethans used the same store of weapons and equipment, and none featured fragmentation grenades like that, on his hip were two of their preferred Chiss Orbital Shock Troop Implosion grenades more suited for void-boarding missions.

Out of a handful of maintenance hatches they came - not Aethan, not even Extolled - humanoid soldiers in plated armour that seemed of another era who threw themselves at the Taung.

The first waves of Lek’un were cut down by needle rifles and Medusae Eviscerators in moments, a sacrifice to allow the rest to get on the ground and fight back.

He didn’t know who these soldiers with a single Lekku were, how they had gotten onto the Aephrodaea and brought it to crash here, but Taryn and the Aethan task force had to find out - and with the Taung and the Sorcerer completely focused on the Lek’un, the Rhandites were completely exposed from the flanks and behind.

“Kill Everything!” was his grim simple order.

The Aethans fired a devastating volley into the rear of the Taung as they sprang from their concealed positions, Hades rifles and Oblivion arrows shredding dozens in an instant.
Jarys and Valens leapt into a cadre of Medusae, their Oblivion swords slicing them two at a time from behind as Taryn and Lydans’s teams on the east and Kisaea and Melron’s on the west curved round with a steady stream of fire, implosion grenades rolled along the ground to twist the Taung into hideous amalgams of rock and flesh when caught.

The Lek’un immediately seized on the unexpected assistance, securing cover and increasing their deployment numbers, now joined by the Anzat thralls who loped with starving ferocity at the Taung, violently plunging their proboscis into any of the warriors they could pin down long enough.

Numbering just over 300, dozens killed by the crash, the Taung were devastated as the Aethan’s and Lek’un forces worked in a seeming concert to shred them from all sides - the Aethans the hammer pushing them onto the Lek’un Anvil, near feral Anzat unreliable as ever starting to attack the priests and sacrificial victims when they parted from the main engagement.

The heat bled off Taryn’s Hades pistols as he fired into the Umbra Soroitas Taung warriors at ever closer quarter, the Sorcerer on his Palanquin now becoming concerned, hurling chunks of rock and debris at his attackers, 

Davys taking a piece square in the chest, Maeson beside him ripping at the sorcerer with his Hades repeater forcing the Sorcerer to raise a heavy kinetic shield.

Valens and Jarys, soaked in Medusae blood, were heading straight for him, Kisaea using he sniper rifle to add suppressive fire and keep the Sorcerer from using his deadly arts. 

Melron blasted the head off a Sin Eater, his retinue - mostly barely armed acolytes, now began screaming and rapidly shooting or stabbing themselves adding to the frenzy of death.

More Umbra began to arrive from below, Lydan using all the strength years herding huge Gromin had provided to try and push a chunk of rubble three times his size to block an exit from the caverns to stem the tide.

It was upon this scene of devastation that Rannek-soma mare Q’Atrox now gazed from the upper corner of the vessel he had to climb like common rodentia to reach, dragging the Witch by her hair.

He looked carefully as Knell of Musipilli began to use the vast numbers of dead to summon beings from Beyond the Veil - Force entities thrust into twisted amalgams of corpses that raged as they expanded thrashing at anything in their path, killing even those that had summoned it. 

Queer avian like humanoids in thicker armour were gradually winning the battle, crackling pink and blue powered whips and blades slowly grinding Oblivion warriors.

Yet these Oblivion warriors were different from those Rannek had seen on Katarr - whenever the chance arose they seemed to feed on the near dead, draining them of life energies. 

Of course they did not use physical means like the proboscis of Anzat, yet Rannek could feel the similarity in the result, the consumption of Anima.

Struggling up, her face caked in her own dried blood, kimono torn, Milaea saw her people begin to struggle as the Rhandites gained the upper hand from sheer numbers, the Sorcerer now turning against the more immediate threat of the Aethans his rotten black lips dripping blood as he spoke the vile incantations of the Kanzer Exiles in High Nahiri to empower his thralls and send malignant curses against the Aethans.

Their blackstone armour and Gormin blood runic war paint deflected some, but not nearly enough of the neuron wracking attacks, Taran the closest floored instantly barely able to defend himself against the pathetic unarmed cultists he had been slaughtering and consuming to power himself.

“These are the warriors you thought would slay me?” Rannek sneered with the closest hint of amusement his grim aristocratic tone could ever convey.

Regardless of his condescension both were fully aware Rannek himself needed every warrior he could muster as his own Lek’un suffered against the Taung and now a bizarre tornado like conglomerate of sacrificial Nag’hi that sucked a Teppo-gami up, shredded its body in its swirling storm then expanded as its mass increased by his flesh.

He pulled Milaea up fully over the brim of the ship and threw her the twenty meters to the ground then leapt down himself, clasping on his helm, the twisted face mask in the image of a snarling Gaki seemingly less repellant than his natural face.

“Deal with the familiars Witch,” he demanded - allowing her access to the Aether once more to close the breaches that allowed the Knells twisted entities through into the baryonic universe.

Rannek marched straight toward the Sorcerer,utterly ignoring the Harpies and Gorgon’s firing at him his as he approached their cover points.  Every step sure and certain, impervious to the mountains of needle-cannon fire poured at him.

Medusae with gleaming eviscerator whips leapt at him as he crossed the no-mans land between the Taung and the Lek’un, and with each stride forward his blade moved like mist through their bodies, leaving the Taung elite to fly apart in bloody chunks under their own momentum, the greatest of the Umbra Soroitas slaughtered with barely a thought by the Anzat seeped in martial experience for millenia.

Taryn stared astonished as the lone Anzat in archaic plate seemed to ‘walk’ at a sombre steady pace through the Taung, the Aethans super human eyesight seeing only the ghost like after images of Ranneks blade work and incredible precision in positioning himself to avoid any blow and deliver death in its place.

Yet the Sorcerer now eyes him and ‘turned’ as fast as a being attacked by flesh tubes to half a dozen acolytes that fed him energy could. 

The Sorcerer reminded Rannek of the Renunciates of the far north of Anzat, utterly emaciated yet strong with ethereal powers.

The last Medusae and Gorgon’s rushed to meet him seeking to protect the Sorcerer at all costs, ,eviscerator chains and serrators swords slowering, their bodies cloaked in shimmer-shields.

Even as their arms switched from building to unleashing momentum, Rannek’s tremor Katana glided from its sheath through them. One, two, three, four.

Their torso’s parted from their waists and his blade returned to its sheath. The Lek’un braying with glee, Comis Celik rallying his soldiers to follow their Hanshõ’s example and surge forward.

The Sorcerer could feel the danger as Rannek summoned his Anima, could even see the haunted ghostly echoes that fuelled the Anzat, not one, not even a hundred but…thousands…near millions of deaths fuelled this monstrosity.

“Glory to the Eternal Dark! Destruction is Eternal! May the Sundering Reign!” a voice hoary and choked cried out from the Sorcerers throat, spraying black blood over his acolytes. 

The Sorcerer cared not from what means the Eternal Truth of the Universe- Destruction - was produced, only that it was! And by their conflict so much more destruction would flow!

Like a fiery angel Milaea leapt at the conglomerate of body parts that twisted under eldritch wings, blasting its core with a streams of red energy from each hand that she ‘locked’ with metaphysical hooks, then with her own weary arms pulled to ‘close’ the breach in the Force the Knell had made.

The variegated corpses collapsed into a massive pile as the Force entity from beyond the Veil was shut back out of their reality, Milaea moving to lift Taran up and grant him some healing energies as Taryn skidded in beside her, his pistols still firing.

“What the frell is happening Sparkles?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly

Rannek sliced through Taung and Nag’hi with bored ease as the Sorcerer summoned his most deadly Dark powers, his Acolytes opening their most nefarious tomes for him, chanting in a choir to strengthen his powers.

A twisted black mist struck the Clucir head on, with teeth bared Rannek pushed his Anima against it. His feet crunched and sank into the rock, but he kept moving forward, the Sorcerer's already emaciated body began to peel open with cuts as he tired to spread glorious destruction to this Anzat.

His Katana moving like lighting Rannek downed three more Taung, his tally well over a score, pushing through the nefarious beam of Destruction by the power of the Deaths he had inflicted over millenia, a power that inspired and terrified the Sorcerer in equal measure.

Reaching the last few Medusae Rannek shredded through them, his speed and skill honed over centuries of warfare and the supping on dozens of Anzat blade masters beyond all reckoning.

Finally he sliced the Acolytes apart, then the bloated muscled creatures upon whose back the Sorcerers palanquin sat.

The Sorcerer crashed down staring at the Gaki whose mask lifted.
“What manner of creature are you?” Rannek asked in broken basic

“Destruction is ETERNAL!” The Sorcerer replied with zealous glee to Embrace the Void.

“You know nothing of destruction petulant creatures,” the Clucir dismissed with a bitter whisper as he raised the creature by the throat

“Then teach us Harbinger of Annihilation,” the last remaining sorcerer wheezed

Rannek nodded in agreement.

Skewering the Sorcerer's Heart with his blade, Rannek’s proboscis rammed into the Sorcerer's nose, puncturing the comparatively thin Nag’hi bone with ease, tasting brain fluids salty from dehydration and bitter with age.

The twisted past of the Sorcerer flashed in Ranneks mind as he supped the Soul, a screaming child one of dozens fighting for scraps in a frozen factory warmed only by the bodies of endless dead. 

This child had an advantage, twisting the Force to his will to survive.  It drew the attention of the Sorcerers, who placed him among the cutthroat world of the Seminaries - killing, betraying and ravaging his way to the top, the Philosophy of Eternal Destruction natural to a sentient that smelt death daily.

The Sorcerer's head dropped away, Rannek understanding the foe as the Soup settled, his anima expanded.

<<<<>>>>

Milaea cast the last abomination back beyond the veil with a wavering crimson blast, her body trembling for aether overuse, but unable to stop as she complied with the Yokusei, Taryn helping by keeping the Taung and cultists away from her with his pistols and Katana.

The Rhandites scattered as the Sorcerer fell, some into suicide, while on other altars the sacrifices continued - never having ceased - as if no battle was occurring at all, such was the fanatical devotion of some priests, Choirs of Ghul’Sho continued their throat chanting, so used to violence this battle was exceptional only in its scale and unusual protagonists.

Pushing through them with single minded fury Jarys reached Milaea and Taryn, scooping his frail daughter up, the silken kimono barely covering her now, the multi layered slips beneath grimy and wet.

“Mili…what…” he stared in shock at her soiled face, removing his own dented helmet smelling the blood staining her face was her own.

He didn’t need to ask who was responsible, already the Aethans were forming around Rannek as the Taung, ever the most practical of the Rhandites, retreated to regroup.

“The Shadow…” Milaea whispered, utterly exhausted, falling in Jarys arms, a wavering finger pointing at Rannek.
“It’s Him…Kill him,”

Kisaea came near, Jarys placed Milaea in the older woman’s arms, turning toward the pulsing source of the Shadow in the Aether.

All round the men’s faces became grim and focused, Jarys moving in lock step with Taryn and Valens, intent on executing the Anzat abomination.

The Lek’un raised weapons, but astonishingly Rannek gestured for them to lower them.

“Stay your fire,”, the Clcuris face adopted the shadow of a smile so far as atrophied muscles for such an expression allowed.

With each step forward the Aethans used the power they had consumed from their victims to draw energy on even more of the dying around them, their method of circumventing the Shadow ever so reminiscent of the source of Rannek’s own power, a fact not lost on the Elder Anzat.

“Bow,” Rannek demanded with a pulse of Yokusei.

Jarys foot stopped mid air.

His knee dropped.

Milaea’s face fell, ashen.

On Katarr the women of the People had been able to resist, even attack Rannek, his Yokusei power strong but not enough to compel their obedience when dispersed over multiple women.

Milaea realised now - the men were different.

As one they knelt before the Clucir. As one their heads bowed - despite the furious rage to kill that coursed through their veins.

Rannek looked across to Milaea, a victorious sneer on his tainted highborn features.

“You are betrayed Witch,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 12 - Consumption - Part 1

497 BBY — Anzat Prime - High Orbit

Over and over in her mind she tried to discern any reason or logic behind the events that had transpired.

Thought was the only thing Aresaea had left - limbs broken, blindfolded, gagged, tied upside down in a vessel that reeked of spice and soiled clothes.

An ancient Anzat…Kazic had once told her tales of such and shared an old book on the Seignority Discord that once ravaged that ‘vampiric’ species homeworld. Such ancients were more myth than fact by now, even Kazic considered them more a kind of childhood Wyrd-Man to scare children than real, but his voice always held a note of genuine concern.

Their powers he had told her - Ari ever inquisitive to learn every last detail on every subject as a youth - were only exceeded by their insanity. Consuming Soup, Kazic said, was not only morally abhorrent - the reason he never partook despite the primal drive to do so - but also damaging to the Anzat themselves.

“It drives one mad, the echoes of other beings that linger afterward, reality and memory twist and mingle, those most deeply affected by the Kuru likely have no more idea what they are doing or why than anyone around them.”

Could this be why the Anzat had taken them, forced Milaea to Flow walk on Katarr - was he simply insane?

No, that couldn’t be, there were, as Saani said, no coincidences where the Force was concerned - this Rannek - the reputed lord of Ancient Q’Atrox, a title she remembered from the book - had arrived there at that specific time for a reason, and he seemed, if erratic and demanding, obsessive in his singular goal.

Shifting her weight she tried once more to unbalance the hooks she was hung on, but the Lek’un servants were diligent guards and quickly zapped her with a stun pole.

The effect was paltry, Aethans couldn’t truly feel pain - it was a weakness pruned away generations before them - but it reminded her the guard was there.

If it were not for the damn Shadow she could easily telekinetically…

Something shifted…she could feel a large mass approaching the ship - another ship, a small rumble - docking.

Her Gene perfected sensory system picked up every detail

Words vibrated - yelling…footsteps…increase in thermal energy, yellow spots in her mind that followed the procession of thick mass in a humanoid form - another Aethan - coming closer, a scent!

Her blind fold was torn away,
Kiraea’s face was right in hers - her adoptive older sister's countenance was gaunt and pitless,
Lek’un blood dripped from her mouth where she had torn their throats with her teeth.

“Heal. Wait. Fight,” was the simple instruction.

<<<<>>>>

Of the ‘flotilla’ of appropriated Anzat vessels, eight had already docked on the floating Platform over old Azherri that had been ‘cleansed’ by the Q’atrox Sonae. In their Hanshõ’s absence the Lek’un acting swiftly to meld it to their Lords anticipated needs.

The varied nature of the vessels space worthiness and their unfamiliarity with the machinery had delayed things immeasurably, only three of the five Witches held captive were on the ground.

The Sōchō in command was most displeased, pacing the recently swept deck of the floating space dock, the bodies of the Gaijin had been removed but their filthy scent lingered.

Not afforded the honour of joining the Hanshõ’s expedition, Bakil intended to serve perfectly implementing his will on Anzat Prime.  His options to investigate the delay were limited, the once glorious Q’Atrox naval force now consisted of a handful of low orbit capable skimmers and these recent uncouth acquisitions.

“Sōchō!” a runner in light loose clothing to ferry communications rushed up behind him, the disorderly amalgam of tacked on pre-fabricated buildings - round, square, conical, all different styles and ages behind him - a scar upon once noble Azherri’s skies.

“The Fourth vessel approaches, yet the pilots have not responded to our hails,”

It could be a comms issue given these were captured vessels they had little experience with, but he would take no chances with the Hanshõ’s prize - to the Pit these witches were to be sent and to the Pit they would go!

“Order Gunsō Abril to form his squads to meet it, no chances must be…”

Even as he spoke the air shrieked with the thrum of engines, the vessel in question descending toward them at a far from safe pace.

Bakil’s eyes widened, the messenger leapt to the ground. 

The ship smashed into the tallest of the hideous towers upon the floating space dock.

<<<<>>>>

Depopulated by command of the Clucir there was no one in the tower, the Lek’un soldiers who occupied what had once been a den of scum hiding, fencing, and drug dealing on the repugnant floating dock, were all located at the key engineering and transit points.

The second vessel struck moments later into what had been a favela district, fires quickly spreading as the whole floating platform lurched from the impact.

Despite this the Lek’un remained in place, suspicious this was a ruse.

They were right.

Stygium cloaked, a diamond shaped vessel cut as close to the location of the three Aethan captives as possible, disgorging a task force of thirteen.

Already placing the prisoners on aged Yamato Battle barges - a comparatively low altitude vessel from another era of interplanetary warfare that resembled ancient masted vessels more than modern spacecraft - the Lek’un Teppo and Yari-gami were ever on alert, equipped and ready to defend against any attempt to interfere with their Hanshõ’s will.

The foe they faced was far beyond their lekku genetic memories vast experience.

Yuzzhan-Vong warriors who worshipped the Aethans as Avatars of their gods slid among them under Cloaks of Nuun - symbiotic bio-stealth creatures that latched into the warriors skin pores defying any conventional detection methods.

Along the large vacant docks the Extolled plunged Koufee’s - razor bone daggers grown from Shaper crafted molluscs - into Lek’un neck, belched extragalactic toxins among back to back groups of Teppo-gami in sniping positions.

Yet the Lek’un paid no heed to the invisible assassins, their entire attention focused on the sole visible object.

Ninth walked slowly and deliberately straight ahead, her vast height and wide build emphasised further by Oblivion Aegis Armour, a Heavy Hades Repeater in her arms taking steady precise shots, each hellfire red bolt shattering a Lek’un to pieces.

“Consolidate! Flank her. Move to…!” Belik found his orders all irrelevant - by the time he issued them the soldiers were already dead as Ninth coldly fired round after round into any Lek’un that attempted to execute those instructions.

The Sōchō knew there were cloaked assassins all about, knew they were there to extract the witches, but was utterly powerless to stop the advancing Abyssal menace.

The Shadow in the Aether limited Ninth’s power substantially, but her size, experience and equipment were still far more formidable than anything the Lek’un possessed. 

Efficient and skilled, they were to her merely the latest barrier to Purgatio Astra, her overarching objective required the survival and re-population of the Tribal Aethans - therefore these homo-lekku would be eliminated with maximum prejudice.

Defiant to the last even as all but a handful of Lek’un remained the Sōchō drew his Katana and rushed at the nefarious leader of the enemy, intent on slaying it in personal combat or at least dying in honoured single combat that the Silent Voices would look down upon.

“Q’ATROX!” was his battle cry, his blade slicing through the air with righteous fury to honour his ancestors and Hanshõ.

Ninth’s arm quickly blocked the comparatively soft blade, small sparks flecking off her Aegis plate along her forearm as she wound her way round to grasp the far shorter creatures head and lift him up by the Lekku with one hand, finally deigning to catch his blade with the other.

Still he kicked, bit and scratched until she wrapped his own lekku round his neck and squeezed him unconscious - she wondered what intelligence rested in that ungainly long protrusion.

<<<<<>>>>

That Kiraea was in a full state of ‘Aephrodaea’s Grace’ - a cold focused hyper-alert neurological and physical state Aethans could enter into to enhance their combat prowess and strategic thinking - was unsurprising, such was necessary to survive their mutilations.

With six children suffering its effects Kiraea had more reason than anyone to try and circumvent the Shadow, and she had found it.

Kiraea showed her Ari to ‘latch’ and consume the Lek’un’s connection to the Aether to supplement her own outside the Shadow’s darkness, and use that power to life drain other Lek’un to physically heal in a careful use of the scant resources whilst they waited.

It was as if the Lek’un were made for the very role of being chattel to greater beings.

Third and Sixth duly arrived, the latter the Verdari field medic coming well equipped to assist Ari and Kiraea, with repulsor sleds to transfer them back to the Aethenaea whilst Ninth liberated the other women on Anzat Prime.

“The Aephrodaea was gone when we arrived,” Third explained, the largest of the Verndari his blunt full features were stone still as his deep bass voice rumbled out of a massive chest, words seeming to echo off every object in the Aethenaea’s white and grey med bay. Blue vials and their own red bruised skin the only splashes of colour in the clinical setting.

“Our analysis indicates there was a hijacking and Milaea has diverted the ship to the Hecate,”

The words did nothing to allay Ari’s concerns for Milaea, she’d have preferred her as far from Rannek as possible, but had to focus on the immediate steps needed to rescue her and end the Shadow.

“We were attacked by an Anzat Ancient,” Ari explained, Kiraea silent simply sucking down every milliliter of nutrient fluid provided to build her strength, their healing drastically slowed by the Shadow in the Aether, but still far faster than any species other than Gen’Dai.

“He seemed barely coherent, searching for his Children…extremely powerful, all of us couldn’t land a blow on him,”

Ari’s gaze flicked to Kiraea who seemed to stare at some undefinable point far beyond this system across the galaxy - no doubt solely focused on eliminating Rannek.

First they needed to know more about him - much more.

“We need to know his weaknesses, his objectives.”

“And so we shall,” Ninth announced stepping in, behind her on hover sleds where Evaea, Lyaea and Xanaea, all seriously injured and lacking the benefit of the Lek’un Consumption Ari and Kiraea had used to accelerate their healing.

Sixth immediately began busying himself hooking up his new charges to drips and twisting their bones back in place.

“We’ve taken a number of the Homo-Lekku captive, Yhket-Tahl has begun interrogation,”

Ari nodded best as her sore neck could - she had been held upside down in what was most likely a weapons locked for the majority of time since her limbs were broken on Katarr - the Vong had access to unique bio-interrogation devices that even the fanatical loyalty she had heard of among the Lek’un would struggle to resist.

“Good, we can also use them to harvest their Aether connection to help us heal faster - Kiraea devised a way to ‘latch’ them -  are you able to abduct anymore?” Ari said without a second thought about using sentient beings as living Aether energy banks for her People's needs.
“A second Extolled force is collecting more as we speak,” Ninth affirmed, “I will join them imminently,”

“We need an Anzat source,” Kiraea finally spoke
“The servants won’t know enough,” her voice cold as the chilled liquids and cooling packs placed on their inflamed limbs.
Kiraea’s mind quickly parsed through all the options as Ninth headed to obtain more Lek’un for Consumption.

There would be Anzat on the planet - but few and their knowledge of Anzat esoterica and Aether matters highly variable. 

There was only one reliable source in the short term.

“We need Frellick Face,” Kiraea demanded, looking pointedly at Ari.
“You know where he is.”

The latter sentence was not a question.

“I always know where he is,” Ari replied of her estranged adoptive father.

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 12 - Consumption - Part 2

3947 BBY — Aethas

With precision and care the samples obtained from the dead were harvested in one lab while in the next those from the living were extracted.

The vast Southern Polar Laboratories were the first and so far largest construction upon the colony of Aethas, the home of Soron’s project Genesis Deus. 

A dozen labs of clinical white prefab-plas walls, six to a side connected to a central corridor, and above that a large transparisteel panelled walk way that oversaw each of the sealed sections in turn.

The Old Man walked that upper corridor, his reflection in the transparisteel looking older and more haggard than he remembered.

Samples he had taken from Draay 2 of Miraluka and hybrid’s dead for years were placed in the same glossy blue preservative fluids as gametes and cells donated by the Katas family in the next lab…and with less willingness from unconscious Lek’un and Anzat in the next.

He had never imagined it would go this far.  Had he been naive, even at his age and after seeing, and committing, so much betrayal and treachery?

Pacing along in his antiquated armour he felt out of place here, a warrior amidst scientists and nurses.  To them, to Varas, he was no more than a tool to obtain the raw stuff with which he intended to create his Gods. 

Vial after vial was filled with cellular components, nano-snipped, harvested and placed on large trays with spaces for dozens of such vials before being sent to large scanners to digitize the maps of the protein’s, hormones and nucleic acids.

Pausing briefly over the Anzat collection, Lab Two he shuddered as one of their unusual facial proboscis was plied out with tweezers, pricked with a needle and fluid and cells from within extracted.

The large male Anzat, one of the Elite swordsmen still bearing saber burns from the fight on Katarr, twitched briefly, the auto-sedative gently flowing more suppressants into his system in response. 

Turning away the Old Man found a scene no less vile.  In Lab Three Isas Marr worked deftly to extract what she wanted from another unwilling participant.

The Miraluka woman seemed to feel his gaze, her head turning up even as her hands kept working with the deft silver Miralukan instruments, her ‘patient’ obscured by screens apart from the abdomen on which Isas was working.

More bio matter harvested to be fed into Varas ingenious plan, beings around him consumed by a seemingly unstoppable process that the Old Man himself had provided so much of the impetus for.

He gruffly nodded to Isas, keeping his face neutral, as utterly unnecessary as such was to the eyeless Miraluka.

He tried to believe he wouldn’t answer for the things he had done, that they wouldn’t follow him beyond the grave, or fall upon his children.

But by that which he had sworn he did not believe in, he knew they would.

<<<<>>>>

497BBY - Corellian Run - Xorth Junction

The station had been abandoned for the better part of three decades. The metals were thick with the scent of hyperfuel and reactor coolants from centuries of refuelling bulk loaders that carried farrberries and other grains from the worlds closer to the system.

Despite it’s faithful service , in the end it was cheaper to construct a new orbital refuelling station than upgrade the old, so it had been dragged to the far edge of the system and dumped in a listless frozen orbit where the light of Xorth’s sun was no brighter than Broesti, the next stop on the Agricultural Circuit, an offshoot of the Corellian Run.

Kazic Ovarug had acted quickly in between Yokusei waves - sending a message to Kewda to warn Ryshhk K’rrmerii of the Anzat Ancient and activating the Expiators autopilot features to set it on a parallel orbit to the refuelling station while he sequestered himself inside.

The Anzat kept his mind focused on small things in the immediate vicinity, trying to block out the echoing waves of compulsion that demanded he ‘Gather’ to the Ancient. 

They were coming less frequently now, occasional ripples of a pebble thrown into a lake some time ago.

Old rusted bolts, cloying stagnant air, the occasional hiss of old steam pipes - his own hunger and thirst - these were the sensations he focused upon.

Weakness was an asset here, it ensured -  should the Yokusei become too great - he would not physically be able to comply despite what his body attempted.

Maker only knew how long it would last.  He expected to be here for months at least, possibly years, a long delay to his quest - fortunately the medi-cryo pod that held Saani had an independent generator with decades of power.  His wife had been held there over fifty years already, what were a few more to wait out the awakening of an Ancient.

Anzat could, he understood, ‘hibernate’ for decades, it was rumoured that in the far northern frozen mountains of Shivas, and in the sun baked canyons of the Sabaku in the lower tropics of Anzat prime, lived ascetic Anzat who were hundreds of thousands of years old, rising only once every few centuries to consume a single sliver from the bark of the sacred Liquidambar.

He had hardly credited that before, but less than a week ago he had consigned tales of the Gaki to being no more than myth.

He breathed in.
And Out.
And In.
And Out. 

Refocusing he thought of his time with Soryu, the easy tranquility with which the Jedi - a more true Jedi than ever Kazic had known - had found peace in the Force during his meditations. 

Even if he could not emulate it like his dearly missed friend had, he took some peace from the memory.

Kazic crafted the mental image of the human across from him, in spite of the block square rusted slab of metal that was his companion - the soft green glow of the Living Force about the calm master. 

Distracting himself from the Yokusei further Kazic sketched every detail of the serene but aged face he remembered, the handful of liver spots on the balding head, tired but kindly Prunus amygdalus shaped eyes.

He smiled to think that his friend might somehow be here with him, helping him in his hour of need, as he had so many times years before.

A Serenity that was broken as ice cold fingers gripped his throat.

<<<<>>>>

][/url]

Tied by old harsh wire to a metal I beam Kazic felt a strange calm as he stared ahead into the lightless depths of what had once been a storage room.

They had come for him.  The Shadows, the Oblivion Warriors - Ari’s People.  He had always suspected it might happen, but between them and the Yokusei, he was almost giddy with happiness it was them that got to him first.

“Speak Frellick Face,” Kiraea demanded her time short, patience nonexistent

“Who is Clucir Rannek - Soma Mare-Q’Atrox?” the word was poison on her tongue, Rannek was Target, it felt like a waste of energy to express his full grandiose title.

Kazic blinked utterly shocked.

“Q’atrox…he…”  Kazic swallowed dry then began
“...is a Duke, effectively, mare the caste in ancient times, the most powerful of the castes for millenia...Q’Atrox...is the name of a Kinde, a family grouping...the Clucir Q’Atrox...was...is...the First of the Gaki, the Hungry Ghosts they took their name from, he lived before the Great Migration...well over 10,000 years ago…”

The pieces quickly fell into place for Kazic, Ari’s people had little interest in Outsider affairs except when they saw a chance to exploit them, or felt threatened by them. 

If they were asking this, it could only mean that the Yokusei was stemming from Q’Atrox, astonishing as it was he even still lived, let alone he would leave the comforts of Anzat Prime, Maker only knew what madness of the Kuru was driving him.

“His Children, what happened to them?” she demanded

“I, don’t know anything of them, I only know the most basic information from books and mythologies,”

Unseen in the dark by Kazic, Kiraea flicked her gaze to a large hollow pipe where two oblivion clad fingers flicked from behind it to indicate he was telling the truth.

Behind that barrier Ari stood, still shaky from her injuries, but harvesting the Lek’un’s aether energy was speeding all the Aethan women’s recovery. Ninth and the Extolled having herded up nearly three hundred of the species for them before they left to use as living batteries as the Lek’un lay bound by Extolled blorash jelly or razor-wire.

That same wire now tied Kazic up. Ari had only looked at him from afar, and what she had seen was a broken reflection of the man she once knew, his usually long dark hair had been shaved back as a practical measure, regrowing in uneven patches, his face thin and haunted showing every year of his centuries of life. She could not bring herself to come any closer to him.

“How does he control beings? Details!” Kiraea snapped

“A power called the Yokusei, Anzat aged a thousand or more are able to extend their Anima - their Force power in part, intermingled with Anzat telepathic neurology and less tangible measurable notion of ‘gravitas’  of an Anzat soul - to dominate other Anzat, it works, I believe on the same primal brain cortices associated with our hunger for the soup...using that instinct to override higher brain functions. 
It means the more developed those neurological regions in an Anzat’s brain, the more quickly they succumb to the Yokusei and the more obedient they are,”

“You’re affected by it?”

“Yes but…not heavily as I have never supped - those regions of my brain are likely underdeveloped or atrophied - it lets me resist, at a distance at least, but to what degree I dare not test.”

“What about other species? How it dims the Force?”

Kazic looked puzzled
“It shouldn’t affect other species, though he would surely have the Force power to use extreme Mental domination techniques.  Dimming the Force I don’t know what that means?”

Once more Kiraea saw the two finger truth signal.

Ari leaned back heavily, her lips tight wanting to speak to her father but holding back. 

The pain of how she had been used then dismissed on Galtea all those years ago was still there, gnawing any thought of rapprochement away.

And so all she could do was use him as he had once used them, consume what little knowledge he had, then leave him to his isolation and decay.

“How can he be killed? What are his weaknesses”

Kazic stared at her, breathing deeply, his mind going back to a time in his youth when he had sought out knowledge of his forebears and species - a time best forgotten, for on that youthful journey he found nothing but pain and evil.

“His weakness - the Kuru, a degenerative disorder caused by supping on other Anzat - aminopaphagy it was called, the most heinous of crimes - it causes a form of dementia, hallucinations, confusion, he may not even know what century he is in. To avoid the worst effects he would require long periods of rest in between moments of lucidity.

To kill him…Even destroying the body may not be enough.  His Force power, Anima would be so extreme his sheer Will could be enough to bend molecules to preserve or reform him…”

His brow creased, most of what little he knew was myth and speculation rather than fact, scattered references in old texts, interpretations of climatic battles in the ‘Mountain and River Annals’, ‘Progression of Ioch’ and the ‘Saga of Seven Kindes’.

“The stories, if they are to be believed, indicated that only by ‘consuming’ the Ancients power First could they be killed - that is one had to feed upon them, absorbing their power, then destroy the body - there were two such tales, one in which one Gaki fed upon another thus amplifying his powers - the second tale a Noble warrior fed upon an Ancient, sacrificing his ‘purity’ by committing aminopaphagy for the good of the whole Anzat, then committed ritual suicide, resisting the primal urge to use his enormous power to keep himself alive.”

Kiraea said nothing for a few moments taking in the information, planning, and predicting.

Kazic’s mind was a whirl of confusion and utter terror - two poles of near limitless destructive potential - the Ancient and Ari’s People seemingly set on a collision course.

Yet her mention of ‘Dimming’ the Force stood out as a strange point to make, admittedly he knew little and had experienced less of the Yokusei until recently, but from what he did know that never seemed a feature - domination of ones Will yes, but not suppression of Anima.

“If you tell me more of what is happening I might be able to help further…” he offered.

By the slimmest of margins possible, he considered Ari’s People the lesser evil than a Kuru deranged Anzat Ancient - mostly as he genuinely feared the Ancient was summoning Anzat to feed upon and, however selfishly, wished to escape that dire fate.

The interrogation was over, he had nothing more of use to extract.

“You tell anyone we were here, Kewda dies.” Kiraea snapped.
With a rapid twist she backhanded Kazic in the face, his head snapping to the side several teeth breaking in his mouth, tongue and cheeks slicing on the fresh jagged edges, Ari flinching at the physical emphasis of the threat.

“So you remember,” Kiraea added, as if he could forget the fearsome power of her species that he had, to his damnation, once used on others.

“Wait, Kiraea!” he called with a wet spit of blood as she strode away leaving him painfully tied up, he made the educated guess it was Kiraea, the only one of Ari’s kind to call him Frellick Face - and the blunt questions and physical ‘memento’ fit with her personality.

“Please tell me…it’s been nearly fifty years…Aresaea…is she…”

Utterly focused on eliminating her Target Kiraea would not, indeed could not engage with any unrelated matters, leaving his face to fall as a chance - one he didn’t deserve by his own admission - was snatched from him.

Ari with her back pinned to the pipe that separated them tightened her fists.  Part of her wanted to turn that corner and reveal herself, to apologise, to embrace, to join with her father against this threat to them all -  another part remembered how much pain he had caused her and flinched from his presence entirely.

Which side of her was stronger would never be known. 

There was no time for the conflict within to resolve while the Conflict without against the Clucir raged. 

Half running she joined Kiraea, her footsteps lost to Kazic amidst the clanks and drips of the abandoned station as he slumped in his restraints.

<<<<>>>>

3947 BBY — Aethas

Such an abundance nearly overwhelmed him.

Across his half dozen screens the magnificent spiral images of deoxyribonucleic acid spun with small sequencing notes as quantum computers kept cold by the natural frigidness of the Southern pole of his planets largest laboratory analysed them.

Soron Varas was not intimidated, he had practised his entire life for this moment, everything to this point, even Varasian and Alixaea, his cherished first true creations, were mere drafts compared to the magnum opus he intended with this.

The initial harvests were complete - gametes and base line sequences from various organs catalogued from all 26 Primogenitors of Genesis Deus. 

Of course much more was needed, with the living subjects of the two species he was least familiar with he needed to understand how chromosomes reacted with environmental stimuli, what symbiotic bacteria were necessary, what hormonal and protein feedback loops existed - a trove of treasure yet to be uncovered.

But uncovered it would be - in all it’s imperfection.

His hand was already scratching down notes in his quick shorthand script made up of an abundance of symbols to represent otherwise wordy concepts or homeostatic functions, and how best to combine and refine them. 

Evolution by natural election was a magnificent method, but it was not fast enough, and it left so very much Noncoding DNA - evolutionary leftovers that did nothing but cause problems, vestigial organs and behavioral patterns, imperfect mutations, auto-immune errors…the list of imperfections was endless.

Soron did not imagine himself genius enough to solve all these problems, but he had the necessary pride and boldness to Try to correct where nature had erred, and move life Beyond-Humanoid toward Deity. 

This was the next logical stage in evolution, and a perfectly natural one so many refused to believe with their ‘laws’ and ‘morals’ holding them back.,

Civilization had come so far, charting its course across the stars, yet the bodies with which this were achieved were so ‘earthbound’ and impoverished.

And while Varas was aware he could not help the evolution of Force capacity necessary to truly attain a new level of existence superior to mundane physical beings, he could enhance the body to a demi-god peak.

It would take generations, there would be many failures at every level, doubtless hundreds of imperfect infants to be liquidated at each step, but progress was inevitable.

Of course Soron knew he could never partake in the glory of the beings he was creating, but contributing to that creation was his reward, to know with full certainty His Genius had been the spark that set the Silver Flame of Divinity alight.

As more and more data trickled in he stood to stretch his limbs, pacing over to the large transparisteel window that was collecting frost at its edges.

Behind it, in their restraints were the ‘Sina and Sine’ as the Lek’un called them, the Highborn Anzat, the male unconscious, the female flicking in and out of lucidity.

He smirked.  The self important aristocrats were right in one sense their birth did make them special, beings were not born equal.

To Varas they were small pieces of a larger puzzle, unrefined components of a more perfect form yet to be built.

“The Great Tragedy of Imagination,” he mused in a poetical mood
“Is the ability to craft paradises in our thoughts we cannot obtain…for we are cursed to toil for the most meagre prize of survival…but by my imagination, and your flesh…” he spoke to Faveah rather than Mardenes, there was truly something special about her.

 “Our Children will be free of such restraint,”

<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 12 - Consumption - Part 3

497 BBY — Nihil Retreat

They stood before him, his Gaki, his most loyal retainers.  Bound by their shared sin of aminopaphagy. The Terrors of the Evokation.

Wake up

The numbers fluctuate, some joined, others fell to the Kuru, but always Rannek was the first, and worst - his was the first ‘taste’ after battle, of soup and wench alike, his was the army that gained them such glory, his was the power that kept them from being held to account for breaching the most fundamental of Anzat laws and traditions.

Wake UP!

They were the antithesis of the ideal Anzat warrior, their armour chipped, forge burnt metal painted only in the dried blood of their victims, hideous insignia and filthy trophies on their belts and banner poles. a stark contrast to the lek’un perfected symmetry and cleanliness of the Arming hall of the Q’atrox Stromhold

WAKE UP

A flare of Red and the image vanished.
 
Gone were his Gaki and castle, thrust to his face were Oblivion clad warriors on their knees in submission, and a world that stank of death and blood, the foul backwash of unclean Soup on his pallet.

“How long Efendi…” he asked

Scurrying low over the battlefield, Druhanne escorted by two Sonae whispered as high above pinprick scratches of black grew in the dank sky as ships approached to investigate the crashed vessel and reclaim the altars.

“Only a handful of minutes if it please Hanshõ…” Druhanne glanced to the side where the Witch was breathing heavily under Druhanne’s cloak, her Kimono ruined to his great consternation.

“...the Majo provided ministrations…” Druhanne noted approvingly, the Majo seemed to have a calming, beneficial influence on his Lord - the extremities of recent events notwithstanding.

Milaea had no time for Rannek to slip into one of his reveries, not with a Rhandite Armada about to send a legion of Taung against them from above, and another two legions assembling in the Cathedral mountains bowels below them.

Despite her disgust she had tried to pull Rannek from whatever strange solipsism afflicted him after using his powers.

Fortunately the Clucir was sharp enough to quickly ascertain the situation.

“Servants,” he demanded of his new Oblivion soldiers, “Which is first among you?”

Valens replied
“I am Warchief,”

Rannek sneered
“How are we to leave this forsaken place?” the Clucir demanded staring at the sky as the Rhandite ships advanced now thumb sized to his glaring red eyes.

Valens, still kneeling in submission, replied.

“The Hecate will be able to reach us, however it is impossible to breach orbit - sheer weight of fire power from the Rhandite vessels will destroy the ship. Even with the support of the Alixaea and Lyssia we possess insufficient munitions to break through.”

Rannek continued staring at the sky,

“What is your most powerful weapon?” he demanded.  His power over the Witch had always been a forced tentative thing, but the men seemed to capitulate to the Yokusei as surely as true Anzat.  Why and how he cared not, they were merely a well timed group of new servants.

“In conventional weaponry Naquxium bombs - thermonucelar explosives with blast radii of upwards of thirty kilometers teleported via the Force directly into enemy Vessels via the Obelisk Array on the Hecate - we have only four bombs.”

“And unconventional weaponry…” Rannek demanded of Valens, the Warchief complying without question, looking to Milaea.

“Milaea’s power, tuned to shatter point destruction, amplified by the Obelisk Array on the Hecate could destroy several dozen vessels,”

Milaea… it occurred to Rannek he had not known the red haired Witches name till now, had never bothered to demand she reveal it.

The knowledge bubbled a slight nausea in his stomach, having a name made her too much like a person for his liking.

“Summon your vessel to retrieve us, in the mean time, set the broken one to overload its drives and send this Cultist filth to blackest Yomi.  Witch, we will destroy this Rhandite fleet with your ‘Obelisks’,”

Face dirty as her expression was defeated Milaea argued back
“I don’t have that kind of power left!”

Spinning on his heel he slapped her across the face - hard enough to leave a ruddy red mark even on the hyper-keratin Aethan skin.

“Listen when I speak witch - We will destroy it,”

<<<<>>>>

Arryn kept the ship cloaked for as long as he could, angling through the gap in the mountains already carved by the Aephrodaea that thick with dust and debris still.

But the Hecate was a far larger vessel, and in the atmosphere the Void Shields were far less effective.

On the ground the Lek’un and Aethans worked quickly to strip the Aephrodaea of anything useful and setting triggers on its complement of Naquxium bombs - combined with what Valens and Jarys had already placed deep in the mountain they would obliterate a good quarter of the Cathedral mountains.

Maekal finally got his hands on the precious Nahiri tomes of the Sorcerer…but as Rannek, the living embodiment of the Shadow in the Aether walked among them…the tomes and the effort spent to get them felt bitterly futile.

The two races worked together with seamless efficiency to secure their position until transport arrived, the Yokusei ensuring completely compliance from all but Kisaea and Milaea, the latter far too exhausted to much more than rest in the former’s arms.
The two women watched  as the feralthrall Anzat fed on the half dead and few remaining priests and sacrificial victims about the altar complex, Rannek close by to ensure the Witch attempted no more trickery.

The Rhandites were not static, Taung forces began hacking away at the rocks and debris the Aethans had filled every opening to the caverns with, the Shadow in the Aether lifted by Rannek that his new slaves might serve him all the better.

Taryn stood mid way between three entrances hefting a dwindling pile of wreckage onto the entrances telekinetically as Maeson and a few others set up positions to intercept forces coming through above ground mountain passes.

The Pirate’s face was contorted with impotent rage - he knew he was obeying the red eyed geriatric Anzat, but he couldn’t for the life of him stop himself doing it. 

He wanted to rip Rannek’s head off, bite his heart out, but every motion of his body was compelled to serve.

The scratch of his Telepatheon lobe was gone - but in its place was a burdensome chain wrapped around his brain squeezing and stabbing in needles of black compulsion that pushed him to hold the Taung back as long as he could.

Barely ten minutes since they had knelt before their new master shots rang out as they spied Taung scouts moving through the passes, Hades sniper rifles and repeaters forcing them to slow, but their numbers would inevitably tell.

The Hecate too large to safely maneuver closely Arryn switched to Stygium stealth drives as six transports sprang out with their own stealth drives active, aiming to get as close as possible before boarding forced them to shut the Stygium systems off.

A sonic boom and radioactive blast signalled the crumping of the largest of Taryn’s debris chunks, rapidly moving lithe Harpies rushing out straight at him.

“Frell this!” he screamed his hate at the Anzat, the Rhandites, and weeks of frustrating restraint and pain under the Shadow in the Aether in one yell as he sprung his Oblivion Katana to his hand.

There was one major difference between this and his last fight against the Harpies - the fleet footed scouts and skirmishers of th Umbra Sororitas -this time, by the oh so generous munificence of his Lord Clucir of Q’Atrox - Taryn had the aether back..

Rannek passed a quick eye over the former pirate as he shredded the Harpies to pieces with blade and blunt force telekinetic teeth that ripped like fangs through their bodies. 

These new servants had some utility it seemed.

“Comis prepare your troops for boarding,” he ordered atop the fallen Aephrodaea as more and more Taung reached their location, Rannek content to allow his ‘Oblivion soldiers’ to bear the brunt of the attack, with access to their Anima they seemed capable enough - the entire altar mountaintop darkening in comparison to a blinding flash of Force lighting from Valens hands that flash incinerated two dozen Taung crawling from a newly dug tunnel.

Taran and Jarys fought hand to hand against Medusae, eviscerator whips cracking against their armour, Maeson and Evyn raining fire down on more approaching from the mountain passes, Kadyn pulling boulders down upon their heads - the Taung without Sorcerers or Knell to support them a far less effective force against the Aethans now with full access to their martial powers.

Across the battlefield they popped heads apart with kinetic micro blasts, then drained the spasming bodies of life energy to reinvigorate themselves -  the thrall Anzat still lurking leapt on bodies to consume the soup - coming into competition with the equally vampiric Aethans.

Taryn’s blade deep in a Gorgon chest he gripped its Soul with his new found ‘biting’ abilities to consume their essence as well as a typical Life Drain - the ability had been effective enough without the Aether - it was doubly so now.

Over a Harpie whose chest Lydan had bisected with his Naginata a near feral Anzat ganger tried to leap on the top half and drink the soup, Lydan swatting him away, like two Vorynx competing over a slain gormin on who eats first.

Milaea watched the spectacle with an increasingly drawn and troubled face as the Aethans imitated the Anzat in using lesser races as energy sources.

Taryn felt no compunction in doing so, every life he took with his blood soaked katana, every morsel of energy he consumed was another impediment removed, the petty lower life forms recycled to serve the Hanshõ whose Yokusei chains choked his will, release given only to allow him to attack.

Rannek saw a mirror to himself in their vicious and rapacious slaughter. Useful tools indeed.

The timing of the retrieval was flawless as could be expected from the genecrafted Aethans. 

The transports decloaked and opened fire on the Taung where they could, space grade weapons deflagrating the enemy, blasting ever more chunks from the ruined mountain top with the excess concentrated microwaves that continue through the ashen bodies.

Rannek boarded first, glaring at Coryn who offered a hand to help him up, the power of the Yokusei instantly upon the Aethan man, stilling any questions as to who he was assisting.

All the while more and more Rhandites were fed into the grinder that was the Aethan strike force - Hades shots, Oblivion arrows, lighting and flame bursts and fighter sized chunks of rock combined with more basic sword and fist as they held back the seemingly endless tide of cultists.

The more they killed the more dying souls energy they consumed - the more they consumed, the more they could kill in a twisted positive feedback loop of death that ironically would have pleased the most Doctrinal of the Destruction obsessed Rhandite Sorcerers.

Eighteen Point Defence Maser Energised Phirk Magnetic Accelerator Turrets along the top and upper sides of the Hecate guided by Arryn’s multispectral predictive targeting software shredded the Rhandite Trireme landers mid air, breaking the advancing force but also shredding the last semblance of stealth the Malefic class vessel had.

A capital ship at last detected beyond doubt Void Chariots primed cannons to fire down on the planet, all Rhandite forces beneath the burning vessel would joyfully Embrace the Void with its destruction.

As the Karintha class transport with Rannek and Milaea board reached the Hecate the Lyssia and Alixaea struck.

To buy more time for the Hecate the comparatively smaller vessels Shikkar Torpedoes plunged into two Void chariots moments before they could fire onto the, the two Aethan ships themselves - flying in a ‘bombing’ raid over the Void Chariots weaving between their support craft they unleashed their Hades Megamaser cannons in shattering crimson blooms that blasted unsuspecting vessels to pieces as the Torpedoes bored into the heavy Needle Batteries of the Rhandite vessels and prematurely detonated the built up energy.

Blooms of pink white exploded along the Void Chairpots guns taking much of fore the sides of the vessels with them, but the enormous corpse-decorated Rhandite vessels were built thick and strong shrugging off the momentary delay, lighter ships chasing the Aethan air craft that wound toward the planet, turning more Rhandite Trireme’s into burning wrecks as they went.

It gave time for the Aethan ground force to leap on the last two transports, a handful of the Anzat thralls with them, but more were either dead or lost in a gluttony of feeding on the near dead around them, Taryn pulling his blade from another Medusae heart, blasting the body off with a kinetic ball and leaping into the hold still firing his pistols.

The Lyssia and Alixaea reached the Hecate just as the last transport snuck inside, boots soiled with blood, bone and soil slamming onto the pristine deck as Aethan and Lek’un alike rushed to serve the Hanshõ.

Smaller vessels lined up to fire down on the Hecate as the Void Chariots repositioned to present their starboard broadsides to the planets surface, the first fiery shots of the lesser capital ships largely burnt up in the atmosphere but still causing the Aethan ship to rock as Rannek reached the bridge, Milaea, Druhanne and a number of his remaining servants in tow.

“Set your course for Aethas at once!” he bellowed with a pulse of the Yokusei that put Milaea in her knees once more, Arryn in the pilots seat buckling.

“There’s still a damn Rhandite Armada up there you know Old Timer!” Taryn puffing to catch up snapped

Druhanne, close by, struck Taryn’s face with his rattan cane.

“Insolent Gaijin the Noble Hanshõ already advised he would deal with these Rah-an-dytes,”

Rannek ignored them, gripping Milaea’s arm painfully as Taryn took the pilots seat - they would need every ounce of his pirate’s acumen to get through this in one piece.

“Take me to this Obelisk Array, Witch,”  the Clucir demanded as the Void Chariot prepared to unleash a full broadside upon them.

<<<<<>>>>

[Lord_S_Gray]

Chapter 13 - Confession - Part 1

3947BBY - Aethas

With a cringing sigh Visas sat up, the small kolto patches over the small incisions quickly beneath her robes.

Her Aunt’s request was strange at best, but she understood it, after Katarr they were so few, if ever the Miraluka were to survive not a single egg could be wasted…and in all honesty Visas was not using them.

“A strange thought isn’t it,” a familiar but often unwanted voice interrupted - Atris.

Atris felt like a chill autumn's wind on Visas skin.

“I never imagined myself as a mother,” the Former Jedi went on stepping into the small observation room off the side from a operating theatre in the prefab constructed Medical Centre that smelt of fresh plastic and acrid bleach.

“I suppose conventionally I will never be…” she paused somewhere near enough to Visas for the Miraluka to just smell the older woman’s crisp scented freshly washed robes

“...perhaps it is the least I can do,”

“If you are seeking absolution, you will never find it here, and never from me or my Aunt,” Visas noted coldly to the woman responsible for drawing Nihilus to Katarr, for destroying an entire culture to lure a single being for a short sighted and ultimately failed battle.

“I don’t, I abandoned that thought long ago, nothing I ever do can atone for the suffering I caused others.  My only hope is, for my own selfish satisfaction, to do more with the years I have left than rot in prison.
Isas tolerates me because I have skills she does not, and uses my guilt against me to commit more crimes in the name of helping those I once threw to the Sith.” 
Atris paused Visas could feel the warmth drain even more and the grey cool clouds turn to black ice.
“And I allow it.”

“Why tell me this?” Visas asked standing, the contrast between Visas deep crimson and magenta robes and Atris stark white and blue grey striking.

“There is relief in unburdening oneself to someone who understands.
We’ve both walked the path from light, to dark, and then found ourselves realising the dichotomy is irrelevant. You may be the only one, apart from Meetra, who can understand the why of what I have, and will do.  I didn't wish to waste the chance to confess those last sins to someone.”

“You’re a selfish woman Atris,” Visas sniped back.

“Unapologetically so,” Atris agreed.

<<<<>>>>

497BBY - Nihil Retreat

A squeal of phirk support beams accompanied the hard turn as the starboard repulsors near blew out to compensate for the sharp port pivot to avoid the Needle Cannon barrage from the Void Chariots.

Taryn was flying straight into the blood hungry mouth of the Rhandite Armada, his hands and feet working the control’s furiously to do things no ship was ever meant to do to prevent the Hecate being annihilated.

It was a suicide run, his soul was screaming to abandon ship, to run - but his limbs and mind were serving another master that demanded he take the ship to Aethas immediately and, despite all barriers, this was the fastest way.

A heavy pink beam struck the Lyssia’s forward shields to port, they flickered briefly allowing traces of illuminated excess plasma to score the hull as it cut ahead trying to reach lower orbit limits just behind him.
Just two shots from the dozens of guns aiming at them would be enough.

For the sake of his own skin, Taryn hoped the mighty ‘Hanshõ’ knew what he was doing.

<<<<<>>>>

The tall Anzat in grimy stained archaic plated armour threw the Aethan woman - down to little more than her slip as her Kimono was utterly wrecked - into the centre of the Obelisk Array, at the heart of the Hecate.  The nine Monoliths of Blackstone amidst the rounded chamber of Chiss-grey-blue seeming to bear no weight compared to the darkness that bled from the Anzat Lord.

A large view screen along the ceiling showed a full panorama of the space surrounded the Hecate, the atmosphere of the Cathedral world was giving way to purple blotched space of the Nihil Retreat, Taryn’s swift piloting the only thing that was keeping them from annihilation….

Or Perhaps…the unconscious will of the Anzat made manifest by his stygian power.

The ship shook once more as far below them the Naquxium bombs within the Cathedral mountains foundations, and on the Aephroadaea detonated, blazing blue white micro-suns of annihilation that caused kilometers of the mountains to turn to plasma for a nano second, consuming a small portion of the vast complex, yet millions of lives nonetheless.

Spiked dots of the Rhandite armada swarmed ahead of them that began to spit out yellow Needle Lances at the Aethan ships, the Chiss shields holding at the relatively long range - for the moment.

Rannek waited until the shots began to rattle the vessel to the point they could barely stand, stepping behind her.

“Milaea…”the first of only three times her name would pass his lips, less loaded with spite than heavy with an unfulfilled longing, as if he wished, for reasons he could not explain, in some small corner of himself to call her Misíta...

It had to be the Kuru playing tricks on him.

“You will not let your kin die, and I will not tolerate another delay in finding my children.  Destroy them all.”

“How? Even with the Obelisks my power only goes so far,” she said half turned to look at him over her shoulder, his height and the Shadow in the Aether that he cast like a mountain about to fall upon her.

“Mine does not know your limits, use your Witchcraft, I will do the rest,”

Without warning his age spotted but incredibly strong hands gripped her shoulders, his fingers just touching the skin on her neck, waves of cold dead weight rippling down her back.

“Destroy them All!” He pushed down on her body and into her mind with the Yokusei even as he lifted the Shadow to allow her full access to not only her power - but His.

The Obelisks responded instantly, arcing waves of blue that surrounded the Blackstone turning purple then crimson as they touched her fingers.

Raising her hands she obeyed, focusing on the nearest Rhandite vessel - still hundreds of Kilometers away.

With the Obelisks to sharpen her senses and project her power she could make out the grains of the polyalloy and plas-Ceramics within the vessel  - find the weakest microscopic cracks in the molecules themselves, and with the aether widen them.

Aboard the Void Chariot a red glowing crease, barely an inch long formed in the central beam of the vessel, a crack that widened by the second, pushing slowly at first, then chaining its weakness into the next weakest point, then the next, and so on until a great fissure was opened, the metal starting to come apart, every wall and bolt connected to it teased out of place. 

A chain reaction of internal structural failure began as the integrity of the ship's skeleton was compromised piece by piece.  Systems began to scream alarms, then fail, the hull was breached, air began to seep out.

Milaea’s annihilating ‘gaze’ had already moved on to the next vessel, levering apart the corpse decorated hull, the shatterpoint energy flowing from one molecular weakness ot the next - she felt the deaths begin to taint the Aether as the fire diminished - the Taung captains and Admirals diverting power to shields and repositioning wondering what attack was causing the structural degradation of their vessels.

The overwhelming sensory experience for her was the utter silence.

Tendrils of red energy soundlessly flowed into the Obelisks that invisibly projected them across thousands of Kilometers and dozens of ships as a reservoir of power, black and deep as a dark hole opened ‘behind’ her, the Ancient Anzat wordlessly using her as a conduit even as she, somewhat, used him..

She watched with a minor tremble at the screen as ship after ship was torn apart, specks of bodies floating lifeless in the void.

Craggy lines of red spilled across the entire Armada as Milaea enacted the Clucir’s will. She had the witchcraft and spells he lacked to remove this latest obstacle between him and his blessed children.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her face as she pulsed out more and more shatterpoint energy in a dearth of sound and light, watching as she caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of beings, and the ruination of decades of shipbuilding and logistical efforts by the Rhandites in mere minutes.

Ranneks power seemed limitless, and he ‘pushed’ her harder and harder to expedite the annihilation, flooding her with his tainted energy..

Every ship was now suffering critical damage, covered in fracturing lines of red that pushed the weakest connections apart then moved onto the next weakest, then the next - she couldn’t break them any more than she was - only becoming more precise at channeling that same energy into the bodies of the occupants.

Given time, the Sorcerers could’ve mounted a defence, or even counter attack.

But the speed, intensity and all encompassing breadth of Milaea’s attack denied them such a chance, the very air was torn from their lungs as hulls split, and now their own bones and organs began to splinter and crack open.

She could not see, not hear but she deeply Feel the hundreds of beings she was splitting into fragments with a quantum of power that seemed excessive for any mortal being to possess yet a covetousness for that power to be her own entirely welled her.

The Aethan vessels began to reach the outer circle of the Rhandite fleet.

Taryn standing on the Hectae bridge not even bothering to fire on them, there was nothing but fragments with the ghost of Milaea’s energy wafting off them, he stared with Jarys and Valens impressed at the extremity of what Milaea as the tool of their new ‘Lord’ had been able to accomplish.

Bodies and shards of metal bounced off the kinetic shields of the Blackstone Destroyers as they pushed through the Armada that had intended to trap and destroy them.

Milaea’s face wet with tears and sweat, body numb and horrified -
Not at her own destructive power.
Not at the hundreds of thousands of lives she had ended in an instant. 

She had finally admitted to herself that, so far as Outsiders were concerned, she truly Did. Not. Care.

The Rhandites were an impediment to saving her People from the Shadow, just as much as they were from Rannek fulfilling his mad crusade. 

Lesser beings to be pushed aside by the god-like Anzat and Aethan’s alike when they interfered with their higher purposes.

She and Rannek were the same.

The last self delusional scales of empathy toward other species had been burnt from her eyes by the Clucir’s power.

Milaea didn’t even blink when the near blinding white flash of the hyperspace tunnel blasted through the view screen.

<<<<<>>>>>

3947 BBY — Aethas

Diffuse yellow lights filtered through her heavy eyelids.

Some force within her blood kept her down, every time she tried to rise, Mira felt herself smothered again.

On and on it went until finally the poison that kept her somnolent wore itself off.

She remembered being on the hill over the colony, shooting Varasians last ditch chance to woo her down…then…a sharp stabbing pain in her neck.

Pushing herself up was difficult on the overly soft mattress.  She was undressed except for a thin medical robe.  As she sat up she felt two sharp jolts in her stomach that soon dissipated.

Frantically she scrambled off the robe, looking down to see two Kolto patches on her lower abdomen.

“Wha…what did…”

“Here drink,” Isas voice was calming, the Miraluka pressing a sense of serenity through the Force at her.

Her throat parched, Mira had no choice but to take the cup, sucking hard to draw the water in through the straw.

“What happened…what did you do to me?” she demanded, her famed red hair loose on her head.
 
“This was unfortunate but necessary…we knew you would never agree willingly…but Mira…” Isas sat calmly, hands folded on her lap in a simple nurses outfit.

“...Your skills, your savvy nature, your connection to the Force - greater than even you have yet discovered - was too valuable to waste - now they will be shared, amplified through generations.”

Mira’s stomach sank as she realised what they had taken from her, just like the So and Sa Sene had demanded of Alixa, so Isas had the skills and the Will to take the same from her.

“You…you…sick…perverted…freaking mental shazbot dren munching….” she didn’t have the words to express her outrage, the violation perpetrated upon her.

Isas sat silently waiting for the tirade to come as Mira drank some more.

“Why? Why? What…what is wrong with you? This whole damn place is…sick!”

Isas could feel the hatred wash out from the human woman, pulsing heat that spun in a cyclone of astonishment, confusion and hurt. 

She hated it had to come to this, but it was necessary. Mira was just too perfect for their cause to let slip. But the fury of the Red Maned huntress was focused entirely on her, a storm that would not let up - a storm Isas endured for the sake of future generations.

“What kind of crazy are you? What are you? Who Are you!?” Mira demanded

“I am Isas Marr.

I grew gleefully running through the pink tinged grain fields of Katarr in the day. Shuddering, cursed with Vision of the destruction of my beloved home world and extinction of my species at night.

The Conclave wished me to become one of the Ter-Sene, the Bound Seers.  My father Jaran Marr, Amide-Sene-Touh, spared me the fate of living un-death by sending me to Coruscant just before the war with Exar Kun began.

Volunteering as a nurse I met a young Doctor, his ambition and charisma exceeded only by his genius.  Soron Varas. His Aura was not furious Red, Calming Blue or even Still Grey, it was a Yellow Heat of passionate intellect.

We Married, he was doting when he had the time, but his passion was always his work. I longed for a child, but human and Miraluka hybrids are not always easily born.

This pushed him into Reproductive Gene Technology, and illegal Gene tampering. 

He Found the missing piece, and I had Vision of a future for my Race.

The Force was the Key.  Only a Force Sensitive Human and Miraluka could conceive a child.  With all humility Soron sought a donor, by Ashla’s guidance at that moment a man came into our lives, a once mighty now depressed Mak’Tor Knight.

When I saw them side by side I knew, this was the way to preserve my Race.

Miraluka are so very few, we must be stronger, faster, more prescient to compensate.  Soron had the knowledge, the Knight had the resources and skill to ensure the next generations were better than ours in every way.

I encouraged them, helped them find more Miraluka samples, birthed the first two of a new Generation, Alixa and Varasian, recruited Miraluka for the new colony, supported Soron over the hundreds of sleepless nights of study and nucleotide pairing.

Then there was Katarr. 

The Death of my homeworld consumed by Nihilus - in painful vindication I knew I had chosen the right path.

Vision was True.

Alixa and Varasian were strong, but if we were to be so few, we needed to be stronger still - Soron had the skills and creative vision, all he needed was a place to work free of constraints of law and ethics, and the raw material of flesh, bone and blood to mould.

The Athena Society - a group of free thinking intellectuals - found the place, Aethas, the Fallen Mak’tor found the bodies needed.

For the children of lost Katarr, for their children’s children to thrive, I will sacrifice anyone and anything.

She said none of this to Mira, knowing it would make no difference.

Isas asked no permission and sought no forgiveness for her actions, she was satisfied they were all justified, and damned any who stood in the way of a new, superior Katarr Lineage - one that would never be so vulnerable as the one Nihilus had consumed - being created.

“The procedure was simple, the micro surgery incisions should heal in a few days, then you can leave.”  Isas left without regret or apology.

<<<<<>>>>