"The shipments are complete. We have at least one functioning Nexus in 9 of the Kiyarian cities. That should effectively neutralize as many as 15 of the infected and surrounding cities. With about 40 cities inhabited away from the irradiated areas, that many cities falling will cripple their infrastructure. They will have no choice but to surrender their territory."

Kal Shora merely sat, palm over hand, considering.

"Your plan was ingenious."

Now, Kal Shora slowly nodded.

"It was, wasn't it."

The Serasian went to the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of alcoholic indulgence and two glasses. Kal Shora waved his hand dismissively, and the Serasian smiled.

"I insist. A toast, to our victory."

Kal Shora looked at him.

"Very well, then."

The grin on the Serasian grew wider. He poured a second glass, pushing it across the table. He raised his glass.

"To... the fall of man. To the Cree'Ar Dominion."

Kal Shora looked at him incredulously.

"I will not drink to that. I do not like that my quest requires me to kill. I do not like that my quest is inundated by violence. I will not celebrate it."

The Serasian nodded, a look of compassion filling his face.

“Very well. I understand, of course. I’ll allow you to name the toast.”

Kal Shora nodded. He grabbed his glass in one hand.

“To… retrospective clarity. To efficiency.”

The Serasian took another sip, while Kal Shora merely continued to stare at him.

“When were you going to tell me?”

The Serasian shook his head, jovial.

“Tell you what?”

Kal Shora stood, slamming his hand to the desk.

”That everything you told me was a lie!”

The Serasian was suddenly stone cold serious.

“When were you going to tell me that it was you, and not them, that began the war with the Kiyarians and that it was you, and not them, that was using sanctions and alliances to choke their people to starvation?”

“I’m not exactly sure…”

“When were you going to tell me that it was not an accidental discharge of a Kiyarian superweapon that irradiated their world, but a lengthy nuclear attack by the Serasians that left half of their population dead and half of the remaining unable to breed as a result of mutation?”

The Serasian did not speak.

“When were you going to tell me that the combined galactic effort on Kiyar was not a military coalition, but an intergalactic aid effort?”

The Serasian again said nothing. His confident smile returned.

“Honestly? Never. I knew a people of your intelligence would discern the truth eventually.”

Kal Shora sat, sighing.

“It’s too late to stop, now. The nexus have already begun turning the population of Kiyar into your… how do you say?”

“Tek’a’tara.”

“Tech a terra. Right. And you will be able to control them. I have given you Kiyar. What does it matter if they were ‘innocent’? The moral standards of the communities varied great…”

“It matters to me. The Cree’Ar Dominion does not make it a habit of enacting genocide upon innocent peoples.”

The Serasian merely smiled at him, before taking another drink.

”Like I said, it is too late. Just… have a drink. We must now focus on what happens from here on out. As we had planned, there will be room enough for…”

“No.”

Kal Shora shook his head, a gesture he knew the Serasian would recognize.

“I will not take part in your plans. You manipulated me. You believed I would want to subjugate a known terrorist and manipulated me to this end. You predicted and played with my emotions, my desires, and you were successful in your predictions. But you did not predict for Cree’Ar efficiency.”

He lowered his head.

“Nor did you predict my distrusting nature. You predicted that I would come, and drink your poisoned drink, and die here, at your feet. I will not.”

He shook his head.

“Kal Shora, I would…”

“You predicted that I would come alone. I did not.”

They shared a look of mutual loathing, only for a fleeting second.

The Serasian didn’t even have time to look around. The boneblade entered through his small intestine, and was dragged up along the base of the spine, cutting easily through his ribs, and stopping at the sternum, having piercing one of his lungs, and his heart. Kal Shora opened his eyes when it was finished, lifting his glass and using the paper napkin to wipe the substantial coating of blood from his skin.

“They certainly do spray quite vigorously, don’t they?”

Kal Shora sighed.

“I am glad that if I do nothing else, I continue to amuse you, Zeratul. How went your business on Xa Fel?”

Zeratul sneered.

“Aborted. There were… complications.”

Kal Shora was worried.

“Varex Tarien?”

Zeratul shook his head.

“I would not expect to see the Priest any time in the near future, if ever.”

Kal Shora sighed again.

“This is… unfortunate.”

Zeratul nodded. He grabbed the dead body, throwing it carelessly to the floor. He amusedly grabbed his glass, taking a sip of it.

“Oh, that is quite revolting, isn’t it? I’ll never understand how they can bring themselves to drink this filth. Was yours any better?”

Kal Shora clapped his hands, and one of the tek’a’tara lurched over from the door to where the two were at the desk.

“Drink this.”

He held up the glass. The Tek’a’tara lifted it without hesitation and placed it to his lips, taking a deep sip. Kal Shora and Zeratul Daz’Da’Mar looked on as bubbles of gas left his lips. Then, a hole appeared in his throat, and then his jaw, and finally his chest. Zeratul took the cup and pushed the cyborg over, where his upper chest shattered when it hit the ground and revealed his putrid, melted innards.

“Basic powder on the glass and active ethanol in the bottle. When mixed, during the pouring, the two combined to form a powerful acid. That would have killed you.”

Kal Shora nodded.

”Why I did not drink it.”

“So, how did you know he would kill you?”

Kal Shora considered.

“There was something about him, his demeanor. The entire time I spoke to him there was a bizarre confidence, which made me suspicious. I knew, when I found out about the truth of the conflict, that he would kill me and attempt to take our vessels. With them, the Serasians could enact vengeance upon both the Coalition and the New Order for their prior defeat.”

Zeratul laughed. Kal Shora looked up at him.

“The thought of a few technologically inferior humanoids attempting to steal our warfleets fills me with amusement. Well, in any case, what shall we do with the Serasians?”

Kal Shora considered, stoic. Balancing his options.

“Kill them.”

Zeratul placed his boneblade on the table, nodding.

“Which ones?”

“All of them. Their entire population.”

Zeratul had a look of shock on his face.

“We will go to orbit and extermate their race. Then, I want to move our vessels to Kiyar. We will rectify our mistake. I want to be above Kiyar within the week.”

Kal Shora stood, and turned his back. Zeratul shrugged his shoulders, and then upended his glass.

The acid inside trickled down onto the skull of the former head of Seras, turning him into a wet puddle of organic refuse.

Although it is debatable he was ever anything else.

Thanks.

(I would like to discuss this post, as I find it to be jumping the gun)

Dolash02

(I would like to discuss this post, as I find it to be jumping the gun)

I'll remove it and wait then.

I'm working on a PM for you, anyway. (If you are who I think you are)

The Governor of the City of Krataf looked again at the city map.

Marked in red was one of the outlying food-depots, where relief supplies were brought and distributed. Reports had been coming in of the horribly mutated horrors that now inhabited the area. His report to Issk had taken him hours, how were you supposed to phrase that your city had suddenly given rise to a small population of zombie-like monsters?

He'd ordered the troops to form a perimeter around the area. A few attacks were attempted by the creatures, but eventually they learned that it was useless to attack outright. Azguards are perfect natural fighters, but lumbering straight into the path of concentrated fire will still rip them to pieces, and the mutants had learned.

Maybe, the Governor thought, if he could just get some high-explosives, he could destroy the building before things got worse.

Then another report came in...

_________________________________________________________________

Four soldiers of second-platoon stood on guard, looking down a city street. Ahead, they could see the APC, and another dozen men behind a sandbag wall, staring intently at the building where those... things had attacked from earlier.

The first soldier sighed, and lit a cigarette. They weren't allowed on Azguard, but on a devastated world like Kiyar, health laws were far laxer. "I don't see what the problem is" he said "Can't we just blow up the building?"

A second soldier frowned "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"

The first one rolled his eyes. "They're trying to kill us, they're horribly mutated, I mean come on, we can't even negotiate with them. What are we waiting for?"

"Well, wouldn't you like to know what happened to them? Why they were mutated?"

"Well sure" he said "But I'd also like to go home and get some dinner, ok?"

"You're a scrag, Urga."

There was silence. During the discussion, there was a feeling that something had changed. The soldiers looked around, and found that there was now only three of them. There was a certain amount of tension, as the guards picked up their weapons cautiously and moved up against a wall.

Urga, in a slightly shakey voice, called out. "Yimmy? Yimmy?" There was no response. The three bunched up together in fear suddenly when they heard approaching footsteps.

The one called Yimmy stepped out from an alley-way just next to the wall the three were clinging to. They let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Yimmy, you scared the living - Holy shit!" As Yimmy turned, they saw a horrible, metallic sheen to his skin. His right was magled, and bits of wire and the like were poking through his skin. Urga lifted his rifle to fire, but horrific-yet-steely-strong arms grabbed him from behind. The guards turned to find themselves surrounded by the creatures. They didn't even have a chance to scream as they were beaten to death.

_________________________________________________________________

The Governor read the report again, to make sure it was correct.

"The perimeter has been broken, and the enemy force has tripled in size?"

The messanger nodded "Yes sir. Most of the new foes are, er, mutated men we put on the perimeter, sir."

The Governor sighed. "Mobilize our forces, and evacuate the entire area."

The messanger's eyebrows raised "Sir, shouldn't we call for aide from other cities?"

The Governor snapped in response "We don't need it! The last thing I need is for this to blow up into a national incident. Get the troops out there and stop them, damnit!"

"Are you doing it yet? Soldiers, out, fight, now, damnit! Got it? Good."

The Sep'Ta'd'Aark, command ship of the Coruscan Arm of the Cree'Ar Dominion, sped through the surrounding wormhole at no greater speed then it normally sailed through space. Although it was capable of more, the wormhole's motion was much faster then the vessel, or any vessel the Cree'Ar had created, was able to travel. If he had so desired, he could have created a wormhole that would have bridged the edges of the galaxy in the time it took his vessel to cross it at sublight speed... but he did not want that. Not this day.

No, Kal Shora simply did not have that far to go.

The trouble in getting to Kiyar from Seras was that the ride was murder. Insofar as that the majority of travel to Kiyar from its near neighbor Seras was done by interplanetary missiles. The resulting attacks had destabilized the surrounding space... the wormhole the arbiter created would destroy it further, possibly to the point of causing significant damage to the planet. It wasn't worth it; in order to travel to a planet, to risk destroying it.

So for days, the Sep'Ta'd'Aark and it’s modest escort had been making what the inferior species referred to as microjumps around Kiyar. On the far side, the damage was less considerable, so the Cree'Ar had calculated a course around the damaged regions of space. Every so often, they exited the C-velocity conduits, then turned, and began again. Altering the trajectory of the wormhole would have caused more damage to space then simply flying around bubbles of instability.

Kal Shora had done this world enough harm already.

"Zeratul, how long until we are in communications range?"

The Skey'g'Aar did not answer. He merely continued to stare blankly at the visage; where upon nothing of interest was displayed. Kal Shora raised his voice before he spoke again.

"Zeratul!"

The Shadowcaste soldier turned to the Cree'Ar High Elder, bowing his head. His eyes blinked rapidly, as if he was waking from a deep slumber.

"My apologies, Elder. I was distracted."

Kal Shora waved his hands dismissively, not upset.

"Report."

The Skey’g’Aar turned to the visage, inputting commands with gentle strokes of his hands.

“We are approximately 72 of their hours from the planet, Elder. Our last set of corrections will be completed in several hours, and then, as you remember, we will begin our sublight travel to the world of Kiyar.”

Kal Shora nodded solemnly.

“Very good. But I was aware of this. During your distraction, I asked of the status of communications.”

Zeratul bowed his head.

“I apologize for my distraction, Elder.”

“I do not request or require an apology. I do request, and also require, your report.”

Zeratul raised his head, briefly dropping it again in a nod.

“Communication at this range has proved ineffective. I believe it is as I feared… the damage to the surrounding space serves to dilute our communication. The nexus we had installed on the surface is not powerful enough a receiver or transmitter to re-encode our signal or reply, if it is even receiving them at all. I believe we will need to wait until we have reached a low orbit.”

Kal Shora nodded absently, as Zeratul turned to the visage again.

“What was it, Zeratul, that distracted you earlier and troubles you even now?”

Zeratul turned.

“I can hear them.”

Kal Shora sighed.

“Sometimes, I admire your prowess with the senses. I admit that more then once I have felt a jealousy.”

“You? Jealous of me?”

“Ironic, is it not? The most powerful of Cree’Ar commanders in envy of a simple spy? But it is true, that there are times when your powers are attractive to me. But those powers do not come without a price.”

Zeratul bowed his head.

“No, they do not.”

“And thus, in times like these, I believe I will be satisfied depending upon you to have powers for the both of us. Can you speak to them?”

Zeratul waved his hands in a negative affirmation.

“My senses are not that attuned, and barring sudden reacceptance into the Sith Order in the face of our upcoming war, I doubt they ever will be.”

Kal Shora sat back.

“I am curious. What are they saying?”

“The majority of the voices are from the city known as Krataf. A few of the other nexii have yet to be discovered. The Krataf nexus was intercepted and activated early by various relief workers. Yesterday, the soldiers began to fall and today they began to gradually secede ground.”

Kal Shora nodded.

“Continue.”

“Well, many of them are still undergoing the conversion. The ones that have been converted have noticed that the civilian population, and some of the soldiers, taking shelter in underground bunkers that are not easily penetrated. They are focusing on the elimination of the majority of the surface resistance before returning.”

Kal Shora sat forward.

“When we reach communications range, command them to leave the bunkers unmolested. Military command centers, in addition.”

“Excuse me, Elder, but should not we stop them all?”

Kal Shora tapped his fingers on the command chair’s arms.

“It is too late for that, Zeratul. By the time we arrive, resistance will be in its dying breaths, and families will have already been separated by the conversion. No… we will allow them time to neutralize what resistance they face, and take those that do not actively fight aboard our vessels for interrogation and negotiation.”

Zeratul looked at him for several seconds, confusion on his face.

“You will carry out my orders.”

“Of course, Elder. I would never consider disobedience.”

“Of course not. And yet you question.”

“I do not.”

“You do and it is not a fault. Pose your question.”

Zeratul sighed.

“Elder, I question. Is it wise to bring their soldiers aboard our vessels and then allow them to leave?”

Kal Shora bowed his head in thought.

“No. You are right, of course… the soldiers will need to be executed. The civilians we can return if they so desire, or convert them. It will be their discretion.”

“If they elect instead to join…”

“…join the Coalition instead. Like I said, they will stay, or they will come with us.”

“Very well.”

“It is of great importance that we capture one of the warriors known as the Azguard.”

Zeratul’s eyes flashed.

“The Azguard? Fed’ran Kora?”

“Tar, Fed’ran Kora. They’re the most mysterious of mysteries, the fighters that don’t exist. Legend; speculated upon by the Imperials and whispered of by vagrants and refugees as heroes. Until a month ago, we had nothing but rumor to confirm their existence.”

“The Dameo defensive effort.”

“Yes. The Azguard live, and they frighten me. As much as the Noghri or the Jedi. And once revealed to them we are, no doubt the Azguard will be threatened by us.”

Zeratul nodded.

“So we must capture one of them, before one of them captures one of us.”

Zeratul turned back to the visage. He spoke silent words, musing inside his mind.

“Kill them all. But leave the Azguard and a few humans for later live dissection.”

“Understood, Lord Daz’Da’Mar. Executing command.”

The city of Krataf was falling. The defences had been built brilliantly to keep enemies out. They could repell missiles from the sky, armies from the ground, but only from one direction. And as the defenders lost ground, they were forced before their very own defences. The entire city would have been lost and its' inhabitants wiped out if not for their enemies' apparent lack of technical expertise and essential organization.

Issk, in silence, brooded over this at the emergancy meeting with military commanders. One chair was empty, the Governor of Krataf, and in his place was a computer screen, patching in the surviving defenders with the commanders of Kiyar.

"We can't hold out much longer" said the Azguard they were speaking to, who spoke to them from a heavily fortified tower on the edge of the city. All of our forces have fallen back to the city perimeter, we've given up a lot of ground to make sure our lines are thick, and we've... we've evacuated as many as we could... as many as we could before..."

Issk solemnly nodded his head. "I see, commander. Try and hold out a little longer, we're sending as many reinforcments as possible." The screen suddenly darkened, as the tower shook, and the connection was lost.

Silence filled the room, and when it was broken, it was so by an Azguard military commander. The native Kiyarans had quietly recognized that if they were to survive, it would be the Azguards who would save them. "So this is what the Sereseans were plotting. We've got plenty of forces, if we strick quick and hard, we could evacuate the city and wipe them out, before it spreads."

Issk nodded "I'm not one to take the offensive unless its' nessecary, but it sounds like its' life or death out there, so we have no choice. I will personally lead this force, and I want all of you to commit all but the barest of your garrisons to this attack." his fellow commanders nodded. They could take no chances, they could not hope to try and tackle these foes piecmeal.

But not all the forces stationed on Kiyar were Azguard. A good portion were Kraz from Krakken IV, Vrakken from Hephastus, and even a minority of Frozians and Kraum from Hurok. "All none-Azguard military personnel are still under the command of their planetary commanders, and as such, I offer the advice, not the order, for them to stay behind and aide in the guarding of the cities." All forces, Azguard or not, recognized Issk's strong leadership, and he could see the other planetary commanders nod towards him. "Have all cities on lockdown, be prepared to accept refugees but make sure they are checked first for signs of infection from these creatures. Be wary, and should an emergancy occur call us immeadietly, do not wait.

"Now for one last important piece of buisness." and with that, Issk pressed a button on his table. Prometheus appeared, and spoke in a voice tinged with concern.

"Communications are being disturbed between our position and Azguard by unsusually strong radiation. I sent off a message before it got too bad, and they responded that a relief force will be mustered as soon as possible."

"How long will it take them?" said Issk, but Prometheus shook his head. Issk sighed "All right everyone, return to your posts. Gods help us."

_________________________________________________________________

The people of the city of Ionia watched as the armies of Azguards marched resoloutly from the city's gates. Some showed concern, others were happy to hear relief was going to Krataf, and all were assured by the presence of other military forces that would remain in the city.

And as the gates closed behind the last soldiers, and the people returned to their daily buisness, a silvery, shimmering metal tentacle flashed briefly but terribly in the sewers below, hidden from all sight.

Kiri couldn’t remember how long she’d been down here. Weeks? A month? Time blended together until it was all one in her mind, and now she was starting to hallucinate from lack of food. But she dared not leave her hiding place, deep within a bunker in Krataf, as it fell to the invasion.

Fleeing her home in the dead of night, she had managed to take only a few belongings with her. Useless, they now lay scattered about her in the darkness, the emergency lighting having flickered out long ago, even before the last of the food had gone.

Also scattered about her were her fellow refugees: six of them. All dead now, fighting over the food as the lights went out; the last one of them had been killed by her in self defense, with her antique pocketknife.

Achan had been his name. He had been a respected member of the community; held a position in the fledgeling government. She was his publicist. He had wanted her last piece of dried bread.

That had been a week ago.

Now the cloying stench of decaying flesh filled the air; but Kiri had long since grown accustomed to it; either that or her sense of smell had deadened. She had done her best to move the bodies into a pile in the farthest corner from where she now huddled, covered in grime and ichor, but some of them had simply been too heavy for her weakened body to budge.

The nightmares, however, she had not grown accustomed to. Kiri found it increasingly difficult to stay awake, keep her eyes open, because resting them for even a moment filled her mind again with images of the attack, and what it had done to her friends, her family...





”Jamin, what’s going on?” Kiri tiredly asked her obviously distraught younger brother via holonet transmission. She had chosen a career which essentially revolved around the lives – and problems – of others, and he had awakened her from her much-needed sleep. She fussed absently at her unruly dark brown hair, tucking errant pieces behind an ear, and vowing silently to have it cut once and for all. But at least her job didn’t require her to look good; it only required that she make her clients look good.

“Kiri, you need to get out, go now, get to the bunker–” Jamin paused mid-sentence and looked frantically behind him, “–go now!” he repeated, shouting. The transmission wavered, faded, and returned at half its former signal strength.

Alarmed at his behaviour, Kiri blinked dark eyes, forcing herself into a more alert state as she leaned closer to the vidscreen. “Jamin, what are you talking about? I haven’t seen any–”

The screen suddenly went dark. “Jamin? Jamin!”





Shaking herself awake again, Kiri felt an all too familiar rumbling in her abdomen, and the corners of her mouth turned downward in a dejected grimace. To have survived this long, only to die of starvation, alone in a dark bunker amongst rotting corpses, was a thought that nearly succeeded in sending her over the edge.

The only thing worse, she surmised, would be to live as one of the converted. While the bunker’s electricity had still been working, she had witnessed the carnage broadcast over the holonet by hovering camdroids. Blurry and incoherent before being wiped out altogether, the images showed in detail what the cybernetic devices did to people, their terrorized faces abruptly changing as their necks were pierced... the bloodshed... Kiri was mortified at the thought of becoming one of those... things.

For the tenth time in as almost as many hours, Kiriath Jearim, “Kiri” to her friends, formerly a successful public relations agent for a minor political figure – a damn good one at that – and, she supposed, the last surviving member of her community, perhaps even the city, raised her bloodstained pocketknife in her right hand, testing the sharpness of the blade with her left thumb, and then sucked at the small amount of blood welling in the cut in another attempt to fool her body into thinking she was finally eating something.

Almost without her conscious knowledge, the blade hovered at her wrist, the tip just scraping the thin skin over the artery...

It would be so easy, why don’t you just do it?

Her brother’s voice was getting harder and harder to resist.