The world of Kiyar was like a flaming paradise. Or a burnt out paradise, more appropriately. It had once been a beautiful world… lush greens, and the muted blue hue of soft salty waves reflecting off the grey-white stone of the world’s buildings. They hadn’t been made with hard metals like many urban sprawls… instead made of natural stone, crushed into small stones and then rolled out into a powder, mixed with an organic adhesive and then layered onto a metal frame. The end result was a natural, unobtrusive and environmentally conscious building, blending perfectly into the socialist paradise painted by Kiyar’s finest landscape architects. Everyone approved. A minority argued that such a haphazard design would collapse in the case of excessive stress, but no one paid much attention. It didn’t matter.

Then.

Only years later, when the bombs began to fall, did the people see the error in their ways. Unlike a metal structure or one made of permacrete, the buildings on Kiyar were just not designed to handle significant stress or any stress whatsoever, and suffered damage regularly in impacts with errant sports balls. When nuclear weapons rained upon the surface of Kiyar, the people had little recourse but to duck and cover, huddling beneath tables, tucked safe behind their natural walls. Those walls were blown apart. Many of them shattered and crumbled under the shockwave impact while those closer were instantly ruptured and turned to dust. When the chaos ended, only the metal frames of the houses were left, many of them bent and broken, blown away. After that, only rubble existed.

Rubble and ash. Burnt trees leaving a poisonous legacy as radiated ash. And all natural buildings turned into useless, broken stone.

It was unfortunate.

“Can you believe, Zeratul? Irradiating weaponry?”

The Skey’g’aar shook his head.

“This is nothing. There is a procedure amongst major Empires of orbital fire, with the intent of opening a magma stream to destabilize the planet’s mantle and swallow the world in melting lava.”

“How… disturbing.”

“In addition, there are numerous governments that utilize biological agents with the intent of poisoning entire Empires. There was an Angel Virus. A Wraith Virus. Our own allies possess something referred to as the Phage.”

Kal Shora waved his hands, dismissively.

“Oh, Zeratul. I long for the days of war with the Lin.”

“You were alive for the war with Lin?”

“Alive, yes… no I did not fight the Lin. But I journeyed many times into battle with our allies, the Parrow Lin. The For’Shan. The Tiradorian Matriarchy. The Yat'a'leg'a'lora. And every time, our enemies fought us, hand to hand, cannon to cannon, like men. None of this… nuclear assault. None of this biological contamination.”

He leaned forward.

“Every day I am here, it becomes more and more clear to me that the power structure of this galaxy is held completely by evil and honorless men. And although it pains me to admit so, I am forced to acknowledge that this galaxy will only be safe when every one of its inhabitants are dead. Every one of its governments buried; every leader executed.”

He leaned back again.

“Fortunately, my duty is not to save these people. But to save my own.”

Zeratul nodded absently. He waved his hand, changing the images displayed on the visage to include a table with the ships distance from the planet.

“We will be entering orbit imminently, Elder.”

Kal Shora signaled an affirmation.

“Good. The Nexus.”

“Of course, Elder. Tek’a'r'odar; Pend'ar'a. Tek’a'Bor'd'daak; Dan’zant, Bar’z’ran.”

The visage immediately responded to his input, displaying figures and text confirming the receipt of his commands.

“Tek’a’tara taking defensive positions around command bunkers. Tek’a’tara stopping at the edge of one of the major cities.”

“Excellent, Zeratul. Take us there.”

“Excuse me, Elder?”

“Take the ship down to the edge of that city. I want to visit Kiyar myself.”

“But the radiation…!”

“Will be damned. Radiation can be removed. But the legacy of death I have cast upon this world will damn my soul for eternity.”

“Elder please…”

“No, Zeratul. If these people are to die, then I will force myself to watch. I don’t dodge guilt. And if I am to be avenged upon, then so be it.”

“Elder, I know better then to attempt to outthink you.”

“A sign of your progress.”

“Wear my Mer’a’brazal?”

Kal Shora took a few moments to consider.

“Will it fit?”

***

It felt odd, the High Judicator of the Dominion, adjusting to armor of a soldier. But it was so… he stretched, one final time, his body growing accustomed to the wrapped bandages that provided a final line of defense. He looked over at his younger colleague, and saw him for the first time, naked as Kal Shora often sat, only a cloak trailing from his neck. He saw the scars adorning his chest and arms, some from ragged cuts, others from intense burns. As his eyes crossed the rough scar tissue that covered much of his neck, the Skey’g’aar warrior turned and saw the High Judicator analyzing him. When their eyes met, Kal Shora bowed his head in respect.

“I may often belittle your intelligence and experience, but never allow anyone to downplay your physical sacrifice and dedication, Zeratul Daz’Da’Mar.”

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, Elder.”

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, Se'T'ap'a'r'odar. What of the battle on the surface?”

Zeratul closed the lids over his sharp red eyes, inhaling as he concentrated.

“The cities of Krataf, Iridoya, Kimyona, and Negradia have all fallen or are falling under the nexus. There are roughly 8 cities remaining, including the one we have approached, known by the converted as Ionia. We will land about a hundred meters from the city.”

“Very good. Zeratul…”

“Yes Elder?”

“With this armor on, can I…?”

Zeratul shook his head, amused.

“No, Elder. It is a function of a well-trained mind that allows me to shift as such. The jewels in the armor only serve as a catalyst.”

“Ah… disappointing.”

“If you desire, I can teach you when we return?”

“You would enjoy that, would you not?”

Zeratul bowed his head.

“I meant no disrespect, Elder.”

“Of course not. Nor did I imply that you did. But even you must appreciate the irony of me asking you for instruction.”

Zeratul nodded.

“In any case, is there any other information I need to know before we land on the planet’s surface?”

“A party of soldiers left the city, presumably to reinforce another city. It appears they were led by Azguard.”

Kal Shora’s eyes flashed with excitement.

“Excellent. Offer them no resistance unless they open attack.”

“Elder, it is more then possible they will reverse direction in order to investigate our landing.”

“Of course. I am counting on it. The tek’a’tara can handle the Kiyar. You will fight the Azguard.”

“I will?”

“Are you refusing a command?”

“Of course not, Elder, but without my armor…”

“They can kill you. Correct me if I am wrong, Zeratul, you have engaged both the Sith and Jedi in battle. And survived.”

“You are correct, Elder.”

“Then if they can kill you, they can kill a Sith or a Jedi. This I need to know, Zeratul. If the Azguard can kill Sith, Jedi, and Shadowcaste warriors at will, then they may possibly be the most dangerous species of all.”

“And that would…”

“Yes, Zeratul. That would make them the most dangerous weapon of all.”

Zeratul nodded in appreciation of Kal Shora’s plan. Even if he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the possibility of his own death being used as research.

“Is there anything else, Zeratul?”

“Yes, Elder. There is one thing. We picked up several incoming transmissions from out of system. We have jammed them, but are not sure how many may have gotten through us, or the radiation.”

“Excellent.”

“Excellent, Elder? Incoming transmissions more then likely imply replies to outgoing transmissions, which means…”

“Which means that the Coalition knows we are here. And they are coming.”

He turned to Zeratul, eyes aflame with determination.

“We will be ready.”

At the edge of the wave of soldiers making their way to the meeting point outside Krataf was a small scouting party of twenty soldiers. They were to keep their eyes peeled for enemy ambush or signs of their passing. This party, consisting of a mix of Azguard-System races, was just crossing a burnt hill, when the landing ship was spotted. Their captain, deciding this was worth investigating, sent a transmission back to the main force and changed his party's direction towards the landing zone.

They made quick progress, because the environment of Kiyar offered little resistance. But before they knew it they were out of Comm range, and did not here what happened in Ionia.

___________________________________________________________________

People ran in terror, the constant and deafening sound of rifle-fire not enough to drown out their screams. Things... not quite dead and not quite alive... had emerged in a flood from the sewers. Metal tentacles could be seen extending from manholes, grabbing people and pulling them struggling downwards. Some fought themselves free, others were only seen later, emerging to join the ragged wave of the dead.

This scene was repeated around the planet, as city after city became flooded with sudden waves of terrible mockeries of life. The Azguard armies marched on, oblivious to the chaos tearing up the people they were sworn to defend.

And so it continued, until the armies united outside the burnt-out shell of Krataf.

_________________________________________________________________

"What?" Said Issk.

"We've completely lost all communications with the cities. We expected the connection to be down while our forces were on the march, but by now it should have turned back on by now."

Issk let out a gargantuan sigh, almost like a death-rattle. "Set up my computer here, get Prometheus online."

After a few minutes of work, the fuzzy image of Prometheus appeared again.

"Prometheus" Said Issk "We've lost contact with the cities, and I'm developing a good idea why. Try and reach the secure ground connections, we need to know what's going on."

Prometheus sighed, nodded, and his image faded again. The mass of hardware brought to Issk began to hum loudly. Finally, where Prometheus had been, a fuzzy image of Ionia surfaced, and it was an image Issk had never wanted to see. Each city showed the same horrors, the same open warfare. The small garrisons were being routed, and the civilian population was being transformed into an even more terrible army. Waves of the survivors were fleeing their cities, on foot or by vehicle.

Issk rubbed his fore-head, trying to put together what he was seeing. Finally, he saw one city, Devon, which had not been attacked. Devon was the biggest city, and best defended. Issk was a quick thinker, he knew what was happening. It was trap, lure the survivors to the safest city in the land, and have the greatest army go there to protect them.

But then, what choice did he have?

Issk sighed. "Prometheus, I want you to spread a message as far as it will go, everyone is to get to Devon, whether military or otherwise, I don't care who they are. If its' a trap, well, I'll just have to hope I'm smarter then them."

"Yes, sir" said Prometheus, who had been tactfully quiet throughout the whole meeting. He vanished, and the hardware hummed once more.

Issk sighed. He'd been outwitted, but he wasn't beaten yet. No way in hell was he letting the people under him be wiped out. If he could just turn things around until reinforcments arrive...

_________________________________________________________________

In the city of Krataf, all of a sudden, the attackers became the attacked. Waves of monstrous converted creatures were being obliterated by incredibly thorough Azguard forces, who knew the best way to win a fight is to stand far away and shoot the enemy. Pockets of survivors were released on the way, carefully screened and returned to the camp. The site of the Nexus was empty, probably long moved.

And above the bunker Kiriath is in, a young Azguard soldier knocked on the door with the butt of his rifle. "Hello? Anyone inside? Any survivors? We're the relief force, all survivors are to evacuate the city immeadietly!"

Sluggishly, Kiri opened dark circled eyes, turning her head slowly toward the sound. She’d have laughed if she had the strength; she’d envisioned rescuers coming to her aid countless times now in her weakened condition; that is, when she wasn’t hallucinating the enemy breaking through the meter-thick bunker door and slithering toward her in the darkness. This time was no different. Except...

The other visions had included her brother, gallantly delivering her personally from the living hell she was in.

Another sharp series of rapping, muffled only slightly by the thickness of the door, brought Kiri further out of her semiconscious state, and with every bit of strength she could muster, she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Go away!”

She hadn’t spoken aloud since the last person in the bunker had been killed, and she was surprised by the sound of her voice, hoarse and cracking, nowhere near the volume she’d hoped for. Still, delusions didn’t need much coercion to dissipate; at least not in Kiriath’s limited experience.

We hear you! We’re coming in; stand away from the door!

“...what?” Kiri was thoroughly confused now, and as her brain tried to work out the difference between reality and fantasy, adrenalin suddenly dumped into her bloodstream, confusion and disorientation coalescing into irrational fear. The Nexus! She had given away her position to the enemy, and this time it was no hallucination. Kiri scrambled to her feet, using the duracrete wall for support, and readied her knife. I’ll kill myself before I’ll let them take me...

An explosion rocked the surface over the door, sending vibrations through the wall behind Kiri, and a shaft of white light pierced downward into the absolute darkness, blinding her. The woman cried out in pain and fear, the knife slipping from her trembling hands. She covered her eyes and turned toward the wall away from the light, now weeping openly and uncontrollably as she clearly heard beings dropping down to the floor of the bunker from the opening they’d made, and making their way toward her...

“Miss? You all right? Miss...”

Kiriath spun around at the hesitant but firm touch of the hand on her shoulder, and squinted through tear-filled eyes at the silhouette, her grimy face streaked with clean lines of wetness which glistened in the harsh luma-light. She flattened herself against the wall, willing herself to disappear into it as the much taller figure reached out again—

—and then she passed out.

The sound of welding torches, electronics, wheels, treads, people, animals, and more filled the streets. Issk looked over the maps again of the city. People had been streaming into Devon ever since the attacks began. By now, he was willing to guess a third of the planet's pre-crisis population was within its' walls.

This hardly surprised him. Devon had been incredibly underpopulated for its' size, as it had been a walled fortress city built for generations' past. But none wanted to live within it, for they knew that in a nuclear war it would be the first target.

There was enough food and water to last them for some time, and the people of Kiyar knew how to get food in the most awful of circumstances. Disease was a none-issue, as few had survived the nuclear disasters of the planet, and those that remained had usually been destroyed since the beginning of the crisis, for those who carried them were weak and thus excellent targets.

There was only one thing on his mind right now, the attack. It loomed beyond the horizon, inevitible and approaching. New refugees brought news of advancing hoards getting ever closer to Devon.

But Issk was not just waiting for it. He had ordered the construction of some of his most brilliant defensive networks, and his councils of war planned out complicated and effective battle-plans. He had the doors welded shut, wired with explosives and piled up with wreckage. He had certain vulnerable sewers, cellars, and tunnels filled in, and re-piped the sewer system to dump rubbish at the base of the walls, hoping the slick mess would slow down invaders. Patrols were on unparralleled alert, and search-lights scanned both the inside and outside of the city.

Another, fairly controversial, move of his, was to make public the relevant details about their situation in regards to the enemy attack, reinforcments, and the status of Kiyar. Time was taken in detailing the report, to ensure fear and panic were kept to a minimum, and replaced with a stoic desire not to give ground to such an otherworldly horror. Although no draft or conscription was posted, everyone capable of fighting had armed themselves anyways, knowing there would be no quarter given should the enemy breach the facility.

Lastly, yet not leastly, Issk hooked up the surveillance and security systems to Prometheus, who dug himself in at Devon's computer mainframe, preparing to wage a second war of communication and coordination.

Issk watched the city become a stronghold, but despite his best-laid plans, he knew all that mattered was the fleet. If they made it in time or not, everything rested on that.

And, as he looked down from his position in the city's central tower, a lieutenant approached.

"Sir" he said "We have recieved word a survivor has been located. Details are sketchy, but she may be able to help fill us in as to what's been going on."

The distant humming of the inferior ship's engines remained a constant. The infinitely reaching white lines of what the infidels called 'hyperspace' filled up the viewport, the consoles soft hue adding slightly to the light. The rest of the ship remained dark, always dark. Everything was always dark. The light spread by the starlines and the console screens reached about three meters from the viewport. 'Sitting', his back against a wall and at the edge of the light, Varex Tarien contemplated. His figure was half-shrouded by the darkness of the rest of the ship he had stolen, his other side gave the Cree'Ar equivelant of a frown, his face crinkled in thought.

They had abandoned him. While he was on Xa Fel, they had abandoned him. The message he recieved from the Skey'g'aar Zeratul was that their 'cover had been blown' and 'the Imperial force was too great'. Yet when he had escaped, there had been nothing. Had the Imperials taken off in persuit? No, all Cree'Ar ships used C-velocity conduits to travel. The Imperials would have nothing to follow. Their inferior scanner technology could not plot the course of a wormhole, especially a newly created artificial one.

Then why? Had they recieved orders to leave him here? Had the High Elder deemed his service to the Dominion to be no longer necessary? No, if anything Kal Shora had been impressed by his actions during the negotiations with the Daemun Empire, the only race in this galaxy that could even be considered as advanced as the Dominion. No, his thoughts only returned to one person. Zeratul.

It made sense, when Varex thought about it. The Skey'g'aar was Kal Shora's right hand man. His lackey, in a sense. Kal Shora had been impressed by his work with the Daemuns, and Zeratul had noticed. The Shadowcaste had seen this as an opportunity to be rid of any threat to his position, even if it meant causing Kal Shora to reconsider any returns to Xa Fel in the future. In his own delusions of grandure the Skey'g'aar had wounded the Dominion, and Varex could not allow such an atrocity to take place.

"And may we carry true; through wind and snow, or torrents of fire from the skies; grant us the strength to carry through," Varex mumbled, "For we are the Cree'Ar; and our vocabulary does not include surrender. For the glory of the Dominion. For the glory of the Dominion..."

For the glory of the Dominion, he would kill the ta's's'ador, the traitor Zeratul. Just like he had killed on Xa Fel.

"Varex, come in. Do you read me, Priest Lord?" came the voice of Zeratul.

Not the best of times.

The Sith Knight wheeled around, and Varex blended into the shadows. Using all of his knowledge of the Force, Varex shielded his aura. The Sith Knight advanced on Tarien's position. The Priest Lord felt another Force presence tearing away at his barrier, trying to sneak its way through to discover what lay beyond. Varex could only pray to Borleas Queyvar that Zeratul knew when to shut up.

"Priest Lord, our cover has been blown, repeat. Our cover has been blown," Zeratul's voice once more. He did not, most unfortunate, "The Imperial force is too great, we cannot hold them off. Tarien, we must tend. I am sorry."

To human ears and most alien's the sound Zeratul made would have been unnoticable, but to a Sith Knight whose concentration is, more or less, focused on Varex's area, its all too easy. There was a hiss as a red beam sprouted from a silver cylinder, and Varex remembered Zeratul describing to him the weapons of the Sith, advanced sword-like beams known as 'lightsabers'. The Sith Knight charged.

Varex's weapon made a sound of its own, a much more beautiful sound, as it was unsheathed. His Vy'reia'la sword, the weapon of a Priest Lord. The black blade did not shimmer, not even a glisten to give away its presence. From his position in the shadows, the beauty of its complete non-existance in the normal world of vision was enormous. No doubt the Sith Knight sensed the sword's presence, but that did not matter. It gave Varex...comfort.

"Se'T'ap'a'r'odar!" the war cry issued from Varex's mouth broke the eery silence of the Sith Temple, and the Priest Lord advanced to meet the Sith Knight in combat.

Something on one of the consoles changed, and the light shifted. Varex's face became shrouded completely, and a little more light shined across from the Cree'Ar, illuminating a limp foot. The foot of his dead adversary, the very Sith Knight he had faced inside the Sith Temple. Varex did not know why he had dragged the human's body all the way to the ship he had stolen. He had truly not expected to make it, so he supposed that he then figured if he were to die, he would die next to the enemy he had slain. Perhaps it was...honorable?

Honor. Most Priests, the one who got anywhere at any rate, had not that word even in their vocabulary. Varex himself had backstabbed his way up the ranks of the Sanctum of Light and Sky, but he had changed much over the past few days. Maybe it had something to do with the Whispers, what Varex called the ever present aura of the Sith Lords of The Naboo Sith Order, but he doubted it. All he knew was that he was fully prepared to kill Zeratul, and he cared not whether it advanced him in rank or got him killed in the process. He did not do this for standing in Cree'Ar society. He did this, fully and truthfully, for the Dominion.

He did this for Ador.

Varex wiped the blood of his enemy upon his corpse before he sheathed his Vy'reia'la sword once more. Giving a small prayer to the Sky God, Varex surveyed his surroundings. They had made a lot of noise during their duel, and Varex did not doubt the Sith sent a message to his comrades asking for assistance, most likely during the latter parts of the duel in which Tarien had gained the upper hand. No doubt more Sith would soon arrive.

Varex's gaze fell upon what the Knight had been guarding. Before Zeratul had interrupted him, he had been contemplating a way to steal the Sith holocron that now lay before him, unguarded and in the open, without its now-dead protector noticing. There didn't seem much point now that he was as good as dead, but the Cree'Ar figured he might as well have something to bring back with him if he managed to make it off of Xa Fel alive.

Slowly, the Priest Lord walked up to the pedastle upon which it lay. His hand reached out even slower and finally, he snatched it up quickly and waited. He waited for an alarm. He waited for a trap. He waited to be blown out of existance by some ancient Sith spell. He waited for...nothing. Nothing happened...nothing. Obviously, the Sith were not expecting any thieves, and, as Varex thought about it, with good reason. He became surprised that they had spared a Knight to guard it but then again, during the Empire's rise the Sith ranks had swelled, all while remaining relatively inactive on the galactic front. Varex was a good spy, even when his cover was blown.

Snapping his head toward the entrance to the hall in which the holocron resided, Varex could hear the faint but increasing sound of footsteps. Many of them. No trap had been sprung by the Holocron, but it looked as if that would not matter if he lingered. The Sith were nigh.

And as they entered the room, they found it utterly devoid of a holocron, a spy, and a deceased Sith Knight. Only a pool of blood and a knocked over pedastle remained.

Varex held the lightsaber in his hands. It would make a decent prize, even if he would never use it. Varex would not taint himself with the tools of the infidels, even if it was moderately advanced. In any case, it was not the only thing Tarien had stolen from the Sith's corpse. The metal of the lightsaber reflected a soft light from the consoles, and slowly the Sith's face was faintly illuminated. Blood flowed freely from his mouth and eye sockets.

Upon Varex's neck he wore a necklace, and attached to it were the teeth of his victim. And in the center, two eyes.

Starlines faded to dots as the infidel ship returned to normal space. Varex 'stood', and moved over to the viewport. Directly in front of him lay the planet of Kiyar.

For the glory of the Dominion.

“War is such a messy business.”

Zeratul could only nod as Kal Shora ran his hands over the face of the corpse, gently closing her eyes. He sighed before swiveling back up to a vertical base.

“She cannot be more then 2 decades old.”

“Indeed. Unfortunate.”

“Preventable. Do you see those burns? She was caught in the crossfire.”

Zeratul merely shrugged. Kal Shora was left shaking his head.

“What happened to the days when we took entire planets and left no corpses?”

“That was mainly because of the Lin.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the Kora. Either way, we need our allies in this quest.”

Zeratul shrugged again.

“I thought the Dominion was built on the pillars of the Cree’Ar?”

Kal Shora grimaced at him.

“Built on yes. But never would we attempt to defeat the Lora without our esteemed allies.”

There was a hint of defiance in the eyes of Zeratul, but Kal Shora pretended he didn’t see it. Zeratul suddenly turned, and that Kal Shora did not ignore.

“Incoming?”

Zeratul nodded.

“Roughly twenty.”

“Azguard?”

Zeratul turned, eyes bright with excitement.

“Five.”

“Excellent. Tek’a'tera; Dan’zant,”

The Armor’tera nodded silently, fanning out and dropping back. Kal and Zeratul stood side by side, exposed to the incoming scouting party as they came around the ship. Barring an attempt to enter it, they would arrive in seconds, as Kal Shora could now hear them moving in the distance.

“Are you ready, Elder?”

Kal Shora turned to him with amusement in his eyes.

“I am too old to be ready for this, Zeratul.”

Zeratul nodded in understanding, arms poised, as the first members of the scouting party came around the edge of the ship. The first few were Kiyaran, and then two of a species known as the Kraz, and then…

And then the Azguard came.

They were tall, taller then the Kraz and Kiyar, but walked in something of a coiled hunch, betraying their true size. Even just walking, rifles in hand, Kal Shora could sense their agility and strength, potential energy coursing through their body, waiting for a reason.

Kal Shora gave no such reason. Raising his hands, he turned to Zeratul.

“Me’z’a’ro’shan or’t’a’gok…”

Each of the Coalition soldiers looked at each other as Kal Shora continued to speak. Finally, Zeratul began to translate his words.

“Members of the Galaction Coalition relief force and the Kiyaran civilians, I am Zeratul Daz’Da’Mar, and this is the Cree’Ar High Elder and High Judicator of the Cree’Ar Judicaste, Kal Shora. Our intentions on this world are peaceful, and we would be happy to discuss this if you would lower your weapons.”

They all simultaneously looked at one another, but no one dropped their weapon.

“Please, do as I ask.”

“Why? You’re a murderer!”

Zeratul shook his head.

“It was a mistake…”

“The only mistake here is that I didn’t kill you immediately!”

The Azguard pulled the trugger on his blaster, sending arcs of ionized death towards the Skey’g’aar.

Years of battle had served Zeratul well. Even without armor, Zeratul survived the initial volley, hip twisting and contorting to allow the warrior’s lithe frame to dodge the weapon’s blast. Frustrated, the Azguard dropped his weapon and charged, intending to kill with his bare hands, despite the urgings of his colleagues to relax.

The Azguard’s aggressive palm strikes, lightning quick though they were, were untargeted and lacking in their execution as they were exposed too early. Zeratul was able to fend the Azguard attack for the most part, with the occasional strike glancing off his thick hide. The relentless and seemingly untiring Azguard offensive left Zeratul in a difficult position of being easily defended in the short term but ultimately indefensible in the long term.

And so the Shadowcaste warrior made a choice, ducking head to the side of a palm strike and snapping one leg, bending his body to throw with full force the Azguard to the sand. Zeratul immediately raised his hands to the air, making no aggressive movements as he put distance between the attacking Azguard and himself, in the act cutting the distance between the passive members of the scouting party. As he turned, Zeratul reached into his robes, pulling something from within to rest in each hand, hands at his side as he stepped a few feet back towards the again standing Azguard.

When the Azguard’s eyes met the glowing orbs in the face of the Skey’g’aar warrior, Zeratul sighed, knowing he would charge again.

Before he did, Zeratul crossed his arms, while his face contorted in pain. From each of his wrists shot forth a foot long protrusion of bone; sharpened on the edge but dented and bent in several places from years of combat. With boneblades extended, Zeratul rested his hands to his side, head lowered as the Azguard broke into a charge.

The distance between the two was eclipsed in mere seconds. A feral scream broke out from the Azguard, mouth frozen open in rage, hands poised for a powerful blow. Zeratul was the complete antithesis; his body was in an utterly defenseless state, head lowered and hands pointed to the ground, he seemed calm, softly speaking words of his alien language, and even as his eyes rose to the Azguard, even as he faced the impending assault, he made no hasty movements to enact a defense, and the only noticeable change was that he had stopped his speech.

As the Azguard launched a hand at the face of the Skey’g’aar, Zeratul still made no motion, speaking only a simple phrase…

"Mer’a’brak tab."

The killing blow launched by the Azguard struck nothing but air as the warrior shot through Zeratul as if he were dust.

The Azguard used his senses but could not find the Skey’g’aar or where he had gone. He turned to his colleagues, also uncertain of where the Azguard’s opponent had gone. Although the Azguard was of the unique Raj subspecies, those born with a singular personality largely dominated by violent instincts, he was not stupid. He assumed that the other had fled, and, with another Cree’Ar alive, he turned to him.

Kal Shora’s eyes flashed with fear as the Azguard began to approach him. From his belt, he pulled one of his grenades, activating it with his thumb as he gripped it in his hand. As he stalked towards the Cree’Ar elder, Kal Shora had no options and attempted to dissuade him with his hands. The Azguard was undeterred.

Beside the advancing Azguard, someone shouted something… the Azguard’s eyes left Kal Shora as his head began to turn…

And then it was falling, landing in the sand with a soft thud. Followed momentarily by his body, landing on his hand, death gripped on the grenade…

The grenade…

And then he was no more.

Zeratul lay panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. As he stood, he made a sweeping motion with his hand, shaking loose Azguard from the bone blades extending off his arms. He turned to the other soldiers, who by now all had a blaster trained on the Skey’g’aar, even though he made no hostile action. Zeratul could only nod.

“Please, lower your weapons. We can settle this…”

One of the Azguard closed one of his eyes, and squeezed his finger tight to his palm, sending a laser bolt slamming into the Skey’g’aar, felling him instantly.

Kal Shora tried to rush to his subordinate, but one of the Azguard shot him as well. The bolt struck the armor and careened into the sand. Still, the impact of it sent the elder to his back. With rifles trained on him, Kal Shora nodded, and the Armor’tera began to advance upon the soldiers.

Used to the advancing horde by now, the soldiers calmly raised their weapons. It was pretty simple… monster charge, shoot monster, monster fall.

But as the beam struck the first cybernetic soldier, he didn’t fall. Another two beams hit his chest before he was sent stumbling to the ground. Even then, the warrior began to push himself to his feet, before a quartet of fire destroyed what could be called its head. With the one immobilized, the soldiers turned to the next, a half a dozen arcs of fire heading towards the advancing machine…

None of them hit, however, as all bent and dispersed about half a foot from the soldiers head. He kept marching, showing no signs of victory, or anything else, as he lumbered towards the uncertain peacekeepers of the Galactic Coalition.

“Shields?”

“I thought they didn’t have any.”

“They do now!”

“Suppressing fire?”

“I was thinking… grenades…”

And so the soldiers turned, backpeddling as they dished out suppressing fire to no effect to cover their comrades rolling grenades. The grenades did the trick, sending cybernetic soldiers flying through the air, landing awkwardly as the Coalition made their way back to one of their roadblocks…

Followed, undeterred and undestroyed, by the armor’tera.

***

“Zeratul? Zeratul? Do you still live?”

All the Skey’g’aar could do was grunt.

“Can you stand?”

It took him a lot of effort to grunt out a negative.

“Oh, this is my fault Zeratul. I did not think they would shoot an unarmed man…”

Zeratul tried to shake his head, but he was too weak to move anything. The effort to breathe was even extreme…

“Do not worry, Zeratul. I will fix this… I have to fix this… I have…”

And Kal Shora turned and walked away, as Zeratul sighed and the light faded from his eyes…

***

Working computers on Kiyar were a luxury. Although the world had designed many such systems and existed beneath it an infrastructure of communication, it was buried under centuries of war, meant to connect to computers that were only ash. The Coalition had brought computers both for civilian use, in libraries and schools, and their own military coordination.

At present, the rush to get to the library was fairly slim.

So in the remaining command bunkers of the Azguard sat a jumble of appropriated technology, ready to be set up should the need arise. The firewalls on the military systems blocked it but the few civilian systems installed had no such protection…

“Members of the Galactic Coalition Relief Force, we have surrounded your city and now have soldiers poised to break down your defenses. However, if possible we would negotiate a peaceful settlement. Come to the gates of your city… bring an escort if you wish. Our soldiers will not attack, and hopefully neither will yours. Then we can discuss terms.”

The Nexus was then disconnected beneath their city, and the tek’a’tara began lumbering back to the surface…

His eyes snapped open immediately.

Korr nict verhoot delousan...

The script echoed through his brain painfully and it took a moment before realisation hit him.

Fucker...

He cast his mind outwards towards where the ward had been broken. The chamber of darkness...

For years the chamber had held the teachings and private correspondances of the leaders of the Naboo Sith Order. At current, that was him.

He's stealing my shit!

The thought was only half processed before Lupercus was on his feet, sabres in hand and rage fully burning.

Korr nict verhoot delousan...

The wards chant only served as a reminder of the theft in progress and incensed the Sith even further. He was about to bolt out the door but his body was stay by the site of the mask above his desk.

Yes, i think this theif deserves that...

The artifact was hardly ancient, barely a few years old, but it was something of special significance to the Sith Lord. Under orders from Lord Zeta he had constructed it, imbueing it with the escence of the hatred and pain he felt for the world around him. The obsidian mask was horrifying to look upon, but it was the dark amulet inset in the forehead that was Lupercus' true pride. Plucking the necklace from its catch the Hapan now left, the rocks black colour glowing despite the impossibility of such an occurance.

KORR NICT VERHOOT DELOUSAN!

The broken ward was louder now, furious at being activated, other sith rising to meet its call as their senses were nearly overwhelmed by its intensity.

Lupercus knew then that the theif had been successful. He would be fleeing the scene, not lingering to face the full fury of a roused sith army. So, while his bretheren discovered the crime, the Sith Lord would pursue.

He entered the hangar bay and noticed the motley assortment of ships his men had purloined. Immediately he found his craft and was aboard, taking only moments to remotely power up the engine. The plush interior of the luxury yacht was something the Hapan usually enjoyed, but for now the only enjoyment that could be gained would be from ripping the thiefs heart out from his chest.

As soon as he reached the cockpit Lupercus gunned the engines, not slowly but instantly to full throttle, the counterforce sending equipment flying around the hangar.

In a moment of angerless clarity Lupercus was guileful enough to activate the ships cloaking system only moments before his scanners detected the fleeing enemy. He was almost at the point of safe hyperspace jumping and the Hapan was quick to activate his tracking computer.

The YT-3000 closed quickly on the older freighter, but not quick enough, the ship slipping away just before weapons range was activated.

Furious Lupercus examined his console, seconds later revealing the hyperspace trajectory employed by the foolish thief. Another set of seconds past before the computer calculated where those coordinates would take one.

Kiyar...

Lupercus gunned his engines and prepared to enter hyperspace...

As the voice died down, Issk turned to an aide. "This is most unusual, yes. I want the whole citadel on maximum alert, and everyone to be especially wary of possible surprise attacks. Check for them coming up from the ground or out of the skies, or anywhere else they could possibly have gotten in."

He had only gone a few steps away when a ragged patrol rushed towards him and bowed.

"Sir" the captain said "We've encountered the enemy!"

"Not surprising, captain, considering our current situation."

"No sir, it was different sir." The captain was breathing hard, but managed to marshall his strength "These were different creatures, sir, they were plated in black and had energy shields. They were accompanied by a pair of... weird aliens, definetly not monsters like the rest. We lost one man in combat to them and then retreated. I think those aliens are the ones who want to speak to you now."

Issk took this in. "All right. You men, get to the debriefing room. New orders, everyone. We're still to be prepared for imminent combat, but also I want Prometheus to analyse the nature of the break-in of our computer security. Patch the system up, if they shut us down from the outside we'll be finished. Also, I need to speak with the survivor. Our only reported contact with these things is combat, and we need more information. Send an emissary to the walls, have him try and tell the... things that I'll be out shortly."

Everyone scattered to comply to their new orders, and Issk hurried over to the waiting area of the command building. Things were changing, the scenarios he had forseen were nowhere to be seen, but Issk saw a slim hope for everyone out of this mess.

Inside, he saw a Kiyaran, huddled in silence in a corner. Issk seated himself opposite slowly. "Hello. I have recieved word you survived in close proximity with the... enemy, and are so far the only one to do so. So far, the only survivors have been in areas which they have not reached, or soldiers who have managed to keep them at bay.

"We need to know more, though. We need help. Things are progressing quickly, and we don't understand the enemy enough to proceed. Is there anything you can tell us about what you might have heard or seen?"

The ship was almost in orbit around the planet of Kiyar. It would not be long until Varex was on the planet's surface. He could not be sure if Zeratul was even down there, but he thought his odds to be better than attempting to face a very large Cree'Ar fleet orbiting on the other side of the planet. They would likely think him to be a...human...fleeing from the destruction that was occuring below on the surface.

Well, Varex didn't know for sure what exactly was going on below, but he knew that if it had to do with both Cree'Ar and humans, the alternatives to slaughter were very few, especially considering the number of Dominion warships hovering above the atmosphere. Still, something felt...odd, to him. A disturbance in the Cor'ai'var (Force of the Gods, Cree'Ar for the Force). He did not know what exactly.

He lifted his head suddenly, his mind jerking back into reality. He was moments from orbit around Kiyar, but suddenly he felt a great disturbance in the Cor'ai'var. It was as if...it was as if a small portion of Xa'Fel had just been brought into this solar system. Varex could sense it, whatever it was, and it was fast approaching. What was it? What could it possibly be? In his startlement, he forgot the world around him, focusing on that...presence? The presence of whom?

He did not notice until too late the frantic beeping coming from the inferior ship's sensors. The Cree'Ar reached for the controls, but the ship was struck before he could do anything. Everything turned upside down in an instant, and, even with the ship's inertial dampers, Varex could feel the gees having an effect on him. A lesser being would have likely lost consciousness by now, but Varex struggled to get back in the pilot's seat.

That is, until he realized it was right above him. The ship rolled again, and that quickly changed. Somehow the Cree'Ar managed to finally find his way back into his seat, just in time to realize that he was going down through the planet's atmosphere. He realized that he was lucky he had been so close to the atmosphere at the time, otherwise the other ship would have likely vaporized him by now.

The Priest Lord scanned the ship's inferior consoles and panels, and after a little guess-work he figured out that the ship wasn't critically damaged, but it was going to be a rough landing and no way out of it. And it was likely that after the ship had 'landed' it would not be able to safely get back up into space. So, it was safe to say, he was screwed.

Varex looked out of the viewport to see the ground rushing at him almost impossibly fast. The Cree'Ar grabbed a tight hold on the controls and, bracing himself against the consoles with all four legs, he pulled back as hard as he possibly could. He had to level out the ship, or else there wouldn't be much left of him to exact his revenge upon the Shadowcaste Zeratul, and that was simply unacceptable.

Receding back into the Cor'ai'var, Varex prepared himself for the bumpy landing, and he also reached out in an effort to relocate the presence of the being that had shot him out of space, with no luck. He, or she for that matter, was likely too far away. Whoever it was, Varex reasoned, it was likely a Sith. Most likely a Sith Lord, sent to take back what he had stolen and probably kill him.

A Sith Lord against a Priest Lord... Varex thought to himself, It shall be interesting to see how that turns out, but it shall have to wait. I have more important things to do. Vengeance must be served.

Though, as he thought about it, the Sith Lord probably would not think of things the same way.

A very loud sound brought Varex from his contemplations. He realized that it was the bottom of the ship scraping against the surface. Unfortunately, the ship was not entirely level. Varex remained conscious throughout the first two flips.

On the surface of Kiyar...

Luckily, his wounds had been minor, and he had only lost consciousness for a few short minutes. No, he realized. Luck had nothing to do with it. The Gods were with him, as they always had been, as was the Cor'ai'var. As he stumbled his way out of the ship, he realized just how much the Gods had been with him.

He had been layed flat on the floor after a few rolls, which saved his life. Somehow, the ship's ceiling had managed to get completely torn off. Had he been standing, the top half of his body probably would have gone with it. But Varex could not help but laugh at what had happened to the corpse of the Sith Knight.

Somehow, his corpse had managed to impale itself upon a jagged piece of metal that had bent itself upward. The corpse towered above the rest of the ship's remains. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the Sith Lord persuing Varex. But the Priest Lord did not think it very likely. The Sith were sadistic bastards. Such a sight probably wouldn't effect a high-standing member.

But, at any rate, it would let him or her know that he/she wasn't dealing with a normal thief.

"We need to know more, though. We need help. Things are progressing quickly, and we don't understand the enemy enough to proceed. Is there anything you can tell us about what you might have heard or seen?"

Her eyes glassy and unfocused, Kiriath slowly raised her head in the direction of the voice. When her vision cleared, the large-eyed Azguard face seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place the rather authoritative looking, thin alien dressed in combat armor. Someone important, she managed to reason, her muddled brain still barely capable of retaining a coherent thought for very long. Every shadow in the crowded waiting room looked like one of those creatures that her people had become, every person here was a potential monster; it was only a matter of time. She could see cybernetic tendrils snaking toward her even now...

The Azguard cleared his throat loudly, bringing Kiri back to herself. Shaking her head to clear it of the haunting images, she focused again on his face, finding it hard to form words. “I... didn’t see much. I mean...” she wiped at a tear that had fallen, streaking down her freshly cleaned face, “I just... ran. We all did. To the bunker. My brother–”

Kiriath’s throat suddenly constricted as more tears welled in her eyes and fell fast, droplets falling from the line of her jaw onto the hospital clothes they had given her to wear, after she had gotten cleaned up from her ordeal.

“–Jamin,” she finally choked out. “He... saved my life.”

With a little soft encouragement from the Azguard, Kiri haltingly, then with increasing confidence began to recount the incidents leading up to her flight to the bunker, and what she had seen on the closed-circuit holoscreens while trapped inside. She spoke by rote, as if the things had not happened to her; rather, they had been some horrific news report she’d seen that had nothing to do with her personally.

“We ran,” she began quietly again. “As fast as we could...”



One young woman, carrying a child of no more than three years of age, stumbles, falls, her child flung from her arms as far as she could throw her as she hits the ground, serpentine cybernetic tendrils already reaching for her... the girl begins to cry...

A man running, drops his datapad. As he stops to pick it up, his relieved smile is wiped clean as his leg is pierced by miniature tendrils erupting from the fingers of the girl, who is not crying now, not at all...

A middle aged couple with two boys, one lags behind and is taken even as his hand is still clasped by his big brother, who is jerked away by his father at the last moment as they continue to run...

A much older couple, long since gone grey, too slow, too tired, stops, turns, allows themselves to be overrun by the cybernetic creatures...

Aside from the elderly couple, the faces are all the same: desperate, frantic, panic-stricken...



“And none survived that I could see. These... things... they don’t stop, they don’t feel anything, they don’t care... they just take you, and make you one of them...”

The former publicist found herself crying again, her shoulders hitching as she sobbed uncontrollably, unaware that she was drawing attention to herself. Those people... my brother...

Kiriath felt a long-fingered hand lay gently on her shoulder; a gesture of sympathy. Unconsciously she leaned into it for support: emotional, physical, whatever she could get, as the tears finally ran out. Then she realized what she was doing and jerked away, wiping sloppily at her face with her bare, scarred forearm before turning eyes that now seemed cold and hard toward the man who was somehow important but whom she still couldn’t place. He doesn’t need to know about the bunker, what I had to do in there.

“You should have left me there to die. Because you’re not going to stop them. You, me, and everyone in this room – are already dead!”

Kiri’s voice had risen in pitch and volume and she stood quickly now, upending the chair she had been huddled in, casting her eyes frantically about for a place to hide, to escape, to get past all these people, these monsters–

Two men dressed in uniform suddenly appeared on either side of the diminutive, dark haired woman, taking hold of her arms in an effort to calm her down. She continued to struggle, screaming in frustration, her legs kicking out at anything that moved as the men lifted her bodily and carried her out of the waiting room.