CYCLE 12872 // MONTH ELEVEN // DAY NINETY-FOUR // REIGN OF BLESSED EMPEROR VOLSIF XCVII

FIVE MONTHS HAVE ELAPSED

"One thing is perfectly clear, my Lords - this Heraldry must be stopped."

There were five of them gathered there in that lavishly-decorated meeting chamber - Duke Jerohd, Marquess Jaheed, General Kellos, Colonel Skanz, and Sain Sahd, chief advisor and elder brother to Callisto's venerable Duke. The Duke himself was clad in pajamas of the finest silk imported from a place many galaxies away; by contrast, the others remained outfitted in their formal garments and uniforms. For a man like the Duke, the day came to an early close - but for the others, however, there was always more work to be done.

Kellos was standing at rigid attention. Sain Sahd was watching the proceedings with folded arms and concerned eyes. Skanz was hunched, his gaze downcast and his skin beaded with sweat. And the Duke - the Duke was enraged, pacing with furious intensity as he grit his jaw and clasped his hands tight behind his back, saying nothing all the while.

Despite the boundless hate Jaheed possessed for his aging progenitor, he couldn't help but sympathize somewhat with his father's position. Here he was, the noose closing around his neck - aware of the danger, no doubt, but nevertheless helpless against his own encroaching demise. And now he was forced to contend with this latest string of failures?

If nothing else, Jaheed certainly didn't envy the old man.

"I believe that goes without saying, General," Sain Sahd replied calmly, his eyes following his brother's movements as the Duke paced and paced. "But there is still the question of how an entire battalion of our finest soldiers was lost to what has been reported as a collection of destitute, vagabond militants."

"It was a trap..." Colonel Skanz muttered - still refusing to look up at those assembled around him. "Our intelligence division reported rumors of a Heraldry hideout beneath an old, abandoned factory in the Fourth Sector. After much discussion, we decided to roll the dice - if we actually found a Heraldry base, great. If not, what was the harm?"

"I must reiterate that I was in no way involved with or informed of any of these decisions," Kellos interjected coldly.

"You-" Skanz started, his head snapping to the stone-faced General.

"Please, Colonel," Sain Sahd sighed, holding up a hand. "Continue."

"Well," Skanz said, his eyes flicking down to the floor once more. "We razed the place to the ground and didn't find a thing. So, we packed up, turned around, and headed out...and that was when they hit us."

Kellos clicked his tongue but said nothing.

"They must have numbered nearly a hundred," Skanz continued. "There was one in just about every window of every building, all of them raining down bombs and las-fire in equal measure. I didn't have the authority to just start firing back at civilian population centers, so...I mean, what recourse did I have? Our only choice was to flee as quickly and expediently as possible."

Jaheed saw a vein bulge in his father's forehead, and he knew then with perfect clarity - and no small sense of satisfaction - that the Duke was about to explode.

"One hundred and seventy-two dead!" the Duke roared, whirling on the trembling Colonel. There he was, finally - the real Duke Jerohd. "Sixty-five wounded! Millions of credits worth of equipment and vehicles lost! Billions of credits worth of damages to my city!"

"This situation is-" Sain Sahd began.

"You are losing control!" the Duke shouted, jabbing a spindly mechanical finger at the Colonel's chest and forcing him back against the wall. "You people are losing control of my world!"

"This situation is far from ideal," Sahd interjected, holding up his hands and signaling for calm. "All of us know this, Jerohd. The Colonel's failure is in no way a point of contention. Perhaps a more productive topic of discussion would be-"

"Do you have any idea what you've cost me?" the Duke demanded, ignoring his brother as he stepped even closer to the cowering Colonel. "A new Emperor means a clean slate for the Domain, you understand - a new Emperor means housekeeping! A new Emperor means that for each and every Duke and fiefdom there must be a decision - either to leave things as is or to wipe away the old and usher in the new. And when one of the Emperor's Scions is paying a personal visit to my dinner table, making thin-veiled threats to my face - which way do you believe Volsif is leaning on Callisto, hmm? Do you believe, Colonel Skanz, that I am blessed to be within the Emperor's good graces?"

"I..." the Colonel trailed off, keenly aware that there was no correct answer to the question he had been posed.

"He will hear of this," the Duke declared, stepping back and turning to face the others. "Make no mistake. He will hear that Duke Jerohd is incapable of imposing order even upon the streets of his capitol city!"

Silence reigned for some time before, finally, General Kellos spoke.

"Let me off the leash, Honored Duke," the scar-faced man growled. "No rules of engagement, no restrictions. Gimme as much manpower and firepower as I need and I guarantee within three week's time Heraldry will be nothing but-"

"Just get it done!" the Duke shrieked, his choler rising to a fever pitch as he leapt up and down, smashing his fists upon a neighboring desk. "Just do your fucking jobs, you stupid motherfucking...you fucking bastards!"

"Calm yourself, father," Jaheed cautioned - knowing full well that his words would induce very much the opposite effect. "There's no need for-"

"Shut your mouth, boy, or I will knock you off that fucking chair!" Jerohd roared, whirling around. His eyes were wide with a raw, furious sort of terror. "Do you understand what this means for me, all of you? Do you well and truly understand?!"

"I do," Sain Sahd offered calmly, stepping forward now and resting a hand upon the Duke's shoulder. "Listen to me, Jerohd. This situation is indeed dire - but I believe it isn't half as bad as you're making it out to be."

Sain was an older man - older than the Duke, even, though his greying hair was the only signifier of his advanced age. Sain had spent a great deal of time amongst the Imperial Court and had, as such, reaped heavily the benefits of Mercury's gene-modification clinics. Here was man whose influence and experience exceeded anyone on Callisto - even the Duke himself. When Sain Sahd spoke, others listened, for they knew full well that he trafficked in circles far beyond the scopes of their own imaginations.

"Please," the Duke muttered, pinching his nose and leaning back against the wall. Finally his desperate rage was giving way to weary despondence. "Enlighten me, Sain."

"Let us consider the facts," Sain began, steepling his fingers. Jaheed was watching him closely, curious as to what measured wisdom - or empty platitudes - the legendary politician had to offer. "This 'Great Undoing', as Emperor Volsif has coined it - it is almost certain to come with an enormous cost associated. The losses, financial and otherwise, will be staggering for the first dozen-or-so cycles - only a fool could expect otherwise. Your own failures as but drops of water in an ocean of-"

"He sent his Scion in person," the Duke sighed, hanging his head. "How do you explain that, Sain? And how do I explain, when next a Scion appears, that I've lost control of my own void-damned planet?"

"Maybe," the hawk-faced Kellos interrupted, "what we need, then, is to show the Emperor a display of strength. If I might recount my earlier proposal?"

The Duke's eyes narrowed.

"Enlighten me, General," he ordered.

"I'm not sure-" Sain started.

Jaheed leaned forward, now, his chin resting upon his folded hands. Everyone was floundering - which meant that a great many important decisions were about to be made very hastily in the foolish pursuit of immediate results.

"So, the Emperor believes we've lost control?" Kellos asked, loudly cracking his knuckles. "If that's the case, all we need do is show him that we've regained it. Heraldry hide in plain sight amongst the civilians, no? Then let us squeeze the damned commoners - squeeze them until they can hardly breathe and until the rats are forced to come scurrying out. Give me eight-thousand steel-toes, Honored Duke, and we'll stomp 'em back into shape - just you watch."

"I concur..." Skanz said quietly - but withering glares from both Jerohd and Kellos silenced the Colonel at once.

"Violence for violence?" Sain asked, his brow knit with concern. "Is that truly a wise course of action? Think clearly, Jerohd. Don't allow yourself to be swayed by the dire urgency of this unfortunate night. Patience and cunning in the face of adversity - that is our creed, no?"

Sain Sahd was extending to a life-vest to the drowning Duke, trying to save him from his own worst impulses - but Jaheed would not allow it.

"As always, Sain Sahd speaks wisely," Jaheed cut in, bowing his head respectfully as he spoke. "If we press the people harder, surely their only response will be to-"

"I said shut your wretched little mouth!" the Duke bellowed, whirling around with a book in hand, and Jaheed only narrowly managed to duck the projectile as it came hurtling towards his skull. Now, the Duke's head snapped to his brother, and his eyes were wide with fury once more.

"Sain," he growled, his words softening only marginally, "yours is a voice that I will always cherish and respect - but this is no time for soft-hearted diplomacy. These are hard times, my brother, and hard times call for hard men to make hard decisions."

The Duke turned, now, to Kellos, and it took all of Jaheed's composure not to break into a wicked grin. It was almost too easy to goad his damnable father.

"Kellos. You said eight thousand?" Jerohd demanded.

"Aye, Honored Duke."

"You'll get twenty," Jerohd snapped, turning sharply and gesturing over his shoulder. "The gloves are off. Kill people, burn their homes, I don't give a fuck. Anything can be rebuilt - just fix the problem, Kellos, or I'll be offering your head to the Emperor instead of my own."

At that, the meeting was concluded.

"By your will, Honored Duke," all intoned - some more reluctantly than others. And it was not five minutes later that Jaheed and Sahd were conversing quietly in that same chamber, after the others had all departed one-by-one.

"You spoke with that Scion, didn't you?" Sain Sahd asked casually, a long cigar now clenched between his teeth. "He told you something, offered you some assurance - otherwise, you'd never move against your father in such a fashion. It's both your necks on the line, you know."

"Our necks - but not yours?" Jaheed smirked, deftly deflecting the accusation. "You're Mercury noble before you're a Callisto native, is that right?"

"I asked you first."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jaheed shrugged innocently. "I merely felt it wise to concur with your counsel, as I often do."

"Uh huh," Sain deadpanned, blowing from between his teeth a cloud of dark, glittering smoke. "To what end, I wonder?"

"To a powerful and prosperous Callisto, of course. Isn't that what we all want?"

"You know," Sain observed, after a moment, his stony eyes shifting to regard the crippled Marquess, "you're not particularly good at it now, either - but you used to be much, much worse at lying to me."

"You taught me everything you know," Jaheed chuckled, unable to surpress the pang of pride he felt at the words of his childhood mentor. "Now c'mon, Sain - 'retired' or not, I know full well that your contacts on Mercury still keep you in the loop. Tell me something interesting."

"You think I taught you everything?" Sain scoffed. "By the void, you're even duller than I thought. But I'll say this, Jaheed - whatever promises that Scion offered you, I hope for your own sake that they were something tangible. I've known Ket Sal for many years, young Marquess, and not even in my most desperate hour would I ever leave my fate in the hands of that man."

"My fate is my own," Jaheed declared after a moment, his smile fading - to which the older man let out a dry chuckle.

"Ha," Sain said flatly. "You know, Jaheed - if ever you get the chance to visit Holy Mercury, I recommend that you take it. I believe it might very well shift your perspective on a few things."

"It might," Jaheed retorted - growing annoyed, now. "Or perhaps it would only confirm that which I already know."

"Tch," Sain scoffed, shaking his head. He stepped forward, moving to leave - then stopped, glancing back over his shoulder at the crippled heir.

"Whatever it is you need to do to impress him," Sain offered, after a moment, "I'd advise that you do it soon."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," Sain replied coldly. "Because your father's time is running low."

With that, Sain Sahd keyed the door - and stepped out into the hallway as the Marquess hovered after him.

"Wait - Sain!" Jaheed called, suddenly desperate to catch up with the older man. "Is that just an estimation? Or did you actually hear something from one of your contacts? What-"

The door hissed shut - and then Jaheed was alone.

-----

Just ten minutes later Jaheed was hovering down one of the palace's innumerable winding halls, his fingers tapping against the armrest as his mind roiled and rolled with a storm of frantic thought.

What had he done to impress the Scion? There has been nothing - no projects, no initiatives, nothing he could stamp his name on and point to and say I did that. His father had long ago stripped his power down to the barest minimum, leaving him with not even the most minuscule of responsibilities. So what, then? How could he possibly avail himself to that yellow-eyed Scion?

So thoroughly engrossed was the young Marquess in his thoughts that only at the last possible second did he realize he was on the verge of colliding one of the palace's innumerable servants. His hand moved to halt the hoverchair at once - but the attempt came too late, and so servant and chair impacted quite solidly against one another.

"Guh!" Jaheed grunted, his chair lurching back before settling into place a few feet above the carpeted floor. "Watch where you're-"

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He blinked, then, taken aback as he was by two significant details. The first was that the woman before him lacked the cranial scars of a lobotomite - and the second was that she was by far the most intimidating servant he had ever encountered. She towered over him, her hair hanging shaggy and unkempt over a square-jawed skull held aloft by a thick, muscular neck. The entirety of her frame exuded raw strength, albeit barely restrained by the gold-and-white uniform of Callisto's servant corps. And she was looking at the Marquess now with something that only passingly resembled deference.

"Apologies, m'lord," the servant intoned, dropping at once to a knee and bowing her head. "The fault's mine."

Jaheed was observing her with a quizzical expression, now. What an unusual sight!

Nevertheless, there was much work to be done - and little time to be spent on such insignificant little details.

"Carry on," Jaheed said simply, waving a dismissing hand as he floated past the kneeling servant - and then, on a whim, he came to a halt once more.

"Actually-" he called, turning to face the servant as she rose cautiously to her feet, "-a word, servant, if I may."

"By all means, m'lord," the woman replied, bowing her head once more. "Is there something you need?"

"There," Jaheed declared, snapping her fingers. "Right there, you said it again - m'lord. Why?"

"I'm not-" the servant began.

A small smirk was forming across Jaheed's face.

"You have no idea who I am," he asked, more amused than angered, "do you?"

The servant opened her mouth - struggled, visibly, to determine the proper response - and then declared with not a hint of irony:

"Truth be told, sir, there's dozens of you nobles runnin' around this place - I can't hardly keep all your names straight."

"Ha!" Jaheed laughed - a genuine laugh, one that surprised even himself. "Might I surmise, then, that you've only just recently started at this position?"

"That's right," the servant nodded. "Uh. M'lord."

"There you go again," Jaheed chuckled. "Alright, look - let me help you out here. Me? The one in the hoverchair?" He pointed to his chest. "I am Marquess Jaheed Vell, firstborn son to Duke Jerohd Vell. As a servant, the proper honorific would be Lord Marquess."

"Understood, Lord Marquess," the servant briskly, inclining her head. "I'll be mindful in the future."

Still, Jaheed was observing the towering woman with a certain amused interest. Her manner of speaking was so crude, so unrefined - and despite her paltry efforts to conceal it, it was blatantly clear that she held not even the barest shred of reverence or respect for the noble-born standing before her. Who was this woman?

"Your build," Jaheed asked, after a moment. "You don't look much like a servant."

"As you said, Lord Marquess, I only just started here."

"And what manner of work were you doing before this?" Jaheed asked, raising an eyebrow. "Fabrication? Cordite extraction? Soldiering?"

"The second, Lord Marquess," the woman replied evenly. She folded her arms. "Did that for close to a decade."

"A decade?" Jaheed let out a low whistle. "I've heard that's grueling work. Dangerous, too."

"Is what it is," the servant simply shrugged. "S'behind me now, anyway."

"That's a rather pragmatic way of viewing the world," Jaheed observed, after a moment. "I can't say I'd see things quite the same."

"That so, Lord Marquess?"

"Indeed," the young noble nodded, suddenly distracted. "I...let it suffice to say I was born with something of a restless soul. I'd be quite incapable of just sitting idly by and accepting my circumstances."

"Beg your pardon, Lord Marquess," the servant interrupted. "But I didn't accept anything. I didn't like my situation, so I changed it - and now I'm here."

Jaheed was silent, for a moment - and then he burst into a peal of laughter that surprised even himself.

"I suppose you've got me there," he chuckled, still taken somewhat aback by his own sudden response. "I suppose you've got me there."

There was an odd moment of silence between them - and then Jaheed quite abruptly cleared his throat.

"At any rate," he said, "for me, time is a commodity that I can hardly afford to spend on idle chatter. Nevertheless, it was quite the unexpected pleasure conversing with you..." His eyes flicked down to the servant's nameplate. "...Kore."

"And you as well, Lord Marquess," Kore replied, bowing her head once more.

At that, Jaheed turned, floating away once more - and all the while as he hovered down hall after hall he puzzled over that trivial, unimportant conversation.

And he puzzled, too, over the fact that he wanted nothing to go back and continue speaking with her.

-----

Kore waited until the nobleman had disappeared around the corner before letting out an enormous sigh, leaning back with one arm against the wall for support.

This, she thought to herself, was madness - madness! What in the name of the void was she doing here?!

I want you on the inside, Tsen had told her, a neatly-folded servant's uniform in his hands. Her presence, as well as the presence of four other Heraldry agents, was the product of nearly five months' work manufacturing identities, altering databases, and greasing palms. It had, Kore knew, been nothing short of a herculean effort on Tsen's part - so why was she one of those chosen to carry out its conclusion?

Ever since the day Tsen recruited her, Kore had been a rising star - a tough, determined, focused soldier with a reputation for utter fearlessness in the face of death. Fighting and killing, Kore had discovered, were little more than another skill-set to learn and execute, and she set about it with the same quiet diligence she had long applied to cordite extraction. And thus, her favor had grown, quickly eclipsing the vast majority of her contemporaries, and soon Kore had found herself just on the outside of Tsen's inner circle - despite her long-professed indifference to being anything other than a simple cog in a machine.

But this - this assignment made not even an iota of sense to her. Kore was a fighter, an enforcer, and at times an assassin. But she was certainly no spy. And yet here she now stood, rubbing shoulders with men of terrifying, unimaginable power amidst wealth and finery the likes of which Kore could hardly have even conceived.

There were upsides, of course. The bed, for one, was the most comfortable Kore had ever slept upon, and the food was nothing short of astounding. And the work, too - absolutely effortless, compared to that with which Kore had spent the majority of her life. In a certain sense this was almost a vacation - albeit a vacation surrounded by men and women who could order her killed with a thought.

Kore glanced back at the corner behind which the nobleman had disappeared and sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. That was the Duke's son! Her foolishness could very well have come at the cost of her life!

There could be no more mistakes, she thought to herself - rising to her full height now and striding down the hall once more. Get in. Be invisible. Do the job. Get out. That would be her mantra, her guiding words by which she would survive this strange and deadly place.

"Kore!" a voice snapped - and she turned to see the Majordomo, a pencil-thin man called Qoxas, storming towards her with an accusing finger raised high. "Washroom 7-B remains in appalling condition! I instructed you to-"

Get in.

Be invisible.

Do the job.

Get out.

"Apologies, Master Qoxas," Kore bowed, stepping past the incensed steward without meeting his eyes - and feeling the blade concealed in her sock pressing hard against her ankle. "I'll see to it at once."

-----

And thus, a series of uneventful weeks passed. While Kore devoted herself to her work - and to noting the positions of both guards and security systems alike - Jaheed engrossed himself fully into policymaking, exerting what power he did wield for the first time in many years. Every project, every initiative, every undertaking - his name would be present at the conclusion of every one of them. He would make certain of it.

Once, while attending a routine ceremony in the palace's opulent foyer, Jaheed had caught sight of her - the strange, coarse-tongued servant that had intrigued him so.

They locked eyes, for a moment - and then the ceremony was dispersed, and Kore was gone.

And thus both Jaheed and Kore returned to their tasks at hand.

-----

Behind four plate-armored guards, behind a three-inch thick metal door, and within a sound-dampening field the Lord and Master of Castillo stood at attention, hands folded behind his back.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of Jerohd's face.

It was a deep, dark, quiet place that the Duke now inhabited, all black metal and dim-glowing white lights and absent in every way of the opulence and decoration that festooned every inch of his grand palace. Behind him, there was an unpadded chair; before him, there loomed a holoprojector, its primary eye colorless and silent.

Jerohd glanced down - checked his ornate timepiece - and found, to his silent dismay, that the allotted time had come.

"Put him on," the Duke ordered, his hoarse voice echoing about that empty chamber. In response, mere moments later the holoprojector whirred to life, flickering and pulsating until finally the streams of colored light resolved themselves into a coherent image - and thus, there before him now stood the Crimson Emir.

The disgraced warlord towered over the venerable Duke, his massive arms folded across his chest and his mouth split by a crooked grin - and he watched now with wry amusement as Jerohd dropped to a knee and pressed fist to chest in salute.

"Most Noble Emir," the Duke intoned, his gaze downcast. The words were like acid in his mouth. "It is my honor to stand before the true Emperor of the Great Domain."

It was far from the first time Jerohd had been forced to relay those wretched words - and it was unlikely to be the last, either.

"Heh," the Crimson Emir scoffed. "I'm sure it is. Rise, Jerohd - I've little time for pleasantries today."

Slowly, Jerohd rose, forcing himself now to meet the Emir's black-eyed gaze. That the warlord was short on time came as little surprise - just seven months prior the Emir's Sky-Melter fleet had burst from the Horsehead Nebula and set at once upon a course of fiery devastation, gouging a hideous wound across the face of the new Emperor's Great Domain as planet after planet were turned to little more than smouldering black rock. Already, the death toll had risen to an uncountable sum. The Emperor had enlisted no less than three Blessed Fleets to staunch the bleeding - but they had failed to even slow the Emir's pace.

Now, rumor had it, the Emperor was gathering the myriad forces of the Great Domain together for a new offensive - leaving the outer systems at the mercy of the Emir.

All of this, of course, meant little to Duke Jerohd - if anything, it served only to confirm that he had bet on the winning hratha-beast. And it was this that the Duke now silently reminded himself of as he stared up at the leering giant before him.

"There..." Jerohd began, momentarily uncertain as to whether or not he should speak in the formal tongue. "There's been a delay, Noble Emir."

"Hmm," the Emir rumbled, his expression unchanging. "Tell me."

"You remember the insurgent group of which I've spoken - Heraldry?"

"Vaguely."

"Well..." the Duke trailed off. "They've dealt us quite a substantial blow - a blow from which we will need some time to recover, Noble Emir, and against which we must invest significant time and resources if we wish to see it healed."

"An attack?" the Emir asked, blatantly unconcerned. "Lamentable."

"An ambush," Jerohd corrected. "A costly one - and, more importantly, a highly public one. The commonfolk find themselves inspired and aggrieved."

"As they so often do," the Emir chuckled. He seemed to almost delight in the Duke's misfortune. "Entropy exists in all things, Jerohd. Every human heart trends towards violence, given time."

"Of course..." Jerohd muttered, glancing away - able to withstand the Emir's gaze no longer. "But the point, Lord Emir, is that my monthly tithe will be either quite significantly diminished or quite significantly delayed. I have neither men nor equipment nor funds to spare in the wake of this ongoing crisis."

"Mmh," the Emir rumbled, his smile fading. "Yes, you do."

"Noble Emir, please believe me when I say-"

"The men exist," the Emir declared simply. "The equipment exists. The money exists. You've simply deemed another cause more worthy of your attention."

"That's not-"

"I will have my tithe," the Emir said. "Or you will have nothing. It is a simple equation."

Beneath his mask of calm, the Duke was struggling to suppress his rising anger. His exchanges with the Crimson Emir were never man-to-man - they were that of a man speaking to an indomitable force of nature, of one attempting negotiation with a hurricane or an oncoming meteor. Callisto's needs and desires were nothing before the will of the hated Emir.

"Then," Jerohd said quietly, meeting the Emir's eyes once more. "There is another matter to discuss."

"Oh?"

"That of what has been promised to me," the Duke growled, finally allowing the mask to slip. "Every day, the Emperor's vultures circle closer and closer. His Scion eyes my Dynasty like a prospective meal. I receive news from Mercury only by the mouth of my elder brother. My own son-" Jerohd's hands clenched tight into fists, "-plots against me, while the Emperor's yellow-eyed bastards whisper honeyed promises into his ear. And this setback?" Jerohd scoffed. "Just another mark against me in the eyes of that damned whelp they call Emperor."

The smile was spreading across the Emir's face once more - no expression of mirth, but rather a display of sharpened teeth.

"Speak plainly," the Crimson Emir said.

"I want you to do as you promised," Jerohd demanded - a slight tremble in his voice, now. "Bring Callisto into the fold. Liberate me from the Emperor's clutches - and every man, woman, and child on Callisto will be pledged to your side, Noble Emir."

The Emir was silent, for a moment - and Jerohd could tell that his silence came not from indecision, but from savoring the Duke's desperate demands. Then, finally, the warlord spoke:

"The Sky-Melters shall arrive in one-point-seven cycles, as scheduled. Then you shall have your liberation."

"That wasn't the deal, damnit!" Jerohd snapped, jabbing a finger at the flickering hologram. "You promised me salvation! The Emperor's jaws close around my neck as we speak - in one-point-seven cycles, I will be dead! My family, dead! My Dynasty, eradicated! And now you tell me that all you intend to do is stand around and-"

"You would renege upon our agreement?" the Emir asked, cocking his head to the side.

The Duke understood then, on some subconscious level, that it was all over.

"Piss off," Jerohd spat, gesturing with one hand for the transmission to cease. "Both you and your brother are blights upon the Domain."

"Indeed!" the Emir agreed, breaking into a grin. "Finally, you underst-"

Abruptly, the holoprojector went silent - and Jerohd was alone now in darkness.

He stood there, unmoving, for some time, his expression clouded in shadow. And then, finally, he moved to depart, his shoulders hanging heavy as he crossed to the other side of the chamber. At his presence, the doors hissed open, bathing the chamber in the warm glow of the outside hall.

No sooner had the venerable Duke passed through the bounds of the sonic-dampening field than he was leaping back, eyes wide with abject shock as his ears were met with a deafening cacophony of explosions, laser-fire, and screams, all of it at once so blaring and overwhelming that for a moment all thought-function in the Duke's head simply ceased.

Then, he looked down - saw the corpses of his guards, their armor-plating punched clean through - and he staggered back, a hand over his mouth as he struggled not to retch. The air was thick with the smell of charred flesh and burning metal, sticking to the inside of his throat and making even the act of drawing breath a difficult, arduous exercise.

And yet even then, despite the overwhelming evidence assaulting each and every one of his sense, Jerohd did not truly understand the nature of what was happening until eight black-and-jade-armored commandos rounded the corner with a gold-embellished Se-dai at their helm.

Eight disruptor rifles were leveled at once - and the Se-dai stepped forward, a monomolecular blade extending soundlessly from the Blessed Executioner's arm.

Now, Jerohd truly understood.

"Most-Hallowed and Thrice-Blessed Lawgiving Empyreal Duke of the Ninth Creed Jerohd Kraet Daeshar Vell - Sovereign Lord and Master of Callisto," the Se-dai intoned, her words as cold and hard as steel. Her gorget read, in the ancient script, CHRONOS.

"The Seventh-Venerated Holy Emperor Volsif XCVII - Grand Architect of the Great Domain - demands you stand before him, in accordance with an Imperial Crux ratified by ninety-seven of the Holy Dynasties. Will you submit?"

The Duke was silent for a long, long time, even as screams ripped through the air and explosions shook the ground beneath his feet. Then, finally, his gaze lifted - and he stared at death head-on.

"Not a single face among you," Jerohd sighed, somehow unafraid. "No eyes to look into - just nine boring, expressionless visors. I never imagined my last view would be one so dull."

The Duke's hand drifted back.

"Don't," the Se-dai said. It was an order, not a warning.

"To the void with this," Jerohd scoffed, a humorless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'll go out on my own terms."

In a flash, there appeared in his hand a concealed, ornate las-pistol - a century-old gift from his late father - and without hesitation Jerohd leveled the weapon at the closest soldier and squeezed the trigger with cold determination in his eyes and roaring, billowing hate inside his heart.

But, of course, the Se-dai was already upon him.