Outside the Drescri Wris Hyperlane...
Somewhere Within Sith Space...
Not Long Ago...
Amidst the vastness between star-studded nothingness and worlds long haunted by the inheritors of the dark side of the force was but a single spacecraft. With its crimson spewing ion engines, its thrusters propelling it forward and its crescent shape carving its wall through emptiness and on its starboard side the enormity of the Stygian Caldera, with its toxic green-yellow hue, formed the seemingly endless nebulous barricade of Sith Worlds. The Dawn Eater, as this craft was christened, stalked tirelessly and its crew, many ex-marauders and pirates, served a Darth hellbent on not conquest, but rather an endless cycle of war, ruin and... strife.
The Dawn Eater was a weaponized transport ship modified for the sole purpose of assaulting larger vessels, boarding them for slaughter and then scavenging for supplies. It was infamous for ravaging fighters and bombers prior to leaving only skeletal husks of enemy craft as tombs.
And the name of Sargon Stryfe and his legion of Imperial headhunters were spoke in whispers.
Aboard the Dawn Eater...
The chamber was small in comparison to a frigate, manned by a likewise comparably small staff of a pilot, co-pilot, astrographer and a cohort of specialists. The commander's seat, fashioned as a throne, lay at its center and the clenched fist of Sargon pressed against his cheek as he leaned upon the armrest. Violet eyes, like tarnished amethyst, gazed out from the bridge and into space and beheld the Stygian Caldera and its bile colored oppressiveness and the nearing world at its opposite, Bhargebba Six and its many broken moons.
“This planet was the site of total genocide in legend...it is lifeless and barren.” His face concealed partial by the scarlet hood of his robe allowed a strange grimace to emerge on his pallid visage. “How dull would the galaxy be, if all sectors met this fate?”
Lifting himself to his feet with ease and grace, Sargon made his way down the metallic steps to meet the glass of the bridge and stare out into the distance as he did before, now his vessel weaving effortlessly through the debris of shattered rock and engaged in higher velocity as it approached Bhargebba Six.
“..with no worlds, no opposition left to destroy...the galaxy would be dull indeed.” Sargon spoke with the same grin before a voice sounded in his ears.
“Entering the planet’s atmosphere in thirty seconds.” The pilot stated.
Stryfe merely nodded and responded “Proceed with landing at the usual coordinates.”
A labyrinth of expansive roads was spread like a spider’s web among a multitude of desolate half ruined buildings and structures that once thrived with manufacturing more than a thousand years prior. Shelless shuttlecraft and starfighters lay unfinished throughout various bays, all but forgotten to the select few who have occupied this planet as a secret base. Casting an enormous shadow, in the twin suns that proceeded down, rendering a spread of ruby and tangerine twilight behind a crippled, stripped and barren but skeletally in tack dreadnought class capital ship left unfinished during the aforementioned genocide.
Pneumatics billowed forth as a landing bridge descended and pressed firmly on the concrete structure of a major road and a swarm of Imperial troops poured out followed by the prizes of war-torn space. A number of cannons were escorted out on levitating lifts, small scale shield generators and various technological implements such as logistics and radar systems were also unloaded.
Hostages, shackled and beaten, followed.
Finally, as the plunder was logged, quantified and placed into many of the once empty storage bays and the hostages escorted to the unknown, Sargon stepped onto natural ground for the first time in months.
His scarlet cloak danced in the light wind as he made his way to a command tower, converted into a headquarters of sorts, he was approached by a uniformed officer who had remained with the broken fleet.
“My Lord, we have intercepted communications between Miltiades and Impero from the former’s capital ship, it is our suspicion they are allied more than we have anticipated and, on good standing, I believe Impero will converge with Bellerophon on the Imperator. Also, the message mentioned relics...I am assured you are interested.”
The Red Death stopped suddenly, his chin lifted upwards and his purple optics fell on the incomplete capital cruiser and his ancient armada.
And hatred burned like Oristricon’s rebels.
“It would be very unwise to proceed with aggression, I acknowledge that the Imperator would crush my fleet by itself...not to omit its horde of starfighters and troops and the Old B******’s resources. Perhaps there is another way to...balance the odds.”
Sargon made his way through self-sealing door, followed closely by the officer into the uppermost chamber where a number of strange artifacts lay in display cases, with one in particular that rested on a pedestal in the center.
“I have harbored this for little over a year and I do not yet know its secrets.” Stryfe approached the tetrahedron with apparent caution, but rather its was admiration that caused him to take in the moment. “This was ransacked from a Republic base on Skyrees...it is a treasure of Odan-Urr.”
The officer moved beyond the statuesque Sith and likewise admired the object and spoke softly. “...A Holocron?”
“Indeed. A Sith Holcron as a matter of fact. Very Old. But it pains me to admit...I only showed you because it has become quite the burden to not speak of such a wonder to a single soul since I acquired it. I murdered all of those who had knowledge of its existence or laid eyes on it since it has come into my possession.”
A bead of sweat trickled down the forehead of the officer just as the signature bright red blade of the Sith was activated.
“Thank you for understanding, Lieutenant.” Sargon quipped.
A whirl of cardinal red became an elliptical streak amongst the blackness of the room and the smell of burning flesh tainted the air.