As The Palaces Burn

[Gamov]

The heart monitor droned in his ears, a thin line of bubbles snaking to the surface of the tank from beneath her respirator. His fingers traced the glass, a quiver racing through his nerves, his roughly hewn expression drawn into a mournful gaze that lingered on her still form. It had been so long - a lifetime that felt like an eternity - he'd nearly forgotten her face. He choked on the words hanging in his throat, darning not to speak her name. He had forfeit that right years ago. The malaise of regret crept in, desperate hope coalescing behind a pall of bleak memories; would she ever forgive him. Stillness filled the room, his fingers slipping away from the tank as his head sank beneath the gravity of the answer... no. Of course not.

What daughter could ever forgive a father like him?

His pensive gaze lingered in hesitation for several moments before he found the courage to mutter the words he'd been waiting so long to say. "I'm sorry." The sentiment was lost in the company of medical droids, but that hadn't staunched the pang of guilt that rushed through him. Sorry. Never had a word tasted so bitter, nor felt so inadequate. He must have said it to her a thousand times in his head by now, but actually hearing it out loud...

Shaking his head, he finally tore his attention away to inspect her vitals. Not that he really needed to, it was the distraction he sought more than anything. To see her like this after so many years; disappointment pulled his stomach into a tight knot. His fingers curled around the console, knuckles turning white as his jaw clenched against the building ache in his lungs. The warmth of tears began to sting in the corners of his eyes, the latent thought that he deserved to feel such misery flitting through the recesses of his mind. A shrill beep suddenly emitted from the console, drawing a startled gasp from his chest. His eyes roamed wearily onto the commlink, a subdued scoff hissing through clenched teeth as he realized who it was. The console beeped again, his hand moving hesitantly to answer the call.

"Is it her?" A voice rasped over the comm.

He cast a fleeting sidelong glance towards her again, nodding quietly. "Yes."

"Yes?"

His jaw tensed, "Yes... my Lord." He spat the title out like a rancid taste.

"See to it she is brought to me."

He slammed a fist against the console as the comm hissed with static. How he hated that pompous Sith. His gaze panned back to the tank, watching her drift silently through unconsciousness. He knew the next thoughts to enter his mind were nothing short of treasonous. To go against the Sith was to invite disaster, but he had to do something - even if it cost him his life. "Not this time." He thought defiantly. "I won't lose you to that monster. Not again." At least some good would come from his sacrifice, a fleeting hope that in death he might find the redemption he knew was beyond his reach in life.

----​

Her eyes fluttered open again for the first time in... how long had it been? Hours? Days? There was no way for her flagging senses to tell. Blinking through the bleary dimness with a stiff groan, Mila shifted slightly against the tense ache in her muscles, vision swimming as a faint numbness tingled at her fingertips. She flexed her arms to get the blood flowing again, only then feeling the chaffing presence of the restraints around her wrists. The realization sent a shockwave through her system, waking her sluggish nerves all at once as her eyes panned around the tiny prison cell. Indignation swelled within her, growing into a palpable energy in the palms of her hands. No sooner had her mind acted reflexively than a sharp jolt of pain shot down her spine.

Letting out a sharp gasp, her muscles contracting involuntarily in uncontrolled spasms, she managed to roll off the edge of the tiny cot, landing on the cold durasteel floor with a hard thud. She winced at the fresh pain stabbing in her shoulder, her mind dully recollecting the blaster wound as her convulsions faded. With her eyes rolling about their sockets somewhat listlessly, a grimace of confusion etched into her features, Mila tried again to pull on the Force for strength only to be rewarded with another series of hard shocks. Her nerves burned, a series of ragged breaths eking from her trembling lips as she suddenly comprehended a familiar weight around her neck. Feeling the steel collar pinching against her skin, she was loathe to resign herself to this fate again, lashing out with the Force once more in a desperate bid to either free herself... or die trying.

If nothing else, maybe she could force the damnable collar to short out and blow her head clean off her shoulders. After several minutes of agonized screaming and unflattering spasms that made an epileptic seem coordinated by comparison however, she gave up. Exhausted, wounded, alone... it was her childhood all over again. To have come so far and failed so miserably; were it not for her pride she may have allowed herself a moment of reprieve to release a pitiful sob. The distant sound of a footsteps grabbed her attention then, a fresh surge of defiance filling her wavering thoughts.

"I am NOT that girl." She thought, forcing herself onto her knees with a short grunt as pain lanced through her shoulder. The brief tingle of electricity felt along her spine, a cautionary reminder that forced a moment of complacency on her actions - even as she set her expression into a firm scowl. "I'll die before I beg to them." The boots trudged closer, stopping just short of her field of view as muted voices conversed for several moments. "That's right. Come and get me." The locking mechanism on the cell whirred and clicked, the door opening with a shrill hiss. She rose to her feet, albeit with some difficulty, as a lone figure entered the cell.

Her expression slackened, eyes staring wide at the man standing in the doorway.

"Hello Mila." He spoke after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, his voice hardly loud enough to carry the short distance between them. He wrung his hands anxiously, feeling her piercing gaze on him. She loathed him, he already knew that - and he could hardly blame her. Were it not for her restraints, he was certain she would have torn him limb from limb. And part of him wished she would. It would be a fitting penance after everything he'd done to ruin her life. "I'm..."

"Spare me your false sentiments." She hissed. "If you've come to kill me, just get it over with."

Her words stung deep, though he counted himself fortunate that she'd even found the desire to speak at all. Even if it was just to insult him. "I know you have no reason to trust me." He took a tentative step forward, his shoulders sinking as she moved away in response. "And I wish there was time to explain, but..."

"Oh, you don't have to explain anything Jorhan." Her verbal jab appeared to stick her father where it hurt most, his sullen eyes cast towards the floor. "You've come to finish the job." She took a step forward, sneering as her words bit in like fangs. "And you better pray you do it right this time. Because if you fail, and I escape... there will be no hole in this galaxy deep enough for you to hide in."

His eyes swiveled up to meet hers, glancing the fire behind them for but a moment before he cast his gaze aside and waved the guards in to escort her out. He lingered behind for several moments, alone with his thoughts. Slowly turning on his heel and locking the cell behind him, Jorhan made his journey in silence, secretly thankful that his daughter still hated him. It would make the inevitable end that much easier for both of them

@Sierrien

 

[Sierrien]

The transport shook a little as it skimmed along near the surface of the planet, taking the roundabout route to the compound. It was something of a do or die mission they were embarking on; since making it back from the last disaster, the Sith had nearly been wiped out. It was certainly not the outcome that had been expected when they started this campaign, to be sure. They had brought what should have been overwhelming force so that they could enact a quick, crushing defeat and claim the world for the Sith, if not the sector entire. Instead here she was sitting in a flying box, idly checking over her rifle and her new gear for the seventh time as she waited to reach their destination. One last ditch effort to save the war effort, so that the Sith didn't have to retreat in shame. Not that there would be much of a reckoning for it now that the Sith who had been in command was dead. Her thoughts drifted back to the events of the past few days as she sat in silence.

First had been that fateful fall from the dropship. Something had impacted them hard, and the Sith of all people had plummeted from the sky, to her all but ensured death since they had been unable to stay to try and defend her. The ship was shaking violently, and the pilot had called back that they had to get out of there but now or they would be crashing in to the earth real quick. They couldn't afford to take another hit like that. Lairiel bit her lip, before calling up that the Sith had fallen out. It only took a few moments of deliberation for the pilot to decide that it was either they leave, or they stay and all die. A few lives saved including his own was a lot better in his eyes than sticking around to try and defend the Sith who should have strapped herself in like a sane person. At least that's what he said in the report afterwards.

The next big annoyance came when they returned to base, and were quickly shuttled to the command center from there. There were five of them in total; three survivors from the initial crash and the two pilots from the dropship that had come to save them. They were all ushered in to their own little individual 'debriefing room' that felt a lot more like an interrogation room just going by aesthetics. It was empty of all but a table and a couple of chairs. She almost felt surprised she wasn't left shackled to that table, but instead she was given room to pace impatiently as they went and questioned everyone else before getting to her. It felt like hours before they got to her, and then she had to reiterate her version of the story from start to finish. And not just once, but over the course of the next few hours she would have to tell bits and pieces of it again and again, as if they were trying to catch her in a lie or get her to incriminate herself somehow over the death of the Sith. In the end she got out of it by just being honest, and it seemed her story lined up perfectly with that of the other two survivors as she was finally released at the end of the day. She went and crashed in a conveniently provided bunk (even though it was likely only provided to keep her close at hand).

Then came the next day, when she had to go and report to the quartermaster to get re-provisioned. They were not very happy that she hadn't managed to salvage even a scrap of her armor; she didn't mention to them specifically that she had left it in a canyon that was being overrun by swarms of enemy soldiers. Instead she just swallowed whatever retort she wanted to give and let them find her some new armor. She remembered that being the first time she had first heard the rumors; something about a strangely large amount of soldiers getting sick all at once. It seemed she had lucked out in being brought to the command center, as whatever this food poisoning (or whatever it was) happened to be, it was concentrated on the more highly populated areas of their camps. Being confined still to the command center as more and more of these reports came in, she wiled away the time that seemed to be moving at a near standstill. With nothing to do, boredom would make every minute seem like ten as she waited for something, anything to happen.

Then she wished she hadn't thought that as even more reports started coming in. Soldiers were dying in droves, and nothing seemed to be able to cure them. They had tried everything they could think of; their medical staff were understaffed and apparently under qualified to cure whatever this was. As the next day wore on, the reports only grew worse and worse. It seemed to be some kind of biological weapon, unleashed on them by the Argazdans. And they hadn't even seen it coming in the least. Their 'strategists' had come up with a hasty plan, and it had turned out to be incredibly risky as well. It seemed they were fairly certain on the location of where this weapon was coming from somehow; they would send everyone who hadn't yet died to the plague, sick or not, in a headlong assault on the compound that seemed to house it in order to destroy it. They sent out word that there was a cure to be found in that compound as false hope to motivate the troops, as they were needed for the real mission to succeed.

She had been chosen for this 'real mission', and she strongly suspected it was simply because she had been one of the few not affected by the plague. There were only twenty of them, most of them guards from the command center that could be 'spared'. And they had brought along backpacks full of explosives each, with the sole intent to get inside the compound from the rear while the enemies were focused on that all out frontal assault, then find whatever the source of this plague was and blow it up so that it couldn't be used against the next invasion. The cowards were already viewing this current invasion as a loss, not that Lairiel could blame them. They estimated that half the Brotherhood forces they had brought were already dead, with many more infected by this seemingly incurable disease.

The ship shuddered quite a bit more then, shaking her from her thoughts. It seemed they had touched down. Even from here she could here the distant explosions of the all out fight happened to the front of the compound; she shook her head and currently had to thank her stars she wasn't part of that massacre. She pulled on her backpack of explosives and turned the safety off of her rifle before dropping down out of the shuttle, eyes quickly scanning around to ensure there were no enemies presently before she started towards the compound.

 

[Gamov]

Slow, steady steps carried her forward, humiliation concealed behind well practiced stoicism. If they had brought her here so they could see the fear in her eyes, hear her beg for her life, they would be sorely disappointed. She would never give them the satisfaction, even as the weight of her restraints dragged her thoughts back to the memories of her childhood. A fire burned in her chest, stoked equally by the embers of hatred and fear. She would admit the latter to herself, but no others. Her eyes shifted beneath a cold expression, piercing daggers aimed at her father as he entered his security code to usher them through to the chamber at the end of the hall.

A firm hand pressed into her shoulder to guide her forward, her gaze locked on him for several lingering moments. Yet he never gazed back: too ashamed to face her in her final moments. It didn't matter though. She would make certain that the last words to tear from her dying lips would be to scorn his name.

Proceeding forward again, her pace rushed now, she panned the room with curious attention. Sunlight warmed the cool monochrome tones, glimpses of a shimmering city skyline peeking through the large windows at the far end of the room. This did not appear to be the dingy cell in which she imagined her life would end. Quite the opposite, in fact. Pushed forward by the guard at her back, she sneered at his gruff command to move, the familiar tingle of electricity beginning to nip at her nerves as she reflexively drew on the Force again. But move she did - eventually. It wasn't until she had been guided to within several feet of the console at the center of the room that her eyes feel upon the cloaked figure pacing in front of the windows.

Her brows pinched in confusion, attention trailing her father as he moved swiftly past her. Their voices swirled in hushed tones, her father bowing away at a gesture as the robed figure seemed to glide around the console. It was then she knew who it was, though some part of her wrestled to deny the reality of it. His posture, his gait, the way his hands moved about the pleats of his robes, delicately adjusting them to perfection. It couldn't be him, she told herself, no small measure of desperation bleeding into her thoughts. And that's when he spoke, his voice bellowing from beneath the pall of his hood, snaring her heart like a wicked vice that threatened to crush the very life from her chest.

"We meet again..." bony fingers rose to peel back the hood shrouding his features. "...my apprentice."

Mila's eyes turned to her father, meeting his gaze for less than an instant before he turned away.

"Leave us." Azahd directed the guards away with a casual brush of his hand. His stare met hers, an amused chuckle spilling out at the childish petulance in her expression. "It is comforting to know some things never change." Pacing around her, hands folded neatly across his waist, the Red Sith took stock of her. "Though it is obvious you are no longer the little girl I once knew. A shame really." His finger dragged across the nape of her neck, sending a chill down her spine.

"Take this damn collar off, and you'll see what kind of woman I've become."

Azahd smiled to himself, pacing around to her front as his touch drifted along the contours of the device around her neck. "Do you like it?" He mused, "I had it built specially for you. I must say I'm rather proud of it, and you will learn to appreciate it too in time."

Mila swallowed uncomfortably, her fingers curled in tightly on themselves, nails biting into her palms to drawn tiny rivulets of blood. She had to staunch her anger. That bastard was not going to have the satisfaction of seeing her broken again. "You're right, Azahd, it is comforting knowing some things never change." Her jaw tensed, "you've always been a coward. Taking out your frustrations on those weaker than yourself when you couldn't face those above you." Her heart raced, sweat stinging in the cuts across her palms. "You couldn't even find the strength to rape a woman when it came down to it. You had to pick on a little girl."

A moment of irritation fringed across the Red Sith's expression, quickly eaten away by a malicious smirk. "That moment meant far more to you than I, I'm afraid." Moving towards the holoprojector at the center of the room, he swiped across the controls, a holographic image of Lorrd casting cool blue shadows across the room. "But no matter. I intend to remind you of your place once more. Jorhan..." the man moved at the Sith's command.

"Yes... my Lord?"

"Initiate the launch procedure. I believe it is time to drive these mongrel 'Sith' from my planet."

Jorhan bowed, his hands moving quickly over the console.

"You can't win, Azahd." Mila hissed, "you've backed yourself into a corner. It's only a matter of time now."

"Oh how I have missed your naive optimism." He chortled. "It will be such a pleasure to beat it out of you again."

@Sierrien