Hours Before Destruction

The Princep in his Stygian rock quarters carefully practiced combat maneuvers. The walls lit by braziers and the eerie red glow of his blade. He had enjoyed his retreat on Umbara during his healing period, his combat exercises proved an important part of his body's physical rehabilitation. Murith thought to himself, how nostalgic he was for the days when the Sith ruled outright, they could force their lifestyle, this lifestyle upon an entire nation. There would be no need for cabinet meetings, no need for all this bureaucratic nonsense and pomp and ceremony. A Sith in those days would not debase himself such. He would spend his days ruling not consulting. Yes that was the problem these days, the powerful had to act like sheep, instead of like the predators they were. They were hated and feared for their power, for their greatness. Society designed laws, and built entire constitutions, cultures and religions to try and bring down beings like him. To restrain them and stop their natural ascent to the pinnacle of society. It was a sickening prospect to be sure.

Murith struck down another practice droid, extinguished his lightsaber and began to wipe sweat from his increasingly pallid forehead.

As he was just about to change from his black combat uniform into his robes he felt something. Something big, no, titanic through the force. It passed over and through him like a tidal wave.

During Destruction

The Princep was rocked by a disturbance the likes of which no one in his generation had experienced. A billion throats bellowed and bellowed, until with a terrifying swiftness, they bellowed no more.

The Princep collapsed. Murith’s mind, so attuned to emotion, to hate, to fear, to suffering. It was overwhelming. His heart raced, his nerves were on fire. He had never felt anything like this. It was.. exhilarating. His mind was a sea of pain and euphoria from the sensory overload. What he had done on Obroa Skai with his chemical weapons was only a fraction of this. This is what Tarkin must have felt on the bridge of the Death Star. Holding supreme power over life and death for billions of sentient lives.

Murith picked himself up, slowly rising onto his hands and knees as his breathing gradually returned to normal.

An acolyte, silently appeared in his vision, his shadow cast onto the black stone walls by flickering braziers which did shine with unholy hues.

“ My Lord, you should read this report at once. It just came in from our intelligence and observation network. “

After Destruction

How had he not known? Murith paced, for the first time since Zeltros genuinely having felt anxiety. Murith who prized himself on knowing the goings on of his rivals. Murith who had been slowly breeding himself a force of clone doppelgangers and brainwashing dissidents into loyal supporters. Murith who commanded the Dark Side to such an extent that no being had in generations. He had been so blind.

At first the death of Rax Halligan had brought him boundless joy. The man had been a thorn in his side and he knew his successor would be severely weakened by internal strife. Easy to control, pliable. The perfect ally. But Rax had concealed from him a great truth. There was something much more sinister within the ruins of his Empire of greed. One of his minions, one of them, it must be one of them. No one in the Cerulean Guard would have the power, the drive, the will for something so perfect.

Murith would need to send in his spies and ask his black market contacts, shake every tree.

He would find out who was responsible.

Further there was the question of the descendants of Halligan. His petty successors who each held onto a scrap of petty kingdom. He would need to manipulate and cajole them into line and use their resources to either dominate the perpetrator of Denon, or eliminate them.

Then there is the political angle. Some may blame the Principate for this action, due to Murith’s recent campaign against Kuat some may believe this part of his war against the Guard.

“ I wish we had done this. “ Murith said to himself.

He turned to the acolyte

“ Is this number accurate? “

“ Yes it is my Lord. Our networks believe the death toll is in the hundreds of billions. We will try and arrange a proper inquiry to discover the reason for this event. However, we can assume it was deliberate and military. “

Murith paced, this would require a careful hand. The media and diplomatic angles will need expert handling. Murith would have his most chosen media operatives oversee it.

“ I want our networks to begin condemning the attack on Denon, blame the Cerulean Guard, implicate the Jedi. Insinuate Alliance special warfare projects. Have our sympathizers on the Holonet in the Core and Outer Rim gaslight and manipulate the info and data. Muddle the waters. Then we need to prepare an expeditionary force, contact Atrisia and mobilize our reserves. We don't know what or who caused this and we must be prepared for anything. I want all our intelligence apparatus on the Mimban issue, everything else is secondary at this moment.”

Murith signaled the acolyte away with a short hand motion before returning to his combat drills, now filled with more emotion than before. He couldn't help thinking to himself that the style and reckless abandon which was used during the attack bothered him. He had thought himself the only one even capable of such actions theoretically, let alone in practice.

Time would tell how the scouring of Denon would truly affect Galactic politics.