The tension in The Rift was suffocating. The air, thick with the brine of the deep sea and the sweat of too many bodies packed into the district’s narrow, winding corridors, carried an undercurrent of rage. The displaced workers and former militia from Kiast were no longer just frustrated—they we...
Submission Text
The tension in The Rift was suffocating. The air, thick with the brine of the deep sea and the sweat of too many bodies packed into the district’s narrow, winding corridors, carried an undercurrent of rage. The displaced workers and former militia from Kiast were no longer just frustrated—they were furious.
Jovian moved through the sector like a ghost, his cloak pulled tight, hood casting deep shadows over his face. He had been sent to investigate the rapidly escalating protests, but he already knew the truth. Movements like this didn’t explode overnight. Someone had struck a match, and now the fire was spreading.
The streets of The Rift, always dimly lit, now flickered with the glow of makeshift torches and scavenged floodlights. Banners hung from the metal catwalks overhead, their slogans scrawled in jagged, desperate strokes. Justice. Fair wages. No more squalor.
From a high platform, Jovian watched as a speaker roused the growing crowd below. A former militia captain, by the look of him—weathered, resolute, eyes burning with conviction.
“They live in their towers above us,” the man bellowed, voice raw with passion. “They feast while we struggle to breathe their cast-off air! We built this city. We maintain it. And what do we get? Squalor! Rot! They smile down on us, toss scraps, and expect gratitude! We demand justice!”
The crowd roared, fists raised, bodies pressing closer. But beyond the fervor, Jovian caught glimpses of uncertainty—furtive glances, hesitant postures. Not all of them were ready to step off the precipice into full-blown chaos.
Jovian exhaled slowly, pressing his back against the cold metal wall. He had seen this before. The suffering was real, the anger justified—but someone had shaped it, sharpened it into a weapon. He needed to find out who.
The next night, he found his answer.
Slipping into an abandoned storehouse near the old cargo tunnels, Jovian moved like a shadow, each footstep precise, deliberate. He had trailed one of the protest organizers here—a man with enough pull to coordinate logistics, rations, movement strategies. The warehouse was nearly empty, save for scattered crates and tables cluttered with comm gear.
But Jovian’s focus was on the man already waiting inside.
Thalen Duras. A name he knew well. A snake, a manipulator. A known operative of a rival House. He lounged against a crate, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. This wasn’t just a meeting—it was a game. And Thalen was enjoying himself.
“You’re doing well,” Thalen said smoothly. “The anger is real, but it needed a push. Sunrider is watching, but they’re not moving fast enough. We need to escalate.”
The protest leader hesitated, tension rippling through his posture. “They’re already angry. The strikes are working. We can keep pressing until they have no choice but to listen.”
Thalen shook his head, his smirk widening. “Not enough. We need riots. Fires. Blood in the streets. That’s how real change happens.”
Jovian had heard enough. This wasn’t just an attempt to sow chaos—Thalen was testing Sunrider, pushing to see how far they would go before making a fatal mistake. This was bigger than Tythas City.
Back in the upper levels of New Tythas, Jovian weighed his options. The Quaestor’s orders had been clear: stop the riots before they became uncontrollable. But a direct assault would only fuel the flames. Thalen wanted Sunrider to act with force—Jovian couldn’t afford to play into his hands.
Instead, he would set the board himself.
By morning, the plan was in motion.
A rogue security faction. That was the story the city would believe. Radical enforcers, supposedly fed up with the strikes, would move in with brutal efficiency, cracking down on the protests. Sunrider would disavow them, condemn the violence, and then sweep in as the city’s saviors. Order restored. Control maintained.
Jovian stood atop a water-processing plant, watching as his operatives moved into position. They were handpicked—former security officers, defectors, men with just enough hatred and bitterness to make the act convincing. Their uniforms were carefully chosen, their insignia deliberate. Every detail mattered.
The first strike came swiftly. A clash at a supply depot—protesters meeting violent resistance from armed forces that, to any observer, acted outside of Sunrider’s control. A second attack followed, a brutal raid on a known strike stronghold, crushing a key leadership hub before it could spread further.
Jovian had expected chaos, but he hadn't expected the sheer brutality of it. Blood ran in the streets. The mercenaries he’d hired took their roles too seriously, some reveling in the carnage. This wasn't a controlled operation anymore—it was becoming a massacre.
By the time fires erupted, the narrative had already begun to shift. The workers weren’t just angry anymore—they were terrified. Terrified of the brutality, of the unknown force that had turned against them. And when Sunrider’s forces finally moved in, not to crush, but to protect, the tide turned.
Jovian walked the streets as the chaos wound down, his expression unreadable as security officers rounded up the “rogue faction,” dragging them from hiding, executing a few in staged encounters to cement the deception. Thalen was already gone—vanished the moment he saw the writing on the wall. The protest leaders? Captured. Broken.
He found himself back in the Rift that night, alone, standing where the protests had begun. Smoke still lingered in the air, the scent of burnt banners and spilled blood clinging to the wind.
Had he done the right thing?
He told himself it was necessary. Sunrider needed control. This would prevent an all-out war. But the justification rang hollow.
As he stared into the darkened streets, a new thought chilled him to the core—what if Thalen had accounted for this? What if, in orchestrating his deception, Jovian had played into the rival House’s hands all along?
Somewhere in the darkness, another riot was already being planned. Somewhere, another enemy watched, learning from his tactics, waiting for their moment.
The offer was tempting in its way. A crime syndicate creeping into the folds of Tythas City’s reconstruction, embedding itself in the newly expanded trade routes and spaceport of New Tythas. Their proposal was simple: in exchange for Sunrider’s passive acceptance, they would keep the city clean—e...
Submission Text
The offer was tempting in its way. A crime syndicate creeping into the folds of Tythas City’s reconstruction, embedding itself in the newly expanded trade routes and spaceport of New Tythas. Their proposal was simple: in exchange for Sunrider’s passive acceptance, they would keep the city clean—efficiently, ruthlessly. Jovian knew what that meant. People would disappear. Not just criminals, enemies, anyone who got in the way.
He sat at the edge of a transparent walkway in Ashla’s Tears Amphitheatre, the ocean shifting in the depths below him. The city had been built for survival, beauty, and progress, but beneath the shimmering lights of New Tythas, there was always darkness waiting to seep in. The Rift and the Abyssal Depths were already prime locations for smuggling and secret dealings. This syndicate was making the inevitable official.
Dale’s voice cut through the quiet. “We could take them out now. Call in favours. You know we have people.”
Jovian considered the weight of the decision. Dale was the blunt instrument in their circle, always ready to fight when words failed. Sitting beside him, Isla was more thoughtful, her gaze flicking between the shimmering amphitheatre and Jovian’s impassive expression.
“If we refuse,” Isla murmured, “we open the city to war. Blood in the streets, assassinations, chaos in the Rift. I don’t like the alternative, but turning them down outright means we need to be ready to fight for control.”
Jovian leaned back, exhaling. His mind flashed to the horrors they had survived together, the ghostly presence of the witch still lingering in his memory. He had learned that control was an illusion. Yet, in Tythas City, control meant survival. Letting the syndicate operate under their own rules was out of the question.
“You’re not making a deal with them,” Dale snapped. “Tell me you’re not seriously considering this.”
Jovian met his gaze. “Not in the way they want.”
Isla nodded slowly, realization dawning. “We play along. We set them up.”
The plan began to take shape in his mind. They would let the syndicate believe they had Sunrider’s cooperation, let them move their pieces into place, and grow comfortable in their supposed security. Then, when they least expected it, Jovian and his allies would dismantle them. Publicly. Loudly. He would let them implicate themselves, weave themselves too deep into Tythas City’s infrastructure, and then pull the rug out from under them.
“This has to be clean,” Isla said. “We can’t let them turn this back on us. No loose ends.”
Jovian nodded. “We make them overreach. Then we burn them.”
Dale exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s risky.”
“So is war,” Jovian replied. “And I’m not letting this city fall to them.”
The decision was made. They would betray the syndicate, turning their greed and ambition against them. It was a gamble, but one that had to be taken. Because if Tythas City was going to remain a jewel of Daleem, it needed to be protected—not by criminals, but by those willing to fight for it.
The next few weeks would be crucial. Jovian moved carefully, meeting with key officials, planting whispers of distrust. The syndicate’s operations in The Rift were noted, logged, and strategically leaked. A shipment of illicit weapons meant for the syndicate suddenly vanished and rerouted to Sunrider’s forces. Street informants murmured of betrayal within their ranks.
At night, Jovian walked the pathways of New Tythas, the glow of the Terraformer casting eerie shadows against the water. He could feel the tension shifting, the undercurrents of impending violence thick in the air. The syndicate was growing suspicious, their men doubling security. Dale had his hand on the pulse, watching their movements, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Then, the first killing happened. A high-ranking syndicate enforcer was found dead, his throat slit, body dumped near The Lily Pad transfer station. It wasn’t their doing, but the timing was perfect. The paranoia began to fester within the syndicate. They started turning on their own. Isla made sure that the whispers of disloyalty reached the right ears. The infighting escalated. By the time Jovian was ready to make his final move, the syndicate had already torn itself apart.
The night the trap was sprung, Jovian stood on the upper levels of New Tythas, watching as the city’s security forces—armed with the information he had fed them—stormed a syndicate stronghold in the Abyssal Depths. Explosions rocked the lower districts. Gunfire echoed through the tunnels. The syndicate leaders were dragged into the light, their crimes exposed before they could silence anyone else.
Jovian exhaled, watching the city below. The battle was won, but he knew there would always be another threat lurking beneath the waves. Still, for now, Tythas City remained theirs.
Orbit Around Ferosar
Ferosar system, Clan Fero Space
Midnight Mynock- Imperial Listener Gozanti
Hector Von Ricmore gazed upon the planet of Ferosar. His first impression of the planet reminded him of the Vizsla Clan World of Zsoldos. A variety of geographic features and climates with a notable s...
Submission Text
Orbit Around Ferosar
Ferosar system, Clan Fero Space
Midnight Mynock- Imperial Listener Gozanti
Hector Von Ricmore gazed upon the planet of Ferosar. His first impression of the planet reminded him of the Vizsla Clan World of Zsoldos. A variety of geographic features and climates with a notable spaceport. A spaceport that they would now be targeting.
The “they” Hector had thought of was a rag-tag group of Clan Vizsla members who had jumped to the Ferosar system in pursuit of their target. Alenna Vhett, the head of diplomacy for Fero, was relatively isolated at the Jarris Spaceport.
The question remained: was this a target of opportunity or bait for a well set trap?
Vizsla had decided to take the opportunity, willing to spring a trap if necessary.
”Captain, what have the initial scans shown?”
The Captain of the Mynock, a middle age Human retired from the Iron Fleet, ran a tight and efficient ship. He had conducted a thorough sensor sweep upon entering the system, even prior to being asked.
”Initial scans have verified our intelligence. Vhett is at the spaceport with a small Supercommando guard. We’ve picked up a small number of Taral Guardians but its a token defense at best, just a dozen Kom’rk fighter transports.”
That was troubling news. It wasn’t that the Vizsla force couldn’t handle such a foe, the opposite was true in fact. But to leave one of their warlords open to attack with such a small military force on one of their planets? It seemed strange, even to a man of limited tactical knowledge like Hector.
“They could be hoping to pick up allies or reinforcements Sir. I’ll see to it that the Mynock is ready to jam or intercept any transmissions not registered as Brotherhood aligned.” The Captain declared.
”Thank you Captain. Please do so. I’ll be heading to the port with the strike force momentarily. Inform me if the situation changes.”
With that pronouncement, the Kiffar strode from the room. The armored boots of his Katarn armor clanged against the deck of the ship. His route took him away from the hangar and instead to the ship’s escape pod area. He crammed into a pod alongside a half dozen Iron Legion soldiers, another half dozen entering a sister pod. The strike team had left the other 2 pods for the crew of the Gozanti in case of an emergency.
The twin pods shot out the side of the ship, propelled towards the planet. They ghosted past the token defense fleet, whom was occupied with a variety of member vessels from Kom’rk to a Class type B shuttle.
’Looks like Jai will be joining us on the planet.’ Hector mused to himself. His apprentice was a skilled individual and would be fine on his own. But his was not opposed to allying with the human to take down their target.
The pods entered the atmosphere. A hail of fire shot from the ground to meet them, fired from defensive anti aircraft turrets.
”Eject now!” Hector ordered.
The twin pods separated as troopers on ejector seats were scattered throughout the sky.
One seat took too long to eject, a defensive laser blasting the trooper to ash upon impact.
The seats fell through the sky and gained momentum. They auto deployed parachutes, saving the troopers from impact but making them a target for the AA weapons. Another three troopers were blasted on the way down. The emplacements were meant for larger targets but they were not incapable of hitting smaller objects, especially at the speed the troopers were moving.
Hector and the remaining 8 Iron Legion troops landed safely, quickly disembarking from their seats and reading their weapons.
”Get to those guns!” Hector called to rally his men. The unit began to move towards the emplacement, determined to silence them before more losses occurred.
The soldiers surged forward trading blaster fire with the Clan Fero defenders. The Iron Legion soldiers were veterans of many engagements, their shots rarely missed the target. But the Clan Fero soldiers were garbed in proper Beskar; each blast that impacted the metal only dazed the soldier within.
Emboldened by the state of their defenses a Fero soldier rushed forward wielding a vibroblade. His beskar armor absorbed the blasts from the Vizsla soldiers as he fell upon one with an animal like ferocity. The vibrating weapon cleaved through armor and flesh alike, leading to the rapid death of the Iron Legion soldier.
Hector drew his Sith sword and stepped forward to intercept the attacker. His longer blade gave him an advantage in reach but the Fero bladesmen was quite skilled with his own weapon. He caught each swing on his own blade, the vibrations slowly eroding away the structure of the Sith Sword.
The hybrid drew his sonic pistol with his offhand, firing a green ring into the chest of the Fero soldier.
Geonosian sonic weapons were unique in nature. Slow firing and slow projectiles could make them difficult to hit a target with. But the blast was designed to slay an organic target through their armor. In short, the Beskar worn by the Fero soldier served as a shiny coffin, he was dead before he hit the ground.
The death of the bladesmen rallied the Vizsla soldiers and caused discord among the Fero troopers. Hector continued to fire his Sonic weapon at targets of opportunity. The remaining 7 soldiers utilized what explosives they had to bombard the Fero troops, driving them from cover and into the open, easy prey for the Sonic pistol.
Within the next few minutes the Fero defenders had been routed, any troops in the area had surrendered or been slain.
”We going to blow the guns and make a move on that diplomat?” A soldier asked
”No. We’ll hold the emplacement for now. There are plenty of Vizsla forces moving to the target. I want us ready to take down any possible escape craft.” Hector responded.
His words would prove soon true enough. A trio of Kom’rk fighters blitzed through the sky, recklessly and rapidly flying towards the area of the spaceport the diplomat was last seen in.
”Shoot them down.” Hector ordered the Legionaries. With the recent deaths of their comrades, they were all too happy to oblige.
Blasterfire and anti air rockets tore through the air and smashed into the trio of craft. The Vessels attempted evasive maneuvers, firing flares and chaff to confuse the incoming rockets. But the structures of the spaceport and size of their vessels limited their ability to dodge the incoming fire. Soon all 3 were entirely destroyed, deriving the diplomat of a possible escape route.
Hector’s commlink chirped. “Attention all Vizsla forces, the diplomat has been captured. I repeat, the diplomat has been captured.”
The mission had been a success. Hector and his men took several minutes to lay charges and destroy the anti air emplacements. They then traveled to the designated rendezvous and travelled off planet. Now they had to hurry back to defend their home system.
They could only hope that they would not be too late.