The Giza Mtuji's corridors thrummed with the low, pulsing resonance of psionic engines as Kato moved with precision toward the command chamber buried deep within the ship's armored core. His obsidian armor, etched with runes of shadow-tech and streaked with blood-red sigils, caught the ambient glow of the passing conduits like reflections of dying stars.
Descending into the shadow-cloaked sanctum, he approached a massive stasis pod surrounded by whispering glyphs and ritual pylons. Within it loomed the dormant form of Xal'taroth—an Overseer of ancient design, crafted from condensed shadow and bound psionic rage.
Kato's voice cut through the silence, calm but unyielding.
"Awaken Xal'taroth."
The construct stirred. Shadows peeled away as dark energy surged through the vault. Dozens of unblinking, multi-faceted eyes opened in tandem. Its voice echoed through the chamber like collapsing stone.
"I am Xal'taroth. My queen commands. State your purpose."
Kato bowed slightly in deference.
"The Mahasimu Empire commands the reactivation of the Umbari caste. The resistance across the outer systems has been shattered. We anticipate a mass influx of prisoners. The Umbari will serve as enforcers on Gharar. I will oversee their deployment and begin prisoner retrieval."
Xal'taroth's eyes ignited with pale flame.
"So it begins. Prepare the Umbari for war. They will serve without mercy. They will remember the old ways."
The Retrieval of Kara
Switching to a private channel, Kato's voice sharpened as he addressed two of the Umbari now emerging from stasis—massive, spider-limbed warriors clad in black crystalline exosuits.
"You two. With me. We're retrieving Kara from Safi's palace. Expect resistance. Use nonlethal force only if necessary. She must arrive alive."
The Umbari chirred in acknowledgement, vanishing into the labyrinthine corridors as the trio moved toward the shuttle bay. Their destination: the hive-palace of Princess Safi, carved into the heart of a geothermal spire.
Safi's Obsession and Kara's Fall
In the twilight-drenched throne hall of her palace, Princess Safi paced like a caged predator, her violet eyes flickering with frustration and desire. She watched from a balcony as the Umbari squad breached the lower levels, converging on Kara's cell.
"If she resists, break her," Safi whispered, her voice like a caress edged with venom. "But leave her soul intact—I want to see it crack myself."
Inside the cell, Kara stood defiant, muscles coiled, eyes bright with fury. She lashed out with raw strength and desperation, but against the Umbari's psionic blades and shadow-laced limbs, she was no match. The fight was short, brutal, and silenced in seconds.
As she was dragged, bound and bloodied, through the obsidian corridors, Safi watched with clenched fists. Her control had slipped, however slightly—and that infuriated her. But she did not protest. Not yet.
The Capture of Zalor
Elsewhere on the Giza Mtuji, Mahasimu strike forces had completed their final sweep of the Vhalar highlands. Their prize: Zalor, the last defiant clan leader, a towering figure marked by old scars and iron will.
Bound in chains forged from shadowsteel, Zalor was thrown aboard the main transport. Though beaten and bloodied, he met his captors' gaze with the fire of a people not yet extinguished.
Moments later, Kara was dragged into the same cargo hold, tossed into an adjacent cage. She met Zalor's eyes through the gloom—two warriors of a fallen race, their silence heavier than words.
The Descent into Gharar
The hold trembled as the Giza Mtuji prepared to make the jump into the Gharar system. Around them, thousands of prisoners—resistance fighters, captured civilians, broken leaders—were funneled into the belly of suffering.
In the hangar, squads of Shadowscourge laughed cruelly as the next wave of Vhalar was processed.
"That's their new home," one sneered, nodding toward the bleak hologram of Gharar's surface. "A paradise of pain."
"And they'll learn," said another, voice thick with malice. "Their gods are dead. Their masters are us now."
Across the armada, the Mahasimu war machine roared forward—unrelenting, pitiless, and full of purpose. The resistance had ended.
Now began the empire's harvest—of pain, obedience, and silence.