I. The Purge Begins
The sky above Darcile boiled with the fire of descending transport vessels. Great fangs of alloy and dark glass stabbed down from the mothership, disgorging shadowscourge squadrons armed with advanced pulse rifles, drone sniffers, and mass-beacon trackers.
The Thal'Karn, obsidian-skinned feline monsters with glowing green eyes and bladed talons, leapt from their containment silos like shadowfire incarnate—each led by a masked handler wreathed in dark glyphs of control. They scattered across the valleys and forgotten architecture like nightmares made real.
And all of it… came from one whisper.
"Release them. All of them," Whisperer Vaelora had ordered. "There is no delay."
She gave the command from within her personal transport cruiser, a black pyramid-shaped vessel adorned in ceremonial Mahasimu sigils. A gift from General Kizito himself.
Sitting in its observation lounge, Vaelora sipped a bitter extract made from fermented embersilk roots. Her emerald eyes glimmered in thought.
She had just acquired a new Thal'Karn—a sinewy female beast she named Esh'ka, and she yearned to hunt with her personally.
But for now… there was work to do.
II. Two Kirell in the Storm
At the gates of the underground city of Nakar'Zul, where billions had emerged only cycles ago, two Kirell stood under the burning light of the mothership's searchlamps surrounded by death, duty, and hatred.
Tamun and Je'ka, still trembling from the horrors witnessed above, had been given a task by their divine mistress:
"You will stand at the gates. You will tally every one of your kind—dead or alive."
Around them, shadowscourge marched in waves, dragging wailing captives, stunned bodies, or broken corpses. Names were shouted. Numbers branded. Drones recorded and filed.
And above it all, every Kirell that passed the gates—fettered or bleeding—cast a look of pure venomous hatred at the two traitors forced to watch.
"How could you?" a bleeding elder spat before being kicked down by a soldier. "How could you stand with them?"
Tamun could not speak. His voice died in his throat. Je'ka wept silently.
A youngling, barely past first cycle, hurled a rock at Je'ka's feet as he was dragged past.
"Murderers! Cowards!"
The pain of betrayal was heavier than the yoke of any whip.
But still, they counted. Hands shaking. Eyes hollow. Souls unraveling.
III. The Whisperer Watches
Inside her vessel, hovering high above the purge, Vaelora watched through a live scrying feed.
She studied her two Kirell with dispassionate curiosity, like a philosopher examining insects under glass.
"Ants," she murmured. "But loyal ones. Every god needs hands… even if they tremble."
A Shadowscourge captain approached her command seat and saluted.
"Fifty thousand captured. Two hundred thousand killed. We anticipate the majority will be caught by end of cycle."
Vaelora did not look away from the feed.
"Accelerate. Give my Esh'ka a leash. Let her run."
The beast howled in the docking chamber beside her, impatient and bloodthirsty.
"And inform General Kizito… that I intend to personally retrieve at least one traitor."
IV. Her Private War
As her transport began descending again this time to lead a precision strike into the forgotten jungle sectors of Darcile—Vaelora placed a single clawed hand on the shadow-cage containing her Thal'Karn pet.
Esh'ka growled in response, eyes blazing like twin eclipses.
"You hunger," Vaelora whispered. "I do too."
She thought of the Kirell. Of their fleeing, broken spirits. Of how her two trembling servants now stood in horror, used as examples and tools of shame.
"Tamun. Je'ka. What will you be," she wondered aloud, "after you've counted the bones of your entire species?"
No answer. Only shadow.
Only war
V. The Hunt
The jungles of Darcile were hot with dread, a thick miasma of shadow-pollen and synthetic mist. Once a lush colony of the Thalor, now the roots had grown tangled with blood, and the trees whispered only of extinction.
High above, a rippling screech pierced the air as Esh'ka, the newly bonded Thal'Karn, leapt from a dark ridge—her claws shimmering with crackling energy.
"Run," Vaelora murmured, a cruel smile curling her lips as she trailed behind on a glider-disc, flanked by six shadowscourge commandos.
Below them, the remaining Kirell rebels ran, scattered like terrified vermin through the abandoned terraformer stations. Some attempted to hide among the old cooling towers. Others tried to activate the ancient Thalor emergency beacons—only to be vaporized by perimeter mines.
The jungle devoured screams.
Vaelora walked among the corpses after each strike—hands behind her back, studying them like a curator reviewing a gallery.
She gave no order of mercy.
Only once did she pause—kneeling beside a small Kirell girl with pale, unblinking eyes.
"Your pain will be brief," Vaelora whispered to her.
It was a lie. But even gods tell lies to insects when they die.
VI. Return to Duty
By the time Vaelora's transport lifted once more into the darkening skies of Darcile, her boots were wet with blood. She said nothing. Thought little. Only stared forward.
Her Thal'Karn Esh'ka curled beside her content, licking blood from her armored paws.
In the decontamination chamber of the mothership, she was silent as ever. The two Kirell servants—Tamun and Je'ka—awaited her, kneeling outside her stateroom.
"Report," she said.
Tamun tried to steady his voice. "We… we completed the tally. All accounted for. Over 4.9 billion Kirell captured. Another 120 million presumed dead."
Je'ka handed her a data shard with shaking fingers.
"We—we confirmed all rogue clusters have been neutralized. Not one soul left unlisted."
Vaelora said nothing. Her face unreadable. Her shadow moved before she did.
She simply turned and walked.
"Come," she said.
They followed.
VII. The Council of War
At the command nexus of the mothership—a cathedral-like chamber of blacklight glyphs and gravitic projectors—General Kizito and Vice General Tano stood at a vast obsidian table, reviewing a full system scan of the Zelith borderworlds.
"We strike from Akaris V," Kizito said, pointing. "Simultaneously launch decoy invasions into the At'li Belt to confuse their fleet."
Tano nodded. "The Shadowscourge Legions are in formation. Each Luminary cell is paired with a division. The mothership will house six billion troops in the initial assault wave."
A pause.
"And what of Vaelora?" Tano asked.
As if summoned by the name, the chamber doors opened with a low hiss.
Whisperer Vaelora entered, flanked by her two Kirell—still kneeling.
She gave a slight bow.
"General. Vice General. I bring the final report."
Tamun and Je'ka crawled forward, heads bowed to the floor.
"Four billion, nine hundred thirty-two million, six hundred twenty-two thousand, four hundred and five Kirell," Je'ka intoned with haunted precision.
"All accounted for. None left free."
Kizito looked down at them, unimpressed.
"So thorough. And yet… Whisperer," he said slowly, "why keep these two?"
A long silence followed.
Tamun and Je'ka didn't dare raise their heads.
Vaelora smiled, faintly.
"Even in the smallest of creatures," she said, "there exists… pattern. Memory. Reverence. They remind me of history—of subjugation refined into utility."
She stepped past them.
"They are not servants. They are reluctant relics. And even relics may be shaped into tools."
Kizito studied her. Then gave a slight nod.
"So long as they remain useful."
The war table re-engaged with glowing glyphs.
And behind them, the two Kirell remained on their knees, silent tears falling, as the empire moved to ignite war across the stars.