* It was as though he were looking at an entirely different man, yet one he knew better. Not the traitor he had bested easily in the dim streets not hours ago, but instead the realisation of all the expectations and beliefs that had formed in his mind as he'd read of Grymar'ee's achievements and many victories so long ago at the academy. Would that he saw this side of the Imperial Admiral under better circumstances... circumstances which didn't involve him being in the path of a gun's barrel, for instance. "Need I repeat the question, shadow-scum?" Grymar'ee demanded of the Ossoona who sat on his backside staring up at the Imperial Admiral, eyes as wide as the moons of Sanghelios and mouth so wide that a colony of Yan'me could live within. "You may have hidden behind anonymity, but I know it was you who took my daughter. Give her to me and I might just let you walk with your life." [i]He really does care for Savara,[/i] Zharn realised with surprise; from the way Sorran had talked of the girl's relationship with her father, he'd expected an uncaring machine who loved his job far more than his blood. Here he was seeing the precise opposite. Zharn dared to shift a little to the right, and the gun in Grymar'ee left hand adjusted to accommodate, the Imperial Admiral shooting him a cold arrow of warning from the taut bow his eye resembled. Pel seemed to muster some small degree of dignity, and cleared his throat. "I understand your concerns, Imperial Admiral. I myself was once a father," he said diplomatically. "I know all too painfully what it is to worry for one's daughter, but I assure you, Lady Grymar'ii is quite safe and the Covenant will have her escorted to you by the Lights themselves once this current crisis is over. Now lower your weapon and place fleetmaster Thierr'ee under arrest, in the name of the hierarchs. That's an order." Grymar'ee stared dully at Pel for a few moments, shot an unfathomable look at Zharn and then stared back at the Ossoona again. "An [i]order?[/i]" the Imperial Admiral demanded in the iciest of whispers, painful seeds being carried by his breath. Grymar'ee lunged for Pel and had him lifted from the floor in a moment, one arm all that was needed to heave the Ossoona from his feet; ancient muscle tempered in the forge of a thousand battles bulged beneath the light fabric which sheathed Grymar'ee's limb. "You, a craven shadow-scum who sits behind a desk like some feeble prophet, growing fat from the crumbs swept off the table by the hierarchs; [i]you[/i] dare give [i]me[/i] an order?" "I speak with the authority of the blessed hierarchs Truth, Regret and Mercy," Pel croaked out. "As an officer of the covenant, you are honour and duty bound to obey--" With a nonchalant swipe Pel was thrown to the floor with disgust; Grymar'ee reached up to the rows of commendations emblazoned on his chestplate and scraped them away with the claws of his hand. "I serve the Covenant no more," Grymar'ee stated. "Now, my daughter. Or do I have to start breaking things?" Pel moved quickly, to his credit. The Ossoona leaped onto his feet with all the grace of a trained assassin and drew out from his person a weapon of his own; Pel fired the rifle at Grymar'ee, a shot which would have ended any other man. The Imperial Admiral was made of sterner stuff - the burst penetrated his shields and burrowed into his shoulder, but the burning stopped a few inches in. Grymar'ee looked down at the wound with a look which almost resembled annoyance, before bringing up his own weapon and shooting Pel in the foot. Toes disintegrated, and screams gripped the room. Zharn looked worriedly to the door; surely someone would hear the clamour if it carried on. Grymar'ee was obviously too caught up in his quest for his daughter that he'd lost sight of all else. Making peace with his own toes, Zharn spoke up. "This is madness!" he hissed harshly, drawing stares from both Pel and Grymar'ee. "Wherever your daughter is, Admiral, we can find out later. If we stay here much longer, we're like to be found and killed no matter how many medals you tear from your chest." There was a silence plagued only by the restrained yowls from Pel as he cradled his burnt foot, and finally Grymar'ee looked back at him begrudgingly. "What do you suggest, boy?" "We take Pel from this place. Then we take the information we need, no matter how bloody the words which come. I find my friend, you find your daughter. Then we get to the bottom of this lunacy. Right now, you're clouded by rage and it's making you blind to the danger." "... you're right," Grymar'ee admitted reluctantly. He turned to Pel. "On your feet, filth. We're leaving." "There's no need," Pel smirked, looking as though he'd reached high and found an ace crammed in some unknown hole. "Your daughter is close. Her gaoler has strict instructions to kill her should I not check in within the hour." A gasp escaped from Grymar'ee's otherwise composed self, and Zharn saw frustration in his eyes. The Admiral growled menacingly. "Take me to her, or the next minutes will be hard for you," he threatened. Pel shrugged. "I have been trained to resist torture, Grymar'ee. Everyone talks eventually, true... but your little Savara doesn't have the time it would take for you to rip the truth from me." [i]This isn't good,[/i] Zharn worried as he saw confliction fly around Grymar'ee, and a smug sneer reached around Pel's face. "A bluff!" Zharn called, invoking a frown from Pel, as if he'd just remembered he were there. "There is no standing kill-order." "You presume to know an awful lot for someone who doesn't even understand what is happening on this station," Pel spat back. "This is no bluff, Grymar'ee. She [i]will[/i] die." "How convenient," Zharn scoffed, searching for a way to win Grymar'ee back from Pel's clutches. "This one lies as naturally as we draw breath, Admiral. Let us leave this foul place and tear the truth and more from him at our leisure--" "Enough!" Grymar'ee shouted, his voice flustered. Beads of sweat raced along his brow like so many raindrops, paternal anguish trapped within each of them. "I cannot risk my daughter's life on a suspected bluff, fleetmaster... what do you want, shadow-scum?" "I want your oath that you will let me go after I take you to your daughter," Pel demanded, and in a moment he had it, sworn upon the gods, may they strike him down otherwise. "In return, I will leave you to flee this station with your daughter. Oh, and one more thing." "What?" Grymar'ee asked, beaten. Pel smirked, and looked at Zharn with malice. Zharn backed away from the stare, wondering just how the tables had flipped so quickly and with so few words. "Kill Thierr'ee," Pel dictated simply. Zharn looked to Grymar'ee, and found a fatal apology etched onto his face. "You deserve better than I can give, young one," Grymar'ee spoke softly with cracking voice as he raised the rifle at Zharn. "But this is my daughter. I'm sorry you'll never be able to understand that love." [i]No![/i] Zharn tried to dive for cover, but the Imperial Admiral's hand was too quick. There was a flash, and then a sound, and then it felt as if he had been punched in the chest. Zharn was thrown back to the wall, and when he looked down a hole had been burnt through his armour, and flesh boiled beneath. Darkness ate away at his dimming eyes, voices swimming around him. "That's one down," Pel remarked with satisfaction. "Two more, now... You are relieved, fleetmaster. Come, Grymar'ee. You've earned your daughter back." Zharn faintly heard them leave the room, which might have been a corridor for its sudden vastness. He saw a communications device bolted into the wall, and began a slow crawl even while blood and meat and liquefied bone dripped from his mortal wound. Every inch was a minute or an hour and brought the reaper closer, until his strength left him entirely and he collapsed. Shadows danced around him; demons speaking in otherworldly tongues as they claimed his soul. They could have it. He was done. A voice above, a devil perhaps. Crooning. Mocking. Or maybe not. A soft face through the haze, kindly eyes. An angel? "You'll be fine, stay with me. What are you doing here, Zharn? Hey, listen. [i]Where's Sorran?[/i]" [i]Sorran?[/i] his deluded mind pondered. [i]He's right next to me in the phantom. No, that's not right. Something happened. He's dead. I'm dead.[/i] "You're burning up," the angel muttered, a hand resting on his forehead. "I'll have to operate... I hope for your sake you pass out." He heard the unmistakable sound of a plasma knife being flicked on, and suddenly there was unbearable pain. He screamed silently into the darkness, until it heard his plea and smothered him.