[I9 - Selvaris - AE] The Iron Fist of the Empire

The storm had rolled in hours ago, draping Selvaris in sheets of dust and sand that hammered the barren landscape. Lightning split the sky in furious bursts, momentarily illuminating the rocky terrain where white-armored figures moved with lethal precision. Sergeant Halcor tightened his grip on his blaster rifle as he led his squad through the mud-choked ruins of an old village of Rebel sympathisers. It had been a supply hub, now little more than rusting durasteel and shattered permacrete. The Empire had fallen, or so the weak-minded claimed - but Halcor and his men still had orders, and orders were the only thing that mattered. "Eyes sharp," he growled into his helmet’s comm. "Scanners are picking up movement ahead." The squad spread out, weapons at the ready. Rain pattered against plastoid armor as they walked past crumbling walls and detritus. Somewhere in the distance, a metal structure groaned under the storm’s assault. Then came the first shot. A red bolt lanced from the ruins, striking the trooper to Halcor’s left and glancing off his shoulder plate. A second later, blaster fire erupted from the crumbling structure ahead. The rebels were here, desperate and cornered. Good. "Cover and return fire!" Halcor barked, maintaining a tight formation. The stormtroopers answered in kind, their blasters painting the darkness with crimson streaks. A shadow darted between the wreckage—a rebel, hoping to flank them. Halcor lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger. The figure crumpled with a sharp cry. "Push forward!" he ordered. The squad advanced in formation, relentless, methodical. One by one, the rebels fell, their fire growing weaker. This was not a battle. It was a purge. A detonation rocked the ground as a trooper lobbed a thermal detonator into the last holdout. The explosion sent debris and bodies flying. A single survivor staggered from the rubble, a woman clutching a blaster in shaking hands. Her uniform was tattered, her face streaked with mud and desperation. She raised her weapon, but Halcor was faster. His shot struck her square in the chest, sending her tumbling into the mud. Silence fell over the wasteland, broken only by the rain. "Clear," one of his men confirmed. Halcor exhaled, scanning the carnage. The rebels were finished. The Empire endured—not in grand fleets or throne rooms, but in the unwavering discipline of those still willing to fight for order. "Move out," he said, turning away. "We have our next target."