Alucard (ancientprince) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-04-12 16:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !locale: naboo, alucard, glasya ren |
I gotta stay ahead
Who: Glasya & Alucard
What: Would-be allies size one another up.
When: Midnight, following this.
Where: Naboo.
Rating: Warnings for some vampire-related violence and NPC death.
Not for the first time since they had been parted, Glasya found himself longing for Issan’s company. She would have been at home here among the trees, swallowed up by their monstrous black shadows. For his part, Glasya maintained a cautious sort of truce with the natural world. After Dathomir--and in truth, everything that had come after--nothing Naboo had to offer seemed remotely threatening; still, he would be grateful for the feel of the Wraith’s solid metal beneath his bootheels. He had been away from his newly repaired ship for nigh on two hours. If this meeting went well, he assumed it would be a few hours more before he returned.
He ground a heel into the dirt and felt it give. He settled back against a tree’s thick trunk, folding his arms loosely across his chest.
Alucard hovered in the shadows, silent and undetectable. He wanted to see how the man from the First Order reacted to being kept waiting. The vampire had no physical presence, at the moment, had become the darkness in the forest, intangible. Integra hated it when he did this. Alucard, consequently, found it a delight. He’d done this to her father, as well, testing the man. Arthur had barely been able to stand it. Though Alucard had every intention of betraying the First Order, he would not tolerate a contact with them whom he found unworthy of his time.
When nearly half an hour had passed, he withdrew, traveling through the shadows to a point well clear of Glasya Ren. Alucard returned to corporeal form, wearing his habitual dark suit and red coat, crimson-tinted glasses concealing his eyes. White gloved hands bore the sigil of Hellsing’s seals on their backs. Though he entered the small clearing where Glasya waited on foot, at a human pace, it was clear in an instant that Alucard was anything but. The air of menace that accompanied him combined with an economy of movement to announce to all that Alucard was no mortal being.
“Good evening. My apologies for the delay.”
Glasya’s face remained impassive, but he stood up from his languid perch against the tree. He studied the visitor. The markings on Alucard’s gloves were unknown to him; he filed them away for future reference and research, though instinct told him he would find little on their origins. At first blush his aura and bearing marked him as one well suited to the mind and methods of the Order, but Glasya could not help but wonder if that was simply part of the show. Manipulation was plainly a well worn card in this man’s deck.
“I’m a patient man,” he said. “You chose an interesting meeting point. My apprentice would approve.”
“I enjoy the night air,” Alucard replied, lips curled in a faint smile. “I imagine you prefer your activities with me not to be known on a planet such as this one. There is little love for the First Order, here.” He tilted his head as he regarded Glasya, a predatory gesture that came more naturally to Alucard than most human motions. He could almost taste the darkness in the other man. It amused him more than anything else.
“Make your case, Glasya Ren. I warn you now that I do not undertake endeavors that offer no reward.”
“No intelligent being does,” Glasya said. “I recall you expressed an interest in joining the First Order. I assume you didn’t do so without already knowing at least some of what we can offer.”
He skimmed the surface of Alucard’s thoughts. Even in the shallows of the creature’s mind there was darkness so deep it called to Glasya. In those shadowed depths countless voices commingled in a discordant song. The knight found himself at once intrigued and repulsed. The former easily won out.
“The First Order has resources and manpower no other faction has. It is organized and far-reaching. In short, it is the inevitable future. There is room for you to pursue whatever work you’re looking for. I’m curious to learn what that might be.”
Alucard’s expression hardened. “You make your first mistake.” He removed his glasses, revealing blood-colored eyes. “You assume that I am drawn to your order’s power, to the stability that it offers. I care for neither.” The vampire tucked the glasses into an interior pocket of his duster.
“Do not delude yourself. The First Order does not offer stability, or peace, no matter what your propaganda promises. You bring war to this galaxy. That is what interests me.”
Glasya scoffed. “I offered neither peace nor stability,” he said. “I offered opportunity. And opportunity never comes without upheaval, whether by war or diplomacy. If war is what you want, you would certainly have it.” He arched a brow. “That alone seems a short-sighted and narrow desire, but it can be accommodated.”
“I was not made for peace,” Alucard countered. Elongated canines gleamed in the darkness as he grinned. “War is a constant. Peace is fleeting. Entropy is the law of creation. I merely help the process along.” Glasya was bold. That would make this process more entertaining. Alucard had hoped entry into the First Order would not be so easy as to bore him. It appeared that his wish was being granted.
The knight’s eyes were drawn to those long, sharp fangs. A thousand questions he could not yet ask whirled in his mind. Instead he curbed his insatiable curiosity and focused on the task at hand. He nodded. “Very well. And when that entropy turns on those with whom you would align yourself?” He canted his head, studying the creature before him. The mention of leashes returned to him, as did the thought of what might lead to their necessity. “I take a great risk, vouching for an unknown to come into the fold. A risk I do not take lightly. Do you believe in loyalty, Alucard?”
“Only when earned.” The vampire was a treacherous creature, and made no excuses for it. In life and in death, he had learned that one must always expect an alliance to end in betrayal. “I have seen many oaths sworn, and many broken. I too take a risk. I risk that any faith I offer to you and yours will be broken.”
“As do we,” Glasya said. “I can tell you I take my commitments seriously, and I assume you would say the same. But trust without verification is meaningless. How do you suppose we address this?”
“What would satisfy you?” Mindful of Buffy’s warnings, Alucard kept close watch on Glasya. The Casull and Jackal awaited use beneath the concealing folds of his heavy coat. The souls bound to him writhed restlessly at the edge of his awareness. They had noticed the touch of something, and it unsettled them. Alucard did not trust Glasya. He would be a fool to go so far. The two of them waltzed on a fragile surface, their newly formed acquaintance a thin layer of ice through which they both might fall. “I am not an unreasonable man.” That was a lie. “I may be willing to negotiate.”
“I’m not entirely certain one could call you a man at all,” Glasya answered smoothly. The lie resonated between them, as clear as a bell to Glasya’s trained ear. Nothing about his companion spoke to a reasonable mind; but that was true of much of the First Order, their leaders included, and it seemed no great deterrent. “I believe I have a great deal to learn about you. Not least, how well you use the skills you claim to have. That’s something I’d like to see. Would you be amenable, say, to going on a little hunt with me?”
Alucard leered, the banked embers of his gaze flaring briefly in the shadows. “I suppose you must insist. Very well. We shall see how well the First Order aims its weapons. When do you wish to leave?”
“Whenever you like. The sooner we attend to this, the sooner we see how we work as a team.” Glasya straightened up, withdrawing a holovid from some inner fold of his cloak. He glanced down to it; whatever he saw on its dimly shining surface apparently pleased him. “My ship is waiting whenever you are ready. Unless for some reason you prefer to arrange your own transport.”
“Lead the way,” Alucard invited, gesturing Glasya forward with an open, upturned palm. “Your ship will do as well as any.” He was prepared to depart Naboo, having left word with Buffy of his intentions. If Glasya became difficult, Alucard had no trouble with murdering him and taking over the vessel himself.
“And better than most,” Glasya quipped. The vampire’s aura of malice was thinly veiled, but this, too, was familiar ground to the Knight of Ren. He turned on his heel and moved back through the forest, taking up a path different from the one on which he had entered. Leagues away, the Wraith and its crew of one astromech droid began to make ready for their master’s return.
The unlikely pair walked in silence through the forest. Glasya used the time to toy with the surface thoughts and overall demeanor of their would-be recruit. Curiosity nipped at him, tempered by continued wariness. He felt no more certain of the creature by the time they reached the ship. The gangplank lowered as they walked into view. Glasya strode inside; the BB-unit wheeled around him like a puppy welcoming its owner. He moved past without a downward glance, striding toward the cockpit beyond.
“You’re welcome to join me in the cockpit if it interests you,” he said. “Otherwise the droid will escort you to our guest quarters.”
The souls bound to Alucard stirred, hovering in and around his mind like wasps rattled in their nest. He allowed them their discomfort. Each life that Alucard had claimed for his own was loyal to the vampire, despite the terrible circumstances of their conversions. Glasya would receive little better than static in attempting to read the No Life King, the effect akin to attempting to pick out a single voice in a crowded, echoing arena.
Alucard made his own assessments as he followed Glasya. The man was confident, almost to a fault. He did not seem to be the sort to follow anyone blindly, and that led Alucard to wonder how loyal to the First Order Glasya might be. What benefit did the man gain from following their crusade? Or did he follow them only because the so-called Knights of Ren had decreed that he do so? At another time, before he had been tamed by Abraham, Alucard might have enjoyed playing with Glasya, attempting to turn him away from any humanity he might possess, simply for the fun of it.
“I prefer the company of the living,” Alucard informed his host once they reached the ship. “For now.”
Glasya nodded. The pair entered the cockpit, the BB-unit wheeling merrily behind them. It took up a space near the navigator’s station, though it left the seat open for their guest. Glasya slid into the pilot’s seat with the ease of one born to it. His hands flew over the console, bringing the ship to life. The Wraith raised up from its small launch pad, quietly winging its way above Naboo. Soon even the atmosphere was behind them; before them, a black canvas dotted with silvery stars.
A navigational chart opened up, and Glasya directed them to a distant, neutral rock to which the label “planet” had been somewhat generously assigned. The chart closed; the astromech made small, satisfied noises, turning eagerly to its work. Glasya’s fingers slid over the hyperdrive controls, and the pinprick stars lengthened to white, laser lines.
“If you have further questions of me, now would be the time to ask them,” he said.
Alucard folded into the open seat as though it were a throne to which he had long ago laid claim, one long leg draped over the other at the knee. The spectacles made a reappearance, balanced deftly between Alucard’s fingers in the moment before he slid them into place over his eyes He might as well have been out for a pleasant Sunday drive, for all of the concern he showed. For a time, one might even have guessed that Alucard’s mind had drifted away from the present. He made not even the slightest movement, merely stared ahead, into the void beyond the viewport. Many found it unnerving to sit in the vampire’s presence when he became like this, a statue without breath that still carried the promise of sudden, violent action.
After a long moment, the vampire drew in enough air to speak. “Who are you to the First Order, Glasya Ren? What benefit do you gain from your association with them?”
“I and my order operate alongside them,” Glasya answered. “We are both part of them and not. I suppose you might consider us the clerics to their soldiers. Through them we gain access to their armies, weapons, strategists, funding...” He waved a hand, dismissive. “All means to an end. It has been a fruitful partnership. General Hux and my master work closely and well together. They have unique and complementary skill sets.”
He smirked. “That’s the diplomatic answer, of course. To put a fine point on it, I gain power and influence, Alucard. Power, and access to more.”
Alucard snorted in derision. “You sound like the Iscariot.” He had little patience for religious orders, and little experience to recommend them. The church, as an organized body, had done nothing for his people but prey upon their weaknesses. “Latch onto a host and allow them to carry you where you cannot go yourself.” If the Knights of Ren truly were akin to the Vatican’s lapdogs, Alucard would take pleasure in dismantling them.
“I hope you are more than a cleric,” he warned. “I might grow very bored, very quickly, if you are not.”
“A metaphor,” Glasya said. “I assumed you would understand those, but I can use plainer speech if you need.” The ship sank out of hyperspace, the forward motion of the stars seeming to reverse for a moment. Then their field of view returned to normalcy: the abyssal black of the void, faint points of light, and below them, a stony, curving horizon. Slowly they began their approach.
Glasya cut a look over to his guest. “This talk of hosts and parasites concerns me. Do you truly not understand partnerships, or are you being deliberately obtuse?”
“Metaphor is the recognition of patterns. Survival is a function of responding to those patterns to your own advantage. What most humans call partnership is an exercise in betrayal. I find it rare that both parties truly enjoy mutual benefit.” Alucard waved a hand to show how little he cared for Glasya’s disagreement. “You are human. I do not expect you to see the universe as I do. Fortunately, it isn’t necessary.”
Alucard watched the descent to the planet’s surface with feigned boredom. He was, in truth, pleased with the novelty this reality presented. It was the one advantage to being separated from Integra. In all of his years, he rarely witnessed anything new. He was certain he would tire of space travel eventually, as he tired of most things. No quite yet, however.
“‘An exercise in betrayal’,” Glasya echoed. “I wonder, are all would-be turncoats so unsubtle?” Behind them, the astromech cheeped, aiding its master in guiding the Wraith downward. For the moment, nothing required the knight’s direct attention. He turned in his seat, his eyes on the vampire. “If you do not expect to find mutual benefit in our partnership, what is it, precisely, that you have come to find?”
The vampire grinned. “How much fun I’m going to have. When you are immortal, there is little left but to chip away at the years with whatever meager entertainment you can find. If advancing your efforts will offer me the distraction that I desire, then you have my support until such time as I become bored. You will also have my guarantee that I will not stand in your way when your mission becomes tiresome to me. The Resistance cannot provide me with the environment which I find most appealing. The First Order can. That is the truth, Glasya Ren.”
Glasya quirked a brow. “Your guarantee. And what good is that from someone who only just spoke of betrayal?” He turned back to the consoles that stretched out before him. His eyes held the horizon as they broke through the small planet’s atmosphere. His hands were steady as he guided them in. “I have enough knives in my chest, Alucard. I will not knowingly court one in my back as well.” He glanced sidelong at Alucard once more. “We will see what you are capable of. What you deem ‘entertainment.’ And then you and I will determine, together, if this arrangement is worthy of our time.”
“You miss a key point,” Alucard counseled sedately. “I spoke of human betrayal. I never said a word about my kind.” He removed the Casull from its hiding place and checked the magazine. “You have never met someone like me before, and you never will again. I am unique. My laws are my own. When I enter a contract, I honor that contract. It is always the human who breaks it.” His words were half-truths, for, in Alucard’s eyes, the contract he had entered into with Hellsing superceded any contract he might sign with Glasya Ren or the First Order. He would keep his word, insofar as his loyalty to Integra allowed it.
The knight chuckled. “For someone of ‘immortal’ perspective, you rely on absolutes with surprising frequency.” A low whirr rumbled from beneath them as the landing gear slid out. A small landing pad rose up to greet them; the Wraith touched lightly down. The BB-unit behind them chirped proudly. Glasya stood, stretching up toward the ceiling until his back cracked.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said, “but thus far you don’t seem as unique as you say. Smug arrogance, condescension, and a self-serving nature are in my experience all quite common traits. You will truly surprise me if you actually keep to the promises you pretend to make.”
“I’ve been in the world long enough to know that few things change.” Alucard returned the Casull to its hiding place, then idled in his seat as he checked over the Jackal. His gloved fingers ran across the massive gun’s surface in an almost affectionate caress. “Technology advances. Civilization expands. War becomes brutal in newfound ways … but humanity so rarely rises to the occasion. When they do, it is in the form of exceptional individuals, rather than as a species.” Walter was one of those individuals, Alucard reflected. The Jackal had been a gift, of sorts, from Alucard’s old friend, custom built to cater to a vampire’s strength. Alucard was almost wistful when he put the gun away and rose. “I still have some small hope that a galaxy filled with new species and new cultures will offer something worth my while.”
“I suppose we shall see. For now, if you’ll follow me...”
Glasya walked to the rear of the cockpit, exiting into the corridor beyond. The faint creaking of a cabinet opening and closing carried back to the cockpit. The little astromech droid squeaked at Alucard, its bright tone an obvious question -- though with regard to what, specifically, remained unclear. It stayed where it was, rolling gently back and forth, as Glasya’s footsteps receded farther away, then down the gangplank.
“In a hurry?” the vampire asked of the droid, one eyebrow raised. Once Glasya had gone ahead, Alucard whipped his broad-brimmed hat out of the shadows and set it in place. “Go on,” he urged the droid, lightly tapping it with a booted toe. “Do whatever it is you do when you’re alone.” It whistled sadly, then rolled away to some distant, unseen room.
Once on the planet’s surface, Glasya took a moment to study his surroundings. The display inside his mask, donned as he left the Wraith comforting darkness, told him much about the environs. They had landed on a disused launch pad belonging to those who had fled here months before. The village of those refugees was a short walk away; in the early morning chill, the hike would be a soothing interlude before the grim work ahead. The village was still populated: even at this distance, the display picked up numerous heat signatures and other scattered signs of life. A herd of grazing animals dotted the distant hills, cropping sparse patches of grass. A single herder stood atop a far off hill, the lone humanoid silhouette within view.
Alucard followed Glasya into the open air, grateful that the light was still soft. The low-lying clouds kept the worst of the sun’s rays from reaching the planet’s surface. He drew in a long breath, testing the scents of the village carried on the breeze. The musky odor of livestock was unmistakable, and the pungent smell of fields enriched with fertilizer. Carefully, Alucard untangled the scent of blood from the rest that crowded the air. There was life in that village, beautiful and sustaining. He could have his fill if he chose. The vampire king closed his eyes in appreciation of the flavor that ghosted over his tongue. He savored the promise of a fresh meal.
Then, he set his hunger aside, as one might conceal a gun not yet needed. He did not speak to Glasya as they walked. His only waited, and listened.
They paused together at the edge of the still-sleeping village. A handful of flimsy plastocrete structures served as housing. They were squat, single-room buildings, more suited for storage than daily living. The heat signatures pinging on Glasya’s display showed the refugees sleeping four to a home. Easy prey, ideal for the quick work that Glasya had in mind.
He moved to the first door and slipped quietly inside. Four bodies lay beneath threadbare sheets. With a single short, sharp burst of Force energy into their dozing minds, Glasya roused the little group. They woke with a start; one gasped aloud, clutching his chest with a liver-spotted hand. Glasya’s hidden gaze moved from the elder to a younger man, more alert than the others. The man’s eyes darted over the black mirror of Glasya’s mask, searching its corvine shape for any scrap of knowledge regarding its wearer. Glasya gave nothing up; his horned mask did not so much as twitch.
“I have questions,” Glasya said. “The more cooperative you are the faster this will go. Who would like to be first?”
The young man stood. The others soon followed suit, some of them reaching for the elder to assist him in rising. They leaned on one another, huddling together like the animals outside. Only the first man stood slightly apart, as though he might shield his brothers from the creatures before them.
“Very well.” Glasya beckoned, and the young man stepped forward. “How long had you and your squadron been in contact with the Resistance before you abandoned your posts?”
The man shifted on his feet. His gaze fell to the floor; Glasya’s hand moved, snaking the Force like a noose around the man’s throat. Glasya forced the man’s eyes to him.
“Six months,” the young man said. His voice was a rough rasp; he sucked in clipped breaths between each word. “Bryn… a year.”
“And where is Bryn?” Glasya asked.
“Third house. Red hair.”
“What information did you all share?”
The young man fell silent. His skin paled, then bloomed into a discomfiting shade of purple. Glasya slid into the man’s mind, seeking the information he required with stiletto precision. Memories parted like flesh beneath a scalpel. The man’s head lolled; his eyes rolled, flashing dingy whites. The elder man pulled away from his compatriots, grasping at his young friend. Glasya gave a low, angry growl. He struck deep in the man’s mind, delving hard into any memory that held a scrap of value. He scraped the boy’s mind clean, dragging out useful tidbits and hollowing out the rest. The man twitched as though in the throes of a seizure.
“Very helpful,” Glasya said. His hand relaxed. The young man fell to the floor, and did not move again. Glasya looked to Alucard. “I’ve gotten what I need from this group. Now I’d like to see what you can do.”
At first, Alucard had watched the display with obvious boredom, leaned back against a wall as he picked at the hem of his coat sleeve. He had little taste for interrogations. The vampire could easily draw the information he needed from a target by consuming their blood. If it were vital that the target live, he would leave it to Walter or one of the Hellsing soldiers. He loved torture, true, but as a means of military intimidation.
Then, Glasya did something interesting. He stopped asking questions. Alucard continued to slouch against the wall, but his eyes narrowed as they fixed on the unmoving man and victim. This was a conversation he could read despite the lack of words. He recognized the terror of a mind forced to yield its secrets to a silent invader. Alucard had been that invader many a time.
He spared hardly a glance for the fallen man when Glasya had finished.
“What is it you want?” he inquired. “The judgment should fit the crime.”
"They are traitors," Glasya said, "to a man. Treason demands execution." He looked pointedly to Alucard, black mask shining in the rising dawn light. Seemingly forgotten, the three remaining men clung together, shuddering. "I leave the means of their execution to you."
Alucard fixed his gaze on the trembling men. They were a pathetic sight. Traitors, yes, but against a treacherous regime. Many a spy would try to find a way to save their lives.
“Which of you led the others?” the vampire demanded.
One of the men stepped forward. Alucard didn’t bother to note which. The man said nothing, though he swallowed against his fear. That was admirable, in a way. Defiance in the face of death was something Alucard understood intimately. He smiled, pleased. Buffy would not care for what he was about to do, but it was the only way he could allow the men to survive while still carrying out what Glasya had asked he do.
Alucard removed his hat and set it aside on a rickety table in the corner. Back turned to the men , he swept his glasses off and set them beside the hat. His movements were slow, deliberate, and Alucard enjoyed the fear that permeated the air as the men awaited his response to Glasya’s instructions. He would enjoy this, in his way.
The vampire turned back to the men. His eyes burned with his hunger, a red light cast on his pale features. The men staggered back. Alucard smiled, displaying a mouth full of teeth that were far too sharp. “It’s better for you if you don’t struggle,” he advised. “Or do, if you like. It’s better for me, then.”
The man who had stepped forward threw himself at Alucard, while a second broke for the door, and the third dove toward one of the sleeping pallets. Alucard slid aside from the initial assault as though it were nothing. He grabbed the man’s arm and twisted, delighting in the howl of pain as the man’s mind registered the destruction of bone and soft tissue. In an instant, Alucard was in the doorway, his hand wrapped around the throat of the one who’d run. “Wait your turn,” he hissed, before he drew the Casull and shot the man’s knee, crippling him. He tossed the man aside to writhe on the floor with his injured companion.
By now, the final man had retrieved what he sought beneath the pallets. Hand trembling, the traitor raised a blaster. The shot went wide, tearing out Alucard’s side rather than cutting through his heart. Alucard’s smile widened. “Oh, I like you.” He crossed the room in a blur. The shooter didn’t even have time to scream before the vampire’s fangs were in his throat.
It had been a long while since Alucard had consumed mortal blood. Not since Seras had he drained a human. He was careful to consume everything before he dropped the limp body to the floor. The two survivors whimpered and tried desperately to back away when Alucard fixed his attention on them.
The one whose arm had been twisted from its socket was first, but his death only delayed the final man’s passing by a matter of seconds. Alucard’s torn side regenerated as he fed, his own blood, so dark that it was almost black, was absorbed back into his body. Bone reformed, then flesh, and, finally, clothing.
Once Alucard was finished, he fired three swift shots, one between the eyes of each corpse. He would not risk leaving a ghoul behind.
“Does that satisfy you?” he inquired of Glasya, while three new souls joined the chorus of the damned who served as the vampire’s familiars. The traitors were dead, yes, but not gone, and never would be, unless Alucard ceased to exist or chose to release them.
After a brief hesitation the mask moved, nodding once. “Your regeneration seems a useful skill,” Glasya said. “Would that all our wounds could be healed with a bit of blood.”
They left the hovel behind and moved on to the next. Each small hut passed in the same way as the first: a brief and largely silent interrogation, followed by brutal and efficient bloodshed. Glasya found an easy rhythm alongside his otherworldly partner. The flash of sharp fangs seemed to loosen many lips before they fell permanently silent. The knight drank in all the knowledge they gave him -- spoken and otherwise -- and gladly filed it away for safekeeping. The Master of the Knights of Ren would surely be pleased with what he shared. And what Glasya chose to not share… well, that too would be useful, in a wholly different way.
By the time they left the little village, even the nerf herder was dead. The refugee camp was silent, their departure marked only by the buzzing of carrion insects descending upon their already exsanguinated meals. Glasya removed his mask as they strode back onto the Wraith. Sweat beaded his dark blonde hair and dotted his pale forehead.
“And you?” he asked, as they entered the cockpit. “Are you satisfied with what you have seen?”
Rarely did Alucard take so many souls at once. The steady pace through the village offered time to ensure that each fell into its place. He now had access to everything that each man and woman had known, all of their memories, their thoughts and feelings absorbed into the maelstrom within him. Alucard said nothing of this to Glasya. There was no need for the man to know how much the vampire could glean through the blood.
“The price for my abilities is higher than most are willing to pay.” He absorbed the last spatters of blood into his form. “I have seen what I must. The First Order will suit my needs.”
Glasya nodded. He took his place in the captain’s seat. The BB-unit wheeled in behind them, beeping its greeting as it moved to its post. The Wraith rose from the launch pad. As they moved skyward Glasya trained the ship’s proton torpedo launchers at the little village. A single blast from one, and the dilapidated structures were engulfed in a burning ball of destruction. Then they broke through the atmosphere and out into the stars above.