The following is a continuation of a musing I began long ago. Check out part one and two if you haven't had the chance yet. This is first draft stuff, so free free to point out anything done right or wrong.
"I don't know..." The next few words were a strangled cry as Tyrian's hand squeezed his neck. Nin's bare feet kicked out with futility; a convict in leg irons had more chance of escaping.
"I'm sure you're aware of how little time is left? I'm not even going to pretend patience, Nin." Tyrian held the little traitor at arm's length, his eyes unrepetent as the face began to turn blue. After a moment, he lowered him to the ground once more, but he continued to hold on with a firm grasp. "Just tell me where."
Coughs racked Nin for a moment before he could speak. "You know, it's kind of hard to talk when you're squeezing..." The look in Tyrian's eyes stopped him cold. "He's in the belt. Dark side and all that. You know how your...I mean...that is..."
Fire flared in Tyrian's blue eyes for a moment. His grip was solid, and he knew he could end the weasel for good. Anger warred with duty, his fingers flexing ever so slightly on the little man's neck. He let his hand fall to his side, the hand curling into a fist tightly. "A judgement is coming. Bet on it." Tyrian strode away before he could change his mind.
The silence of the place was beginning to wear on him. His sandled footsteps echoed loudly with each stride. The walls he walked past no longer shined; a dull elephant grey was spreading from the corners, lacing the fine marble with spiderwebs of decay. He paused at the half open gates, the peeling finish rough under his palm. This was the last time he would walk through this portal - he knew that now. Their belief in their own immortality was irrevocably shattered, and this was no longer their home. Those that cowered in dark corners within were just as responsible as the one who began this war.
Tyrian pulled on the stubborn gates, his muscles bulging with effort. They had not been moved in a millenia, but he was finally able to close them fully. The remaining inhabitants had condemned themselves long ago, so he would waste no pity on them today. His palm hovered in front of the lock as he closed his eyes. He searched his memory, dredging up the age-old ritual. Nodding to himself, he began to concentrate and whisper the words necessary. Electric tendrils of pitch sprung from his palm to enfold the lock, leaving scorch marks behind on the dull metal. His jaw tightened in grim determination as he finalized the process. This was the second time he'd had to perform this function, locking out the world and locking up utopia. But like the man said, he was here to protect them - whether they knew it or not.
He turned away, ignoring the tears that came unbidden. The fiend would pay for every soul left behind, for making him do the one thing he hated most. Tyrian would just have to ignore familial connections this time. He launched skyward, the horrific screams of those left behind fading in an instant. The largest planet was a fitting place to end this. Vengeance was wrong - he'd been told that from the beginning. Call it justice then. Either way, the man better not look this way because Tyrian just didn't care anymore.