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"There will be a discontinuity in your protection while I reorient the Silmarils. Perhaps ten minutes."

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"I can leave the dimension again. Might be a good idea."

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"That would be wise."

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Pop pop. Curl up. Cry.

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Ten minutes later, Occlus writes him a note saying he should return.

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And he does.

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The Silmarils are swirling rapidly in a complex dance of interlocking and shifting orbits around Occlus. She wraps her shield around him before the fear has time to take hold.

"Are you ready?"

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"I want them so so so dead."

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"Then let us be about it."

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"Where are we going? - also these are cool, I like my alt -"

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"Give me the nearest five stars to them. I'll find them."

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He conjures for them.

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Cipher Nine provides the location.

"Good luck."

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Nod. 

 

 

Pop.

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An anonymous patch of space, the ships of the Dread Masters hang silently, no longer supernaturally ominous to him.

"They are in that one, second from the leading edge." Occlus identifies it. Their presence is unmistakable, a dark stain in the Force welling ceaselessly from the bleeding wounds they have made themselves.

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He can't see that. He's making air for them. "Okay. How do I get just one -"

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"Divide the ships in halves, repeatedly. Separate them by about a kilometer, when you get a piece that contains only one I will tell you."

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He can do that. He bounces around moving half the ship and half the half and -

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"-That one."

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He takes it back with them.

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"Do you have an opinion on method of execution?"

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"...just tell me what to do -"

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"A small sun seems appropriate."

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He can make a small sun. He can keep making it, bigger and bigger and bigger, until she says to stop -

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"That's enough. This one is dead."

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