THE SICKENING SOUND of a body crumpling beneath the unforgiving step of an AT-AT. A soldier firing his sidearm in desperation after being cornered by the phantoms in black and white. Repeaters peppering the air with indiscriminate red bolts. Such a gruesome orchestra, as if it was performed and conducted by death itself, accented by a cacophony of wailing screams, scratchy comms, and pounding explosions. It all came together as music, a rhythm that split the air, that thumped the earth, a symphony of war.
Lord Vader did so enjoy every performance, greedily soaking in the scene that befell him as his shuttle landed amidst the crescendo, stepping onto the stage.
❛❛ Make it brief ❜❜ deep bass rumbled, striding out as a familiar presence joined him at his side.