Corellia.

It fell, like a giant slice of pie, but instead of sloshing the city with berry flavors it left a trail of carnage. Carnage pie was his favorite, but not because of the flavor. Oh god no. Carnage tastes like wet socks and meatloaf had a child right before dying in a horrible spatula factory explosion and that child was put into the Saint Horrible-Flavors orphanage and raised itself up from nothing to die gloriously overseas in a war that he never wanted's bloody tears. He ate carnage for the texture and hallucinations. It was simply divine, and he could only describe the hallucinations as orgasmic.

It was out in the carnage where he often found himself since the incident. There was a mad scrambling to save lives on the downed spacecraft and from the buildings, factories, and orphanages it crashed through like dried berries through his intestinal track. No more late night berry pizzas. Those were simply ruining him. There was so much hustle and bustle that they never noticed the few individuals watching them. They looked just like normal people from far away, but let one get close and they jam a knife down your throat like it's candy. Rescue workers were disappearing, only to be found in alley ways and basements tied up, sexually abused, and cut a thousand times until their bodies could finally take no more. The only thing connecting the murders, other than the similar injuries, were the little doodles on the walls drawn in the blood of the victim. They were telling a story, each crime scene revealing another chapter. So far they couldn't tell if the one blotch was a person or maybe the sun? Whomever the artist was clearly had never finger painted as a child.

The Order of the Dark Ascension was a cult, and not a very good one. Not anymore. It had once been a glorious thing, back when their holy trinity had first created it, inspired them to follow in her footsteps, to obey the dark sacraments and acquire more members. She had left her prophet in charge, but Alexander Bane did not have the sway over the people like she did. Members started to drift away, but a line had to be drawn in the duracrete, so their bodies were soon found; eviscerated. Eventually the semi-sane were all dead and only the truly insane were left; and they were devoted to their dark prophet. Against the commands of their unholy figure he allowed the homeless and those with nothing to lose to join, and soon he had a pack of blood thirsty and easily manipulated persons to call his own.

The carnage was a sign. It was their time now, and they would act. Gathering up his followers he marched through the streets as his group of dark cloaked and hooded individuals knocked over trashcans, set fires, and accosted pedestrians while also throwing bricks at passing speeders. At the front of the mob was him, Alexander, equally dressed and hooded, the only thing setting him apart from the others was the large pair of optic shades that hid his eyes. They pushed into one of the central plazas of Coronet; far from the crash site and leaving a trail of destruction back through the neighborhoods and slums. A man he didn't even know, with a beard like an ewok was hanging from his chin, approached him, told him to bugger off. Alex only smiled as his hand raised, the sleeve of his robe falling back to reveal the blaster in his hand. "Oh?" queue trigger pull, roll drum snare. Curtains falls for that poor sap, and even as his body bounced off the duracrete Alex looked into the faces of everyone else, rising business buildings surrounding him on all sides.

"Have you heard the good word of my god?"