Kumakar's Dillema

The air in Kumakar’s private stateroom was thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the ghost of shattered crystal. What had moments ago been a chamber of opulent authority was now a landscape of wreckage. A gilded chair, its legs snapped, lay splintered against a bulkhead. Shards of what was once an ornate decanter glittered like malevolent stars across the plush carpeting. On the far wall, a data-slate was embedded deep into the paneling, the spiderweb of cracks around it a testament to the force of its impact.

Kumakar stood in the center of the devastation, his chest heaving. The veins on his temples pulsed, a rare and startling sight on a member of his species, whose physiology typically concealed such tells. The carefully maintained composure of a sovereign leader had fractured, leaving behind only the raw, unbridled rage of a cornered predator.