With a flash of light, the Pryor’s ship materialised in front of the vessel of his old enemy.

He was ready to fight. Ready to stop the darkness from swallowing the civilisation the Kolar had formed for themselves, a tribute to the freedom their ancestors fought for against the Iconians. Against ‘him’.

Taking a scan of the ship ahead, The Pryor sighed as he detected one life sign on board. He scanned again. One life sign. But several bodies. Over three hundred. Three hundred dead, just laying there, surrounding the man he’d come to meet head to head in battle.

Taking a breath, unsure what to even say, the Pryor opened a channel to the ship. The ship that he was sure Lakotda wanted to get his hands on, not because of who would be sitting smugly on the bridge, but what that ship meant to the captain.

“Pryor to Dauntless.” He waited impatiently for a response for a few moments. “Orteiga…” He asked, hoping naming the former overlord would gain him some form of response. “I don’t need to tell you that ship’s defenses can’t live up to my weapons.” He warned, hoping he wouldn’t need to fire. “I can’t let you break the rules, you need to go back where you came from. I’ll give you one chance.. just one…”

“Or what?” A gruff voice interrupted. “You know, how rude of me.”

The Pryor listened closely, hearing the man laughing and signing over the sound of him tapping his fingertips over one of the panels on the bridge. This wasn’t the man he remembered. He seemed different. Off. Wrong.

“I do apologise, dear Pryor, it seems I forgot to make an introduction.”

The Pryor raised an eyebrow. “Introduction to whom?”

All around the Dauntless ships began to decloak. A handful at first, then dozens. The Pryor lost count. He didn’t have time to count. He didn’t have time to escape.

One by one Orteiga’s friends began to open fire. Propulsion failed. Weapons were down. Secondary defenses failed to respond.

As his armour began to fail the Pryor tried to scan the ships, figure out who they were and send a warning to Lakotda. But before he knew it, it was too late.

His ship crumbled. The hull began to tear apart under the pressure.

From his seat on the bridge of the Dauntless, wrapped inside the shell of a Cardassian host, Orteiga began to laugh as he watched his old enemy fall.

He had returned.