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Commander Worf was anxious.

Battle lust filled his heart and raced through his blood – he could see the Federation ship within his sights and wanted only to lower the cloak and unleash a torrent of fire and destruction on his enemies. For the glory of the Empire. For the glory of the House of Mogh.

“Calm, young one. Your moment will come.”

Worf turned and glared at his family’s q’m’pak. A position once akin to war leader, it now referred to a trusted servant, charged with councilling, advising and guiding the members of an imperial house. The House of Mogh, though, was the only one to have an alien as q’m’pak.

“You may glare at me as much as you wish, Worf, son of Mogh,” Curzon Dax growled, the clothes of a Klingon warrior strangely suiting on him. “But I watched you crawl out of your mother’s belly. I gave you your first bat’leth scar. Your father told me to watch over you and I plan to do exactly that.”

“You will respect my position, q’m’pak. I am second-in-command of this ship.”

“And that does not stop you from being too anxious at your first chance at Federation blood.”

Worf growled and turned away. He knew that he was too anxious. He had only to look at the ship’s commanding officer and see how General Martok remained a calm eye in the middle of the storm.

As he watched, though, Martok finally unleashed the dogs. Raising a fist, he leant forward, his eyes focused on the Federation ship.

“'Ay'vamDaq nuHmey.”

The weapons officer targeted all weapons on the Saratoga. Worf felt his heart sing with the joy of battle.

“Hiv!”

The Yaghvang dropped the cloak and immediately began to fire at the Saratoga. Worf roared along with his fellow soldiers, his eyes never leaving the explosions that raced across the Federation vessel’s shields. Today was a good day to die. For the Federation.

“My general!”

Worf twisted around, saw Martok do the same thing. The soldier at tactical had a stricken look on his face.

“What is it?” Martok snapped.

“There appears to be a massive displacement wave moving towards us.”

“A storm!”

“No, my general. It is not a natural phenomena. The computer... The computer has never seen anything like it.”

“On screen!”

Worf turned back and his heart clenched. A coruscating field of destructive energy raced towards the ships, eating away at the storms surrounding them. “A weapon,” he breathed.

He felt a surge of anger. This was not the way for a warrior to die. Damning the Federation and its devious ways, Worf threw his head back and roared his defiance to the stars.


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