[@Lmpkio]

Resistance fleets clashed with the RoC in space even as the battle raged on the grounds below. Massive hulks of steel were blasted out of the sky by torrents of light, burning up in the atmosphere as they accelerate towards the ground. Below the clouds, an antimatter drive core containment field failed, and one of the plummeting fireballs exploded in a flash of light that turned the clouds red for a moment. The entire scene was highly reminiscent of his home universe, and yet Set knew that this was not his home. This was a battle whom's stakes were far beyond what he had previously imagined, a war whom's scale baffled even him. It was a battle with the fate of not just the galaxy, but the multiverse, at stake. It was the kind of war that even he had not seen in his many lives. The thought of it tingled, as he could feel his blood getting excited. That old curiosity burned anew, as if he were merely 200 again. Of all the games that he had played, this had the potential to be both the most risky and the most rewarding. And it was that feeling of risk in his gut that kept him excited, that had roused him from the daze of centuries.

"Bring me another cup of wine." He observed the scene from far away, a stealth carrier placed at the edge of the vast battlefield. Many miles from the RoC base that formed the epicentre of the storm of war. As he lazily reached out his hand, a cup of red wine was placed in it. A carefully made delicacy, the exquisite taste of which was reserved only for the richest of the galaxy's denizens. Of course, such status meant little compared to the conflict below him. But it comforted him to know that soon he would have his fingers on riches a million times greater than he had ever imagined in the past. This new world was a treasure trove for one with the cunning to exploit it. And his cunning was unmatched in the entire galaxy. 

Set took a sip of wine, allowing the delicate substance to move across his tongue. He had grown bored of the taste of a thousand brews, and yet this strange substance still fascinated him. A thousand different tastes danced across his tongue, teasing his taste buds with the bitter and sweet flavour. As he enjoyed this cup of wine, he saw a wave move across the skies of Eldritch IV. Covering fire rained down curtains of plasma bolts, forcing enemy ships to focus on their shields if even for a moment. Portals were opened, massive swirling pools of energy that he could feel even from here. Hundreds of ships disappeared, vanishing into nothingness as the Resistance found a large part of it's opposition vanishing  into nothingness for reasons far beyond them. On the ground, entire platoons of soldiers retreated into escape pods, which joined their spaceborn allies as they retreated from this world. No, this universe. A mass disappearance as an entire faction abandoned the fight, massively weakening the RoC defences.

It was a simple matter, feeding the Rebels a critical piece of information. They were convinced that it was theirs, and the Empire was convinced it was a trap they had set. Both were completely confident in their capabilities, both merely played into his hands. But the result was clear, as all troops were immediately recalled to the Death Star. He didn't know if the rebels would succeed at destroying it, in fact he suspected that they would be annihilated. But his business was not to ruin the Empire, no matter how the rebellion amused him. No, he had merely played his hand to ensure that Palpatine's support of the RoC would be pulled back in this critical phase. After all, the Emperor would always value the destruction of the Rebels far above some far-away victory in another Universe.

Attempting to suppress a smug grin, Set gestured at his 'butler'. "Open communications with the Reign of Chaos. We're a mercenary organization that was attracted to the sight of war. Inform them that we would gladly assist them in their current predicament, if the pay is good enough." In truth, Set had no interest in the RoC's money. But he knew that the RoC similarly cared not for money, or at the very least cared far more for the integrity of this base. He would place his foot in the door, and establish them as a valuable contact. This was how it all began, the game of politics and war that he had played for so long. The stakes had been set, the sides were undecided, and the lives of good men had already been lost. This was his kind of game.