Royal Sh- Apfel had only just enough time to create a forcefield to protect himself from the gravity bomb's blast, one that took the brunt of the blast, but it wasn't sufficient to protect the Incirrian from harm as he was sent flying. With his power, he stopped in midair, and his injuries were apparent. His whole body was visibly battered and bruised, his uniform torn in many places, and quite bloody.

I just had this one cleaned, too. Apfel lamented the state of his clothes. Though it didn't distract him from the fact that he was in danger. Real, mortal danger. So far no opportunity had presented itself. But it would come. Somehow, somewhere. He just needed to go deeper. He needed more.

More power? More speed? More what?

It was there, at the edge of his awareness. The answers. But it did not exist here. He just needed to focus. To concentrate on it. Go

Deeper.

Rather than retaliate, the wounded Apfel simply sat upon the ground, eyes closed, meditating upon his present situation. Nobody could come to his aid in time, and if he was having difficulty, what good would 23 or Vodkana do? What would it all amount to? The same result. The Empire might go on, or die. In the grand scheme of the universe, it will lay as a footnote. An entry in a history textbook. Nothing about it is random. The clockwork of their orderly universe will grind their mortal achievements into nothing, as it has, and always will. The best a knowledgeable, thinking universe is to stand as an impossible denial of entropy and do what is best for themselves and their fellows.

We're all we have.