His eyes flickered to the abandoned temple across the city, still able to see the smoke that rose into the air that had long since vanished. He could still hear the screams—their petrified cries. Some nights, he even relived the waves of fear, anger, and finally, doom that washed over those poor, weak creatures as they ultimately realized their fate of extinction—what was to become of them and their pathetic Order. For no amount of training or preparation had equipped any of them for him. They were all weak compared to Vader's power and the power of the Dark Side of the Force. It nearly made Vader laugh; despite how invincible the great Jedi Order believed themselves to be, and how long they had sat atop their throne, they fell from such power with astonishing speed. Even those regarded as the grandest of masters were incapable of detecting the power of the Sith, all while remaining so close; moreover, they could not withstand his blade. It had been almost too easy to kill all of them—almost, but Vader would not pursue that thought to its conclusion.
He looked forward to the day when he could topple the building to the ground, burying the final ashes of the creatures that once inhabited its walls, finally erasing all trace of the Jedi from existence. Soon, the galaxy would be rid of every whisper of the word "Jedi," and the lone survivors who scattered through the galaxy like womp rats to a hole would meet their end at the tip of his crimson blade. It may have been true that some of the ratchet slime had managed to elude him before, but soon, like the corrupt politicians below and the pitiful Rebellion hidden away like cowards in the galaxy, they would all meet their end.
His eyes shifted back to his troops below as he observed the never-ending stream of white armor, resembling a river in the monsoon season, flooding around the vast building and trapping all its inhabitants inside. This was why he had suggested to his master an attack during a slightly later hour of the morning—a time when all the senators and delegates would be peacefully settled inside, thus unable to escape or evade them further. His master had merely waved a hand at such a suggestion, acquiescing without much thought or argument. He understood that Vader had a mind for these matters, but the older man had much to say about the protocols of the action, well aware that it was in this area where Vader's insight fell short. The reservation had initially annoyed Vader, but he soon recognized that his master wasn't entirely wrong. After all, he had spent very little time on Coruscant and even less in the public eye. Trained as a secret weapon and a Sith Lord, Vader was ill-suited for the hazards posed by politicians and social protocols. Why would he be? He didn't require those skills. His master was the one equipped for that façade, with displays of political power and words laced with deceptive lies. Vader had hardly engaged in conversation unless it involved a battle briefing or an exchange with his master. He preferred to let his blade do the talking, and with his superior skills, he found that he rarely needed words.
Vader believed that he and his men were not unlike in that aspect. Both were misfits of proper society, isolated from the general public and despised by most civilizations for their actions, simply because they exhibited exceptional skill in warfare while being both the silent and deadly type. Much like Vader and his saber, his men preferred to let their blasters do the talking, more often than not, although he had to admit that they could be a bit chatty among themselves. Even to him, on some occasions, although that usually didn't last long.
Most knew better than to converse with them, either out of shrewd fear or some other emotional discrimination, but Vader and his troopers accepted the isolation all the same. Vader couldn't even remember the last time he'd been in the graces of anyone other than his master or troops, save for last night. This would be the first time in months that Vader stepped foot into the Imperial Senate, and he knew it was the same for many of the troopers.
He had been away from Coruscant for some time now, though he couldn't say for sure how much time had truly passed. The moments blurred together into a chaotic array of havoc and carnage, leading to a less than pleasant and unexpected return. Vader hated Coruscant. He loathed the people, their way of life, and everything that the double-dealing city represented. His hatred for the repugnant planet nearly matched his hatred for his master... only, almost. But more than anything, Vader despised being interrupted during a good hunt, especially one filled with such bloodshed and destruction in the eyes of the enemy.
Vader hadn't concealed his immediate and utmost displeasure upon receiving his master's orders to cease his hunt and withdraw his troops during his moment of triumph. It was difficult for Vader to pull back after such great success and being given such leeway. After he had savored such sweet blood and conjured such intoxicating fear, the Dark Lord of the Sith even considered delaying his response to the direct order for just a moment longer, just enough to finish his hunt. However, that flawed idea died the moment it sprouted in his mind. The young Sith knew better than to disregard his master's orders, even if only for a brief moment, understanding that even the smallest unnecessary delay could lead to unspeakable consequences.
So Vader, as always, had been the faithful servant and loyal apprentice to Darth Sidious. He took action immediately, pulling his troops off the ground and stationing them back on their Star Destroyer before he himself headed in the opposite direction away from his fleet towards the Core Worlds. He ensured to use the entire duration of the flight back to Coruscant to morph himself into the proper Sith his master required, becoming the silent, fear-evoking apprentice rather than the ruthless warhorse.