Location: GE Garrison Hallways
Objective: Decimate and Conquer
Allies: Darth Metus | Aryn Teth | Anastasia Verd | Kainan Wolfe | Katrine Van-Derveld | Katria Vekarr | Daxton Bane | Anya Malvern
Enemies: GE and buddies | Adron Malvern
The sound of battle was dull inside the hallways of the facility, but one resounding noise was clear. Fear. Those who remained within the Garrisons inner levels were now very much aware that they were surrounded. Ancient Eye forces pouring into their Vehicular Bay, halting their retreat as CIS droids swarmed inward.
The Matador stopped, turning a corner as the hallway ahead of his was full of Imperials. Maybe ten, maybe twenty. They were rushing about, grabbing their gear and preparing to leave. They were going nowhere. The walls appeared to darken, doors locking on all sides as the lights sparked and shuddered, metal waning in pain, groaning as all that would be visible to the eyes of the troopers in the hallway were two scarlet red eyes. Glowing in the darkness, standing almost two feet in the air above the rest; towering as the shimmering lights revealed a massive hulking metal form. The Matador activated the magnetic field of his armour, the muscles of his body growing taunt and stiff as the field pushed out from his skin, every molecule of his body was tugged at; ripped forward uncomfortable in a perpetual suffering as the magnetism wretched at his sickly heart.
The agony was impossible to quantify, the Giant shook; shrieking in a animalistic howl that could only be described as entirely inhuman. Dark, embroiled rage was personified in an instant as the agonising pain fuelled his power. The Dark Rage of the force, the accumulated negativity of one being. It all came to a boiling point in that moment, a century long life; ruled for the most part by a being of infinite power in the unknown regions, a violation of untold shame. A death sentence, a life condemned by the very nature of its being. A bottomless pool of rage and pain focused into a violent energy.
A telekinetic shockwave exploded from the Matador, knocking back the first four around to him. The blast caught them in their chests first, the full brunt of the blast shattering bone, small shards splintering into their organs; the kinetic pulse crushing their lungs, livers, and hearts like grapes under a boot. Twenty-Two.Their bodies jolted backward, slamming against the confines of the Durasteel walls that they had hoped would protect them. The Matador dashed forward, a massive chrome foot crushing the foot of one of the fallen as Oribuir came to hand, the massive blade of Beskar exploded with a hot thriving orange plasma, the magma crystal sat within its pommel coming to light through the unorthodox weapon.
The blade cut through the first two like butter, the weight of the weapon causing it to slam into the wall to his right as the Matador swung his blade adeptly in his dominant left hand. Twenty. The Magnetic field pulsated from the massive armoured Chieftain, reflecting blaster bolts as they came. Catching not one but two, once in the throat and the other through the visor and into his eye. Eighteen. His right hand shot outward as the blade curved, turning at a vertical to cover his body as the plasma of the saber reflected bolts on his own. The force ripped a Imperial from his footing, pulling him towards the Matador as his right arm reared backward and collided with the Imperial as he was helplessly sprung forward; the massive weight of the Matador accelerated almost exponentially by the rage inducing enhancement of his strength and speed. The man was obliterated, his upper body was pulverised. Seventeen.
All the Matador could see was a flood of red, the heat of their flesh as it twisted and writhed under his metallic grasp. The surge of their blood as it turned sour, like any animal. The meat was ruined by fear, the Chieftain used the momentum of his strike to propel himself forward; hunching his upper torso as he brought Oribuir to bare, his right hands momentum leading to the hilt as he skewered another; his body falling into halves. Sixteen. It seemed as though some had gained their courage, charging at him as they attempted to circle him in the corridor. The Matador pulled Oribuir close, half-swording the blades edge into the stomach of the Imperial on his right. His hands slid down to the edge of the weapon, ripping it from his chest and thrusting the hilt of his blade outward, swinging it like a hammer as the cross-guard crushed the chest of the Imperial to his left, causing his chest to cave in and blood to spurt against his visored face. Fourteen.
The blaster fire, continued as the Matador's right shoulder took the brunt of the attack, absorbing the brunt of the blaster bolts. His mag-coils were pressured, throwing his neural interface into overdrive as the Matador moved with the intensity of a starving animal. The Chieftains hands came free of Oribuir, dual Gladius' extended from his wrists as he pressed forward; leaping like an animal at the Fourteen remaining as they appeared to have began smouldering through one of the doors. His right Gladius sunk into the closest enemy, the blades broadness crushing his collarbone and causing his head to dangle as the Matador tossed his body spiralling over the heads of his enemies, causing a few to duck as they were soaked in his blood. Thirteen. The Matador ducked, using his momentary cover to change his position; striking his left Gladius into the stomach of another as he turned to move. The closest turned his gun on the Matador's head, firing a slug from his shotgun directly at his eyes.
The bullet breached the magnetic field, scrapping away at the Ceramic Laminate underneath. The Matador's right Gladius crushed his shotgun, his hand moving a few inches upward as a metal hand grasped around the mans face at a downward angle, allowing him to throttle him upward and slamming into the ground. Twelve. The Matador's upper torso twisted backward as he dodged a volley of shots as the door ahead finally came free of its hinges. Allowing a few to escape, his left Gladius carved through another as he pushed his allies back towards the door as they all turned to run. Eleven. The Matador's massive strides carried him faster than they could all fit through the doorway, grabbing an Imperial in his right hand, pushing his chest over himself as he thrust his left Gladius into the neck of his prey, his body falling limp as the Matador's iron grip released him. Ten.
Those that remained had made it through the door, with the Matador quickly following. Only a few foolish enough turned their bodies to save their friends. A total of three, turning to face the Giant in a triangle formation as the others attempted to run around the hallways curve and out of sight. The Matador propelled himself forward, over a thousand pounds of weight in momentum thrust forward as he swung both Gladius at the two adjacent to each other, thrusting both of their bodies over his shoulder as his foot knocked the third back, flying into the wall ahead and splattering violently. Seven.
The Matador charged like a maddened bull, catching one as he turned around the corner with his weight. Crushing the Imperial against the wall, another was just within his reach; slashing down his back with his Gladius, taking the man off his feet as he began to crawl. The Matador took a single step forward, hunching as a metal hand grasped the Imperials foot and flung him backward carelessly, his body crashing into the curvature of the wall behind them, spattering just like the last. Six. The Matador drew to a halt for a moment, seeing those that remained still attempting to run. His eyes ran across them like a bloodhound on its prey, his left hand moving backward; arching behind him as he used the force to call on Oribuir.
The blade danced through the corridor as it returned to his grasp; pulling the body it had been left lodged in for a few metres as it passed through the doorway. The Greatsword did not return to his hand, but rather spiralled down the longer hallway and cut down those who ran. One. A single Imperial managed to duck under the blade, rolling into a crouch as Oribuir pierced the door, holding it in place. The Matador stood, observing as the Imperial loaded his rifle, a low bestial growl escaping his metallic visage as he began to march toward his remaining enemy. The trooper fired, and the Chieftain raised his hand, reflecting the first volley back at the trooper at putting him down almost instantly. Only then, did he call for Oribuir to return to his grasp.
Still, heated battle lingered on every corner of the Garrison. He could feel it, he could feel Srina Talon; amplified in some manner. A strange accumulation of foreign strength pressed form her essence like a morose sent. Perhaps the vile slaughter had driven her feral.
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