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Mig felt a feeling in the back of his head, and was just about to jump from the beams that were sent his way. He growled, about to send another ball of lightning there way he felt a shock of pain through his left eye. He looked. His HUD was gone, and the lightsaber edges were cut out. EMP.... Fun. Mig looked back at the two that shot at him sending Force Lightning their way. He would then look around, seeing the fire headed towards the mental Jedi. His eye widened before he quickly lifted an earth wall in between them and the Bryn, then sent it into the direction of the not so distracted Bryn.
"Hey, demagolka! Not getting them so easily." He then heard Yula again and looked up. Poodooo.... This was bad. He had to stop the missile. Mig focused, quickly sending another earthen wall into the path of the missile, making sure to stop it where it was.
The feint had worked, thankfully, it was a colossal risk that could have ended badly for him, but Cas had an inherent luck that allowed him to pull off dangerously stupid plans and come out unscathed. Luckily for him, this was one of those times. His ears perked and the Knight's brown gaze briefly averted, focusing on the barrier placed between them and Mathieu. The crimson surface splintered before bursting completely, launching small fragments in the direction of both himself and Sylok'Vanari
. Fortunately for the Kiffar, the Bryn's frame should have provided Cas with some protection.
Sylok'Vanari
managed to halt the advance of the amber blade dealing a fatal blow. Cas' boots proceeded to reunite with the ground he previously stood upon and his saber was now locked with the Kukri, each blade representing its master's strength and will as the Jedi and Bryn'adul warriors struggled against each other. Teeth gritted and bared, Cas' held on tightly to the hilt of his blade and kept his feet planted firmly on the ground. His cybernetic arm gave Cas a needed increase in strength against his physically superior adversary, but he knew it wasn't enough.
Fighting against the raw strength of Sylok'Vanari
, Cas drew the Force into himself, surging through his body and electrifying the Jedi Knight, enhancing his physical capabilities. It didn't give Cas the physical strength needed to overwhelm his adversary, but it was enough to keep him in the fight long enough to give his best friend the window needed to strike.
His eyes looked toward Mathieu who was approaching their shared enemy, and a smirk formed on the Kiffar's bronze features. "This was fun and all, really..." he strained "...But now I leave you in the capable hands of my best bud." with Mat closing in, striking low toward the Bryn's right ankle, in perfect unison as Mathieu struck, Cas broke away from the blade lock, jerking his lightsaber in the opposite direction of the Kukri it converged with.
Jumping a few feet backward, Cas landed in a crouch, right palm clutching the ground he skidded back slightly. His eyes now lingered on both Mat and the Bryn, his left wrist rotated, twirling the lightsaber it held before returning to the fight. Sylok'Vanari
may have thought he was tough with his connection to the Force, but the combined might of a Jedi Knight and a Padawan ready to be Knighted were truly a force to be reckoned with in itself.
Rushing back into the fight, Cas dragged his lightsaber behind him and wound it up. When close enough to Sylok'Vanari
the Kiffar delivered an upward diagonal slash, aimed for the front of their foe's thigh.
The only problem is, the enemy can always flip the table back over, leaving you right back at square one.
Smoke trailed over the platform, blocking lines of sight from the cavern to the pit. The rangers had let their blasters hang loosely by the harness and sat ready with grenades in hand. They watched the cloud of smoke as it swirled and billowed. Anticipation pulled their nerves taut. The Bryn were familiar foes to some, but alien beasts to others.
The Bryn forces changed their formations. Bernard watched as their yellow and blue silhouettes moved across the platform. Most of the taller creatures spread out, several others set to work disrupting the efforts of any Jedi that were not already marked off-limits by their lord's implicit challenge. Others still seemed to advance towards the smoke.
Bernard noted the faintest note of satisfaction and scolded himself for it. His trap hadn't sprung quite yet, his focus had to be fully dedicated to the mission, and the mission had proven to be more than just unpredictable. Chaos had subsumed the battlefield and any well-laid plans sailed dangerous waters without light. All they could hang on to now was faith in their chosen strategy. Faith that they could deal with whatever the Bryn would throw at them, even as the mortals they were next to Jedi.
Faith alone was not enough.
Red shards pierced the smoke, leaving trails of black particles in their wake, and struck one of the ranger's legs. More projectiles soon followed with a precision that suggested the smoke barrier may as well not have existed. Several shards struck one of the rangers, exploding into a fine red mist of crystalline and liquid composition. He crashed into the ground from the force of the blow. The other two shot glances back at him, surprised. More of the shards whizzed by, and elsewhere blasts of energy and the violent whir of lightsabres let them know the battle wouldn't wait on them. A quick nod was exchanged and one of the two still standing began to lay down covering fire, firing blindly through the smoke, while the other began the process of dragging their teammate to safety with a string of expletives.
The other team fared a little better. A moment after the shooting recommenced they'd stowed their grenades away and repositioned to return fire. Blue bolts and red shards were exchanged through the smoke. The rangers were nimble enough to remain moving while they fired, finally hunkering down behind the cover of a sheet of metal. Shards clinked and cracked against it, bursting into red clouds in clusters. The Bryn kept them pinned with continuous fire.
Their fate turned for the worst when the Bryn fired their grenades. Bernard saw their trails too late, by the time he opened his mouth to warn the rangers the ordnance had already struck. With nowhere to go for the rangers, it had struck true. Bernard winced as he watched the crimson haze where the rangers had been, crystal shards glittering in the light as they danced to the ground. He found he'd reached out to them with his hand, instinctively drawn forward as though he could have done something to protect them. Once upon a time, he might have, when he still heard the Force's symphony, but now he was deaf to it. Unable to even perform a youngling's trick to save three lives.
His hands curled into fists. He shot a glance towards the other team, still dragging their companion as red trails cut the air around them.
<Get out of there. Now,> the words lacked all embers of geniality.
Ishida had moved to engage the Bryn on the dead ranger's side. Bernard made a note not to concern himself with that side for the moment anymore. On the other side, the hulking creatures advanced through the smoke, trailing behind the rangers, but their eyes betrayed their target was elsewhere. He followed their gaze, and their rifles' aim, to the meditating Jedi. A burst of electricity went through his nervous system as he drew a sharp breath.
"No you don't," he hissed.
The creatures opened fire as they walked. Red lines trailed through the air into the cavern.
Bernard's heart beat heavy in his chest. He heard the shards crack against the cavern's stone, again and again. Each impact scraped against the length of his upper spine. His body moved on its own, turning to rush towards the meditators as they sat helplessly in their trance.
He covered the distance in a few long leaps, but not fast enough. A red crystal embedded itself into the side of one of his charges. He sighed away his frustration, and slid to a stop next to her. She tried to stand, but failed. The shock of her wound was too much to wake to from a meditative trance. Next to her, the professor still dreamed, unaffected by the raging chaos of battle.
"You're coming with me," he informed them, though there was no room for any arguments to the contrary, and he was inclined to believe there wouldn't be any.
He crouched to help the wounded Jedi climb onto his back, then turned to lift the professor up into his arms with efficient motions. With a grunt, he stood up. The Jedis' weight made dull aches course like echoes through his muscles. He became all too aware of his own wounds, the encounter with the giant beast a few minutes earlier had left the Marshal worse for wear than he'd hoped. He grit his teeth and started down the tunnel despite it.
<I'm getting the brains to safety,> he managed to say into the Jedi's comms, in-between laboured breaths.
The rangers caught up, trailing slightly behind Bernard. With distance, the red shards gradually stopped.
Again and again she cut down any Bryn'adul that dared approach the downed Thurion Heavenshield
. Her sword, her vibroshield, her very body, all were weapons as she eviscerated her attackers, dodging and blocking weapons fire.
She started encountering zealots.
This was the first real challenge to her, having already chopped to pieces the likes of an Ultra multiple times. They were smart, used their weapons precisely and seemed to plan ahead almost as much as she her self did. It was difficult to defend both Thurion and herself from the Zealots, and she got several ore spikes in her for her trouble, which she pulled out even as she flipped and twirled their way, shredding viciously into them with a freezing blade, having discovered the weak points on their armor.
Thurion Heavenshield
would never know just how many Bryn'adul Lynda killed to keep him alive. How many she gutted just as they acquired a lock on him. Hers was a different sort of savagery from that of Xiphos. Xiphos was strength and animal cunning combined with icy will and pragmatism.
Lynda was pure, fluid efficiency and predictive algorithms pushed to their limit. A dozen Zelots inflicted what would have been fatal wounds on anyone else, leaving her a lacerated, bleeding, but still healing mess that was still killing Juggernaut and Zealot alike. One impaled her with a glaive, but she pulled her impaled body towards him and rapidly decapitated him, tossing his weapon into the face of a Vaydralin as he aimed at an unconscious Thurion, who at last decided nap time was over in impressive fashion, going back to killing like he had never stopped.
Well, one crisis over, now about solving the other million...
As Lynda decapitated another Bryn'adul, now fully healed, Lynda began to look for Caltin Vanagor
while killing a swarm of drones, arms and legs moving in dizzying patterns as she killed.
"Where are you, Master Meatcake?" Lynda whispered to herself as she sliced a Drone in half from an upward blade arc. Oh, yeah, he felt that before he died. Holy chit did he feel that.
THE NEW JEDI ORDER OBJECTIVE II | HIVEBUSTERS | THE PABOL OFFENSIVE THE DARK KNIGHT
Dagon's landing was graceful and nimble, the years spent fighting crime in the under levels of Coruscant had bestowed him with agility and athleticism usually unfound in those with his physique. While his telekinetic attack seemed to have been shrugged off, the padawan had ended in a position of an advantage. Where he lacked, Dagon had always compensated with his wit. Whether that would be enough today remained to be seen.
Before him the opportunity to plant his blade into the Titan's back opened. Everything else around seemed to fade away in a blur of irrelevance, a tunnel vision's framework - the opening was all there is. He plunged the blue saber at the Chieftain's back, putting his whole strength into the strike. The strike that could finally decapitate the head of evil, the harbinger of death; the strike that could spark the flames of hope across the galaxy.
You’ve no doubt read that Caltin Vanagor may not pay full attention to the Jedi Code of the time, this is true, it is because he follows the original nine Tenets. This gives him his perspective, his values, and ideals, and is what keeps him on the track he thrives on. The Jedi and their values change (like everyone in the galaxy) over time but these Tenets withstand the test of it, they always remain what they are and they make the most sense if you really think about them. For example.
The Ultra that is attacking the big guy right now is Force Sensitive and using what skill he does have very well. Caltin could respect this if it was not for the fact that he was attacked from behind, there was no honor in that and it angered him. The Jedi Code would speak of “anger leading to the Dark Side”, but the first Tenet:
"Emotions are unavoidable, but lessons may be learned from the feeling of these emotions. However, emotions of such strength as to cause a Jedi to act or behave in a manner different from rational thought are dangerous, and must be avoided at all costs for a Jedi to truly master the Force."
… says otherwise.
Caltin was angry at the actions of this foe, not because the Bryna’dul was trying to kill him, that is what is done in battle, in war. That is why his counterattack consisted of a bifurcating cut into the warrior’s side and an uppercut with his Toraynor hand separating upper and lower torso. Not his first, second, third, or even fifteenth choice of maneuver, but it was the Ultra or him, he was left with little time to react and less choice.
One thing that the Jedi do understand, to an extent, though, even in the Tenets, is attachments. To go into battle it is important to do so in a focused manner, this has been addressed, yes, but attachments can motivate as much as they distract. The Second Tenet of the Force does agree:
"Feelings of attraction and love are to be explored carefully and with rationality in mind. Romantic pathways must be treated with care so as to avoid pain and anger. A Jedi must not, however, explore the realm of marriage. To love another is dangerous yet acceptable if treated with care, but attaching oneself to another life in the bonds of matrimony cannot be allowed. Attachment leads to the dark side, and to commit to the way of the Jedi means giving up personal desires and living for the benefit of all life."
Granted, there is only one person in this galaxy that Caltin can say that he “loves” and she is nowhere near Nar Kreeta right now. She is sitting somewhere in a hoverchair trying to reign in a Padawan and teach another Master about what they missed over the last three thousand years. The last time he faced the Bryn’a’dul she was in his head, she was all over his mind because of what happened to her. He was unable to do his job and was soundly defeated (though don’t tell him that). The big guy learned from that though, and the squad of Drones was learning just what it was like to face a Jedi who is protecting the thought of his friends, his family, his loved ones staying safe. The thought of their safety, and those around him, that was pushing the massive Jedi Master to push through those drones. Make no mistake, these warriors were not cannon fodder, they were tremendous in their skills, but Caltin is a Jedi that has been around for a long time and has seen his own share of fighting. They didn’t stand a chance.
The third Tenet might confuse some as it was said to re-enforce the second in many respects, but this was something that the big guy took to heart as well:
"The Jedi are to respect life, in any form, and only take life when necessary. A Jedi must put the need of the community over the needs of individuals. A Jedi is not to act for solely personal gain or greed - the good of all must be his goal."
He was fighting so that no one else had to. The Bryn’a’dul may deserve a “seat at the table” in many respects, but they are taking seats from others. He was there to take them back, and give everyone the chance that the Bryn was taking unceremoniously. The red line was being drawn with every step he took, and it was being drawn in permanent ink.
The next tenet was exactly in line with his current way of thinking, he was acting as a “Guardian”, not just a Guardian of the Force, or the galaxy, but a Jedi Guardian. Caltin was drawing as much fire and attention (some might say “aggro”) as he could so that others could pick their targets. He was trying to make it easier for those under him, or less inclined to fighting to be able to survive.
"A Jedi is to protect the weak and defenseless. A Jedi may not kill a defenseless individual. Should a Jedi be in a position where aid may be given to the weak or the poor, then the Jedi should do what they can to aid the situation within the guidelines of the Code, the Tenets, and of course the law."
The massive Jedi Master considered absolutely no one “weak” and none around him “defenseless”, everyone had their own types of strength, in a manner of speaking. What he did understand was that he could hold the line longer than many, so he did. He plaid to his own strengths. Maybe that goes against the next tenet (because of his armor and newer lightsabers) but that was the trust fund established when he was born so long ago.
"Ruling power and financial wealth are not permitted for a Jedi, as these lead to arrogance and self-pride. Self-pride is a complex that eats the heart and mind of all, including Jedi. If a Jedi thinks he or she is greater than other beings, equal to other beings, or less than other beings then they have succumbed to self-pride. Guard against these three complexes night and day."
Sure, he was loaded financially speaking, but you would never know it. The ship may be one thing, but it serves a purpose, the equipment he has is for survival. Everything else is frivolous. In fact, it was this new equipment that may well be saving his life. He would not have been able to heal in the Wellspring of Life if not for his ship, he may not very well be cutting into the armor of a Juggernaut (who is trying to crush his spine) with Conservator but Eloah is new. He did not have use for wealth, but it had its uses. Power? If you think he ever looked for power, take a gander at the records and see if he’s ever been on a Jedi Council. Oh, he’s been asked, but politely refused every time(he doesn’t see himself as any different from anybody else, never has).
The last two tenets:
"A Jedi must consider the living and cosmic manifestations of the Force - one must be mindful of the present, but also look to both the future and the past for guidance."
… and…
"A Jedi does not fight for adventure or glory. A Jedi fights for the survival of civilization and the survival of the people within it. The greatest Jedi is not the one who defeats an army of thousands, but the one who triumphs over himself. Your importance lies in your devotion to life."
They sort of mesh together for him as he is, was, and always has been a student of history, and the phrase “Those who fail at history, are doomed to repeat it.” Right now, Caltin was embracing what made him a Jedi in the past, he is forgetting the attempt he made to “evolve” and “move on” from it. This combat situation, this is who he was, and the big guy was going to “dance with the girl that brought him.”
The debris falling from the ceiling? The massive Jedi Master realized the futility in sending those chunks of rock upward. He decided on the better idea of sending them forward, right at the other Bryn. In a manner of speaking, the Bryn’a’dul were attacking their own. Looking right at the Zealot Commander, he didn’t know if any of them would understand him or not, he didn’t care.
Still haven’t figured out who we are yet? Allow me to elaborate. We are Jedi. We are Rangers. We are Marines. We are Mandalorians. We are sons. We are daughters. We are husbands. We are wives. We are fathers. We are mothers. We are the right hand of Justice. We are the left hand the Force and we are the boot that is going to kick your sorry butts all the way back to the hole you crawled out of!
Man... wow... that was beautiful... brings a tear to my eye.
Shut up and tell my story.
He had more to say, he loves his monologues, but the fighting continued until he was standing in the middle of at least two squads of Bryn soldiers. His Toraynor was reading to go, and he was done holding anything back.
Get Clear!
Caltin knew that there were more Bryn soldiers above them, trying to bring down the proverbial house. He decided to help them by taking a deep breath and pushing upward through the Force, in an attempt to cave in the tunnel around him and bring the rest of the Bryn down with it. Anyone who heard (and understood) him would be clear in time. He would shield himself when he could.
The battle continued all around them, the Paladins, Valkyri and Jedi throwing themselves against the concentrated fire of the Juggernauts. All the same, their enemy continued to gain ground as Galak dropped his Lancer - wrist blades extended from his gauntlet as he fought against the charging Valkyri, their push splintered into smaller segments by the attacks of the Excavators. His compact shield blocked the strike of their powerful blade, strength pushing their arms aside as he ripped through the Valkyri soldiers. Shimmers of blue plasma, striking against his chest as the earth shook and cracked above them. The Primarch would have them buried soon, crushed under endless rubble bar the slabs already parted. The enemy was fighting on more than one front, avoiding debris and the firepower of his own and the Zealots. But it wasn't enough, they were still outnumbered.
Galak was quickly becoming surrounded, enemies on every flank as one of the Jedi sent out a ripple of lightning towards his men. The Warlord leapt in the path of the strike, absorbing its entirety as every muscle in his body tensed and tore. Through gritted teeth, the Warlord managed a few steps further, his force-resistant armour allowing him to continue to fight as the northern generator's artificers alerted him to the situation.
"Warlord, the enemy has infiltrated the northern generator!"
Galak's wrist-blades pierced the flesh of a Jedi, a padawan's saber pushed aside as her ribcage was torn in two. Splitting into halves as she choked on her own blood. Galak tore the blades back, bringing his sheild up as an explosion struck its centre, sending him skidding to his knees.
"Transition the grid to the eastern generator! The northern shield will be lost, but we can still hold the grid!"
An order, one that would cost the lives of every Draelvasier still in that command centre, but a necessary one. The northern segment of the city shield began to dissipate, but the grid held as the eastern Generator took over the burden as the facility holding the northern generator and itself were destroyed. The battle continued around them, Galak nearly thrown to his knees as a segment of debris was flung in his direct, taking him from his feet again as he attempted to rise. A damning result to the efforts of his own kind, the Warlord turned where he lay; ready to face the approaching enemy as returning fire exploding from behind their lines. A rush of fresh Ultras reached the battlefield. One he recognised, Gordrak at his aid. He gave the Ultra a nod, the others rushing into the fight to reinforce the Juggernauts and dwindling Drones. They were stronger than Juggernauts. Thrice over as durable, pushing back any advance with ease with grenade launchers, targeted rocket fire tearing any debris thrown at them out of the sky as their superior weaponry tore apart everything in their path.
No ground would be given. Nothing for the Concord, they had fought for inches whilst the Drael had taken systems. If they did not realise the futility in their efforts now, they would never see the error of their ways, the weakness.
"Primarch, bury them now! Ultras, everyone! Surge!"
The Ultras, Juggernauts and Drones all fought to hold the Concord, fighting with everything they had to hold the line.
Varn's blade was matched by another as his padawan entered the fray. Plasma cut hide, dealt stinging blows to what dwelt beneath. The draelvasier who stood before them was changed by the wounds inflicted upon him by the Jedi. No more did he attack with vicious fervor. No more did he stalk the knight around the tower as if he were the hunter and Varn the prey. Something bubbling and viscous leaked out from the wound the Zabrak had dealt. A sign that the situation had turned.
Varn meant to press the advantage.
When the creature lashed out at Andromeda, plans changed. Stepping in front of his ward, Varn was quick to push her away. He had not intended to weather the blow in her stead, but he did. It was a mistake. Even before something in his shoulder ripped and began to bleed, he knew that was true. Stumbling back a step, two, the knight did his best to retain his balance as the wounds of Sev Tok and a thousand similar battles made themselves known. At first, they were faint. Barely there, they appeared like ghosts from the knight's past. They brought with them pain, and a terrible sense of mortality that the knight had done a good job of ignoring until now.
They continued to haunt him as he steadied himself. He thought he was stronger than this. Maybe he was. Maybe he had been weak all along.
Hiding it well, the knight approached the draelvasier as it cowered away, a hand clenched protectively over it's gut. The thing bled, and if it bled, Varn could kill it. He was pretty sure he could, anyway. Raising his blade two-handed, Varn was about to bring it down in a powerful vertical slash when the Bryn' pulled a pistol. Varn dropped into a guard stance. Again, it was a mistake. The shells in the Bryn's weapon weren't meant for him, it turned out.
The pistol sounded. Varn felt the ripples of impact through his boots as the magnitude of the force behind the shot made itself known. What did the draelvasier intend, exactly? To scare him off? Taking a step closer, Varn made ready to deliver another two-handed blow when the ground beneath his feet began to crack. For a moment, he stood motionless, the sound of crumbling stone a lengthy groan in his ears. Realization dawned.
Twisting, Varn reached out with the Force, Pushing his padawan back further. He knew now what the red-scaled creature intended. He also knew that he didn't have the time or the means to kill his opponent before gravity pulled them both down. Maybe he could've done things differently, but the chance to do so was gone now. History. Recent, and full of regret. The pistol sounded again.
Sylok could feel the muscles in his body contract. Each inch he devoted toward the Jedi Knight (Cadere
) meant second to the weaklings death. The deadlock had somehow turned them, each eliciting a refusal to give ground. To the Ashaka, it was surprising. It seemed the Jedi Knight was capable of far more strength than he considered, the golden blade slowly leaning closer to him. He could feel the nasty heat of the plasmatic blade. Its vibrant hue of golden sun, reminding him of just that. Sylok was Aeravalin, exhaustively hot temperatures were a deadly source of weakness for him. Even so, he stared into the deathly yellow blade and grinned. Sylok's teeth shifted, yet again. Using his upper body strength, the struggle for the Jedi continued.
What came next, Sylok already felt in the force. Another assailant (Mathieu Brion
) being thrown into the mix. If it weren't for his dull signature in the force or the sound of each drill-like bullet tearing through the air to warn him, Sylok would've been caught entirely off-guard. Even with the subtle warnings, the golden blade lifted from his father's Kukri. The Aeravlin felt his foot step forward, catching himself from the momentum of his powerful lean against Cadere
. He was free, but in reality, he was being treated like a caged animal. If not for the puny Kiffar's retreat, his left leg would have received two devastating wounds. Each shot barley missing his leg, a slight scratch teasing his calf. It stung, but barely. Only, the third charge barreled too fast. Its trajectory perfectly residing in the Aeravlin's blind spot. The drill tip etched through the back plate of his armor. High pitched shrills tore through the room as the bullet proceeded deeper, before an explosive wave of flame erupted through Sylok's armor. The wispy motion of each flame digging into his backside felt like the sun. Molten burns causing his semi-thin layer of carapace to flake, before the backside of his armor became ash. Screams of pain escaped him, the searing flesh of his own body crying for a cure. Sylok's head snapped upward as his maw opened and let out a resounding roar of despair.
It burned.
Not just the outside of his back, but the inside. Small flares of needle based pain coursed through his internal nerves. Each one pinging messages to the Draelvasier's brain that breathing was hard. Sylok's teeth clamped viciously, saliva following his upper jaw as it shut. The indentured jaw line showing his pain. His mind raced for an explanation, but only questions reached his mind.
Another jolt of searing flesh came, only his paralyzed thoughts kept him from reacting. His right ankle almost giving away the weakness flooding his body. Tiny pin pricks of realization struck him right through to his core. Is this it? Death...
Sylok had never questioned death. If anything, his time being an Ashaka caused him to see more death's than that of his own possible chances of dying. His eyes strained to see the ceiling above, hazy images of torn metal and a gaping holes forming throughout the upper half above them all. Sylok's head arched straight now, eyes trying to make out the other Jedi. (Cadere
) He could still see the swaying motion of the golden sun rushing for him. Sylok's body gave, falling onto his right knee from the immeasurable pain. He felt the force wane in him, the shields above breaking down. A shudder of disbelief resonated, clicking everything into place. Not only would he die, so would the tower. He tried to lift his arm, but the sudden spike of ruthless hurt from his back disallowed it. The Kukri hit the ground and just as the slashing motion of the Jedi (Cadere
) came for him, everything stopped.
The tremble in his heart added more beats per second. The gears of his mind began to churn with every possible outcome. An instinct that only Draelvasier could have. The drowned out explosion from above sent the last wave of destruction needed. Sylok could feel it in the ground, the bending clash of fruitful disintegration. In mere seconds the Ashaka's shields gave, gravity eating away at the structure before everything left them. The steel metal floor exploded inward, beams and debris from above from Osam
's mortar shot following in tow. Sylok tried reaching for his father's blade, but as the yellow saber of death went to finally end his life, the ground took him. Metal and stone pelted him as he descended, his grey stormy eyes watched for only a moment.
Sylok slowly reached upward with his left arm, the last of what the force could provide surged through him. His hand gripped on the most faintly lit thread of the force he could find. Without thought, he jerked his arm backwards, beams and outer layers of the building collapsing in unison as he he did. The only thing he felt was pain, before his eyes closed.
An unmistakable scent of burning flesh filled Andromeda’s nose in wave after acrid wave. It dominated all the fire, smoke, and destruction without even trying. She needed little sight to know that the duo of onslaughts had been too much for their assailant. In the heat of her elation, she had little time to react to the arm that swung out at her suddenly. Even less time to react to the master that jumped to her defence.
Varn hit her harder than she had expected. Andromeda tumbled backwards a few inches before the back of her heel caught on a bit of jutted debris. The misstep would have sent her tumbling to the ground were it not for a wave of force that caught her suddenly in the centre of her chest. Breathless, she was swept back, further away from the growing shadow of Varn and the wounded beast. She wanted to scream and cry and fight against it. She likely would have, if she hadn’t smacked her head clean against the corner of a partially crumbled wall.
Everything went dark. Truly and terrifyingly dark.
When she woke a few moments later she was greeted by the sour taste of copper on the back of her teeth. Shakily, she reached up to feel the back of her head. Before she could even find the damage amidst the mass of white-blonde hair, she had pulled her fingers back sharply. They returned covered in warm, sticky liquid. Andromeda would have bet what little eyesight she had that it was red. It wasn’t shocking to her. If anything, it served as a harsh and sudden reminder of how it had come to be. Wearily, she turned her head to where she last remembered she was. To where she last remembered Varn had been.
As she scrambled rather clumsily to her feet, the sound of a pistol rattled her eardrums. Andromeda snapped her head in the direction of the fight. Only to see nothing but the outline of Varn’s torso slipping through a hole that looked like a portal into the depths of space. Panicking, Andromeda dove forward. With what little strength she had, she reached out with the force to grasp at her master, but it was too late.
For the second time since they had entered Nar Kreeta space, Andromeda was gripped by a weightless feeling. Her stomach twisted in knots as the floor crumbled piece by piece beneath her. As she slipped across dust-covered floor down into the very same empty blackness her master had fallen into she grasped desperately at every nook and cranny her tired fingers could find. But it was no use. The thunderstorm of debris always found a way to knock her free. When a well-aimed chunk cracked against her cheekbone, Andromeda, reeling with pain and terror, finally gave up.
She finally submitted to the darkness.
Perhaps blindness was a blessing. If she tried hard enough, this was all just a nightmare. She would wake soon, with a sudden start. Maybe bathed in warm sunlight seeping through stained glass windows in a marble palace, surrounded by lush green fauna and familiar, loving faces. A woman who looks very much like her would soothe the fear and anxiety in an angelic voice. She would laugh and say it was all just a fallacy, created by a tired and weary mind.
As the darkness enveloped her, Andromeda found peace. Whoever and whatever was waiting for her at the end had to be better than this.
Not all his attacks landed. It was never expected but the one that did land seemed effective. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Padawan took note of how this one seemed to be quite uncomfortable with fire but none of it was ever present in his surface thoughts. Sweeping in to slash at the right ankle of his foe, soon after Cassie's strike would land, Mathieu's focus and determination was immense. The foe already seemed close to defeat and if so, his end would be swift.
Then, a familiar sound could be heard, and the SCC tower shook. The sound was one which Mathieu had already heard twice on Sarka. Osam he thought as his eyes zapped over to the battle that was waged in parallel with his own. It was the Mortar launcher the Risen Bryn had used from the tunnel to widen the entrance and later to blow both himself and Mathieu away. So he did survive. the thoughts which crossed the Morellian's mind were many. He wondered if Varn was alright and he wondered how Osam had managed to survive. The creature - or perhaps, man - had asked for mercy that time. And now, he was here pulling the same tricks as last time. Was it truly right to spare a dangerous foe who would come back and cause harm onto oneself and others? There wouldn't be much time for the thoughts to be properly processed as large amounts of dust and debris rained down from the ceiling before both it and the floor started to give way. It was hard to think of much when the very foundation upon which one stands is crumbling and even harder to complete a strike against someone's ankle. As his left foot touched upon the floor it just kept going down along with the metal tiles, causing him to momentarily loose balance and drop his slug thrower.
His free hand reached around blindly for something to hold on to as he realised what was happening. If there was anything that could keep him from falling down into the hole that was now expanding, he'd take it. Unfortunately, all he managed to take hold of was the grip of the sword which Sylok'Vanari
had used. Helpless to do much, Mathieu too, started to fall as the tiles and metal plating underneath gave way in what seemed like a chain reaction from the earlier explosion and the following loss of structural support. All amplified by the dropship which weighed down on the building. Mathieu's eyes fixed onto a cable and a stable beam which seemed to grow more distant - instead of something which could keep him up, he now held onto something which seemed rather useless. But the Bryn blade was a blessing in disguise. As he flailed about in the descent downwards, the weapon bit into a piece of the structure which was still stable, giving the Jedi enough room for manoeuvre in order to stick his other blade into a nearby spot.
The pillar which he seemed to have managed to attach himself to was far from stable - but that was more than what could be said for the floor upon which he had stood and the ceiling which had crumbled along with it. His sabre was burning through the metal whilst it was moaning underneath the weight of the more primitive weapon - hanging on did not seem like a sustainable choice. Hanging on was, however, not the first thing on the Padawan's mind. "Cassie!!" he roared as debris, destroyed computers and beams fell down from above. Echoes of his own voice were mixed with the sounds of destruction. "Cassie!? Varn!" he continued, worried about his fellow team members as he hung on for his life, not knowing what was to be found in the blackness of the hole below. "Andromeda?! Can you guys-" the sentence would never be completed - for whilst the Padawan was screaming down at the abyss for his friends, a command console was crashing down from above. It crashed down at his head, causing his torso to ricochet backwards as the two blades were dislodged from their ever weakening position, robbing him of his anchor. Slipping into unconsciousness, the fact that the Padawan would be unable to save himself from the continued fall became increasingly evident. It seemed as if he would share the same fate as the others, still uncertain of their status.
It had been such a simple concept. The Warlord would utilize his Pulverizer handgun to launch a high-explosive shell directly into the already weakened floors of the Surface Command Center. With the foundations of the mighty structure already battered by the crashlanding of an enemy shuttlecraft, there was little doubt that the flooring would give away, and both he and the nearest pair of Jedi would find themselves hurtling into the lower floors. Of course, Osam was not so foolish to think that they would only fall a single floor - the added weight of the one he was on would doubtless crush the already damaged one below.
But the consequences of his actions had proven to be far more severe than he had anticipated when he pulled the trigger. The lower levels too had suffered collateral damage as a result of the crashlanding and furthermore as a result of whatever other missiles and impacts had stricken against the Surface Command Center while he had not been paying attention. The Warlord briefly saw a glimpse of the outdoors, coated in Sun Quaker ink, the Voul'dakesh provoked into spraying their gaseous detritus into the air where it would blind and prevent their enemies from sight.
He fell - the whisper of Draeyde in his ears as the flesh-eating chiropteran fiends were released from their cages, the swarm rustling around the exterior of the building, eager to hunt and kill the foes of the Bryn'adul. Why had they waited so late into the battle to utilize such a powerful weapon? Perhaps they had realized that the enemy was now and truly entrenched, and yet - would they have time to react to the thousands-strong wave of terror before it stripped them down to bone and sinew?
Doubtless the alien races at their side would be safe from the swarm, and the Sun Quaker ink while prevalent would almost certainly not prove too terribly lethal, especially now that they were funneling toward the Central Section and the rail-stations there where they could stab the foe in the spine. They'd leave the forces of the enemy still locked within the great dome of the Eastern Section to fend off the Draeyde and the ink.
The floor yearned for flesh and metal, the gaping maw swallowing up the entirety of the floor before them, the weightless sensation of falling surging into the hybrid's stomach before it had reached conscious recognition. His intestines felt like they would burst out of his throat mid-fall, but they held their ground. His twin hearts beat faster and faster with the shock of freefall - and then he was relieved of that pressure as he slammed directly into the floor beneath, and it came tumbling down too. He saw a flurry of limbs - Draelvasier and humanoid as they tumbled - but whether they were members of the Aeravalin support staff, or Sylok, or the Jedi was impossible to tell.
Slamming into a metal beam knocked the air from him and sent him into a headlong tumble, further and further down, the Surface Command Center falling apart at its very seams and rattling down in an concussive conclusion. Debris and detritus and terror rained from above - even the Draeyde were not so fierce as to dive headlong into a collapsing building, and they too gave a wide berth to the fall, leaving only the building's inhabitants to suffer the terror of the plunge.
No pit was without end, and no grave without its bottom, and the Eastern Command Center was no different. With a wretched slam the Warlord made contact with the ground, whatever remnant of self-control he held spilling out of his throat as his intestines were forcibly shaken by the slam, and bile filled the head of the Flesh Vessel, searing against his own cheeks. The Kraemonen too shuddered in pain at the force, but quickly went about the work of clearing away the vomit. The eye-socket was cleared for view just in time to witness a forty-foot chunk of steel bend over and crush him.
Waking up was a painful affair if not one filled with excitement and a surprising amount of vitality. A half-dozen injections had gone off throughout the Warlord's body, each one spilling one form of medication or another into his system. Some of these were hemostatic, others adrenal, and at least one had been provided to subdue the ever-growing effect of overstimulation. The Kraemonen for all of its wonders was still quite new to the idea of medicinal treatment, after all, and had perhaps been overzealous in their application.
Osam gazed up at the steel beam, feeling the weight of the portion which had snapped off and landed atop him, watching as it pressed down against his legs. One of them felt at least mostly fine, but the other was aflame with stinging pain. It felt as if though someone had taken a canister of Cryoban and spilled it over the limb.
"It is fractured in several places." offered the Hivemind at the thought. Osam grit his teeth together, turning the limb ever-so-slightly until he felt a more severe pain shoot through it. It was important to know exactly how much he could afford to move the thing, but he had hoped for an answer better than 'not at all'.
"The others? Dead? Gone?" He hissed.
"Buried. There are... two near us. The Ashaka and one of the Jedi." The worm-mind offered.
The Flesh Vessel had done wonders to protect the body of the Warlord. In truth, it had been designed to absorb exceptional shock, though it was more suited to the act of stopping high-power rifle rounds than preventing the crushing weight of an entire structure. The leg was undoubtedly evidence of that, as well as a number of other spots around his body where the Hide had been badly bruised and pressed inward, and subsequently where the Warlord and the worms had suffered their own injuries. None seemed fatal... none so debilitating that the pain injectors couldn't deal with them, but they certainly had taken the fight out of him.
Actually - the stimulants felt like they'd taken the fight out of him. Khaeus alive, but it felt like his hearts would detonate if he tried to fight now.
He couldn't stay trapped here though. Gradually, the hybrid lifted himself to a sitting position, and took hold off the chunk of steel. The pillar that had fallen toward him had broken off about half-way through its collapse. That was a blessing because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would have died had the entire thing struck him. With the heave of medically-stimulated muscles and the blessed might of the Kraemonen, he hefted the chunk, sending it off to the side so that he could stand - or rather so that he could limp and hop.
Keeping one hand on the nearby wall of debris to steady himself, the Warlord hopped around the remains of the Surface Command Center, settling his gaze upon those two figures that had joined him in his section of pit.
The first was the blind learner-Knight. The one who had struck him while he was mid-clash. The one who had aimed for his limbs instead of going for the kill-shot in his abdomen. The hybrid drew closer, hovering overtop the blind woman, reaching for a weapon at his side only to discover that none remained. That was no matter... he could simply crush her head under his foot. He recognized the fallacy of that idea the instant he attempted to put any weight at all under his other leg.
In truth, she seemed dead already. Perhaps she had expired in the fall. He could indulge his cravings... fill his mouth with the delicious cartilage of her nose and her cheeks and her ears. Stuff his belly with the delicacy of soft skin, but... he was so tired. So so very tired - and what purpose would be solved by weighing himself down. No... no... he had only moments left before he would collapse. He needed to focus on the more important things. He was Warlord now, and though his stomach desired to stuff itself with her guts, he would simply need to wait until the battle had concluded.
Limping away from the woman, he now saw a far more desirable target. The fallen Ashaka - the allied Seer who had granted him support in his plight against the Jedi, both here and briefly upon Sev Tok and even in battles before that. When Osam had been stricken with the blood poison of the Sith - when he'd nearly sawed off his own leg to make the pain stop, the Ashaka had been there to rescue him, to save him from death's embrace. Now, gazing at the battered and crumpled figure of the unconscious Ashaka - he might have expired as well - he knew that he needed to bring him out of this metal grave.
Even if he was dead, Osam owed him that much.
Leaning over the Ashaka, and taking hold of his lithe figure with the help of the Flesh, he carried the lengthy companion in his arms. "A debt owed... a debt paid. Let's go, Sylok."
He didn't even think of the Zealot's blade until he was half-way out of the mess of debris. Until the stimulants began to overdose him and he felt his body starting to collapse under their weight. That blade had marked his journey, his ascension, it had marked everything that he had been. It was his first gift, the one that had saved him from the plight of being Sraelvun, the one that had led him to becoming someone better.
But he was someone new now, and if the future was to be gained even the most valuable past needed to be sacrificed.
He stepped under an alcove of steel carved by the fallen Surface Command Center, and laid Sylok gently against its protective wall where neither ink nor fire would touch his flesh. Osam's hands twitched and jittered with such intensity that he could see it even through the Flesh. It was too much, he could barely feel himself breathe - his muscles wanted to move, but they were hard-pressed to achieve action. He felt the touch of arrhythmia as a shot of dizziness, felt as one of his hearts gave out under the pressure to do more.
He fell to his knees, gazing out into the battlefield with glassy eyes and thought of the words that himself had uttered only moments ago - that to be strong was not the absence of weakness, but overcoming it.
"But not all weakness can be overcome." He whispered telepathically to the Kraemonen, feeling as his other heart stilled. He didn't feel it when he collapsed prone into the dirt and when consciousness ceased he felt nothing at all.
"No... but we can try." The Hivemind spoke to itself even as it flooded the hybrid with ever more chemicals.
His efforts were refuted, the Jedi within the tunnels destroying whatever his Excavators threw in their direction. It did not matter, Drek'ma continued to direct his focus to the Excavators. Above ground, the massive metal colossus thrown down by the Confederates churned into misshapen metal under the strain of Hadad. The massive serpent continued to encircle the castle as it was pulled deeper into the earth, its grand maw snarling near the tip now as the creature shook with effort - bending the massive castle to a near snap as its black spines encircled, cutting threw layers and layers of metal and deploying droids within. But it wasn't finished not yet. The staff fell from the Primarch's grasp as two hands extended out. He walked to the edge of the battlement, rising to stand upon the pier.
Each hand reached out in the vague direction of his beasts, Al-Hadad was easy to place whilst the Excavators were not. He searched, his senses stretching beyond the physical. Beyond the metric-tons of dirt and metal and rock between he and them. He felt the distance, the width did not weaken his connection as he commanded those within the periphery of the battle to halt. All at once, they focused on burying the entire area. But it would require his strength and determination to see through. As would the battle of titanic proportions on the edge of the super-construct. His hands shook, slowing to a steady focus. He felt the desperation of Warlord Galak, and he understood the need.
All across the battlefield, the Siege Towers continued to decimate any surface forces daring to push through their grid system, the might of the Bryn'adûl reigned supreme. Unity was their strength, in the sky the Kraemonen protected them and below, the serpents vanquished their enemies. On the surface, the Draeyde and their storms of darkness struck fear into the hearts of the weak. The current in the river shifted, the Akhenaton and the Vaydralen were in union and their future was secured.
Well done, Osam. Now we may fight unhindered.
His hands, closed into fists as power surged from his palms. In one stroke, the tunnel system began to collapse behind the Concord forces, metric tons of metal and rock crashing down behind and around them; all but their very most front-line would be consumed in rock. Above, Al-Hadad tore the castle in half - two-thousand metres of shredded metal crashing down into the surface of the barren area it had destroyed. The great serpent reached for the sky, screaming to the fleet above in victorious glory. Its battle cry would echo across the entire city, the earth rumbling for hundreds of miles as the all powerful Al-Hadad dove for the comfort of the earth once more.
Tense hands matched a rapidly beating heart, his eyes shifting between the Akhenaton and his own as the massive Rattolijan deliberated, slowly calculating. There was a simple logic to this, they should've helped each other. But, Quoron understood the paranoia that had stricken them all, he had heard of the whispers of the Warlord Amok. It was only when Osam's voice came through the mind stones and barrack speakers did the Vandal Captains fears begin to become true. They had been lied to, all of them. But it still saddened his heart, whilst the Akhenaton and Vaydralen had no true reason to hate one and other it hurt him to know that a Draelvasier could hate them so much.
He hoped Crald would see reason also, he had to. Yet his arms remained raised, hidden blades ready to be extended if it came to it. Even if he wished no harm upon the Akhenaton he would still fight for his own. Every second felt like an hour, watching the slow and purposeful movements of Craldzaer before he finally gave in to reason and compassion. A wash of calm and relief came over the Vaydralen, sighing as his arms hesitantly lowered to his sides. When Crald fell, Quoron darted in to catch him; he could see that Crald was wounded. Badly wounded, internally bleeding and a few smaller exterior injuries.
"I've got you."
He attempted to offer words of comfort, but he didn't know how much comfort meant to be a creature of legion such as the Akhenaton. He was right, they had been betrayed. But not just by the Warlord, but by themselves. They had so easily given in to weakness, so easily been fooled. It was time to prove to not the Draelvasier, but themselves that they could be strong. A furrowed brow replaced his sympathetic observation, nodding to Crald as he stood; taking the beam rifle from his back.
"I will, Crald. I will protect your people, I promise. Stay safe."
With that, it was not only he who had finally turned their gaze to the Concord forces assaulting the east. But all of them, Akhenaton and Vaydralen fought together. They fought as the smoke rolled in, the Draeyde attacking as their unified force began to push back their enemy that had been slaughtered them.
Nar Kreeta was his home, and he would fight for not just it. But the Akhenaton as well.
It worked, the non-verbal plan put in place by the Knight and Padawan pulled off. Following the strike to the thigh Cas had delivered, he slid passed the tall Bryn'adul warrior only stopping slightly behind him. The Kiffar's slender frame spun around to meet his foe once more, ready to continue the fight. His eyes broadened at the sight of Sylok'Vanari
on one knee, he'd expected more of a fight but then with the amount of damage taken in the span of a few minutes, Cas understood.
Without hesitation, the Jedi Knight approached his downed enemy and raised the humming yellow blade above his head, ready to detatch the Bryn's head from his neck. Feeling immense fury and hatred toward the Bryn and the Draelvasier's species, he desperately wanted to end the monster's life... after all, Cas would be doing the galaxy a favour, righting the wrongs this one person had committed across the galaxy. So, the question was... why did he hesitate?
Was it the threat of falling to the Dark side, killing through anger and disdain or was it the simple fact that he still upheld his strong distaste for killing an unnarmed enemy? His blade continued to hover in the air, but before Cas could make the decision, the deafening sound of Osam
's Pulverizer attacked the Kiffar's eardrums. Cas' head whipped in the direction of the concurrent skirmish between Varn, Andromeda and the bastard that killed Zephyr, before he could deduce what had happened the Knight felt the ground begin to rumble, sending tremors through his skeleton.
Cas would not have time to think, doing what he did best he simply reacted and proceeded to spring his body upward. His lightening fast reflexes granted him the time needed to avoid collapsing with the falling surface, then lied the next issue, what did he have to keep himself up. As fast as he had leapt, gravity was faster, beginning to drag him to the bottomless void below him. Cas' eyes lingered on a pillar still being held up, but hanging from the ceiling like an icicle, the Kiffar's right arm levelled in the direction of the pillar he saw and a grappling hook shot out of his vambrace. The durable wire wrapped itself around the pillar, pulling Cas' frame toward it with every rotation the grappling hook made around the pillar.
Raising his legs as he drew nearer, the bottom of Cas' boots met the pillar's surface and the Jedi Knight held himself upright. Brown eyes scanned the immediate area as he looked for anyone, someone to save. Panic and fear began to creep in when he struggled to find any of his allies, only to hear the voice of his best friend, calling out to him, or Varn, or Andromeda. He looked around frantically for the familiar broad frame of the Morellian. Cas then spotted Mat, on a nearby pillar close to him albeit lower down, hanging on for dear life.
"Hang on, Mat!" images of Zephyr proceeded to course through his mind once more, dread filled his chest, was this to be a repeat? Would Cas be unable to save another friend, was Mathieu cursed to fall at the hands of Osam
? The Jedi Knight's breathing grew more frequent as he began to panic, thinking of ways to save his best friend. The sight of a command console slamming against the Padawan's head drew a gasp from the Kiffar, snapping him out of his panicked state.
"NO!" he yelled, reacting on instinct again Cas propelled his arm in the direction of the now descending Padawan. Calling upon the Force one more time, the immaterial force would serve as an extension of Cas' arm, wrapping around Mathieu's body like an invisible hand. The Jedi grunted and hissed, straining as he struggled to keep Mathieu's body stabilised due to the Morellian's muscular physique. A bead of swear formed, descending across the Kiffar's brow as he released a roar of exertion. Panting fast and heavy, he whispered to himself breathlessly "I got you, Mat. I got you."
Tathra's eyes trailed the slim frame of the female Jedi, not entirely unawares of the Jedi whom had landed behind him. The rope swung round the Ultra, pulled off of his feet into the direction of the rockets aimed for the Jedi. The Ultra growled, roaring in shock as he raised his shield, blocking the strike of one missile as the other exploded against his chest. His personal shield flickered out of existence, gargling through burning lungs as his helmet melted into his face - falling to his knees as the massive Ultra scampered across the floor with both wrist blades on either side extended, aiming to plunge them into the female Jedi in case in metal. The pain was debilitating, but the Ultra wouldn't stop till he was dead.
Other fought in the cloud of back, molten bullets tracing behind the small Jedi darting between them with her white blade drawn, marking each of the foremost Ultra's with scars and new wounds, nuisances but not lethal. However it drew their attention, one shooting with his marksmen rifle directly toward her stomach as she flew down threw the air, a vulnerable target all too concerned with taking Ostak's head. The walls risen by the Mandalorian would make him temporarily vulnerable, distracted perhaps or so the Ultra's hoped as one moved to shoulder-barge him with enough force to dent a several ton tank, perhaps throttling him off of the platform and into the abyss below with a fractured spine.
The rangers had been all but decimated by the superior firepower of the Ultra's, the Jedi within meditation in the corridor retreating as the Ultra's were all but able to entirely focus their efforts on the Jedi now singled out, alone within the chamber. They had been fools to come here. Tathra could hear their every step, the blood rushing through their veins. They were nothing but sacks of meat, threatening the future of his adoptive kin. Like a protective beast cornered in its cave, Tathra was dangerous - bold.
The doors of the hivemind chamber began to close, locking off the corridor and any whom had retreated through it.
Ruthless.
The female Jedi attacked his mind, willing himself through the mild disorientation - a moment of abrupt lack of thought was all she needed. But it mattered little, their choices mattered little. He was a Titan, his very bones were infused with strength against the force - his century old mild, plagued by worse things that momentary doubt. The blue blade of the Padawan at his back was slow, the knowledge of his intent already within Tathra's reach as the Ultra's transcribed the blow. The Titan feigned a blow for the female, almost goading her as she ducked low and slid for his right leg. Tathra welcomed it, it took no bravery to trade blows with the frail.
Tathra's left foot slid back, the Axe's length already half way to the centre of his back found making the Padawan's strike a glancing blow an easy task, bringing his right leg forward almost directly toward the female Jedi - beckoning for her to strike as his free right hand brought the sword upon his back directly into her torso in the midst of her momentum with enough strength to splatter her. Her blade connected with his flesh, a painful shiver screaming through his nervous system all the same - pain was a reminder he was still standing.
Nar Kreeta, was still standing. And so did the Akhenaton and the Vaydralen. Together.
His eyes shifted, opaque but his new focus on the Padawan was apparent as he released his grasp of the Axe; the weight hopefully enough to delay any momentum the lightsaber may have had in a riposte as his left hand shot out as a blur, a knife hand aimed to puncture and punch directly through the centre of his chest. He wanted the cur's heart in his grasp.
Main Objective: For Soot and Soil
Side Objective: Find The Lothal Guard
Location: The Central Command
Post: 9
Sethrak had ordered the defenses into the East section because that's where the Baedurin had claimed the heaviest fighting was.
But apparently it was less, or equal to the fighting in the central section. This setback irritated Sethrak because it was Amok-to's fault. Amok-to had been so incompetent he had appointed inexperienced troops to the Central Command Center. However it was too late to reverse, and it wasn't a fatal error, just a setback. He would be patient. He would refrain from taking any actions that could jeopardize the Bryn. But it wouldn't be easy.
Sure enough his choice was tested as a voice came through on his communication stone. The stone made it clear he was speaking to: A member of The Lothal Guard. "Commander! We're being overrun here, we can't escape the ink! Please send help!"
This made Sethrak feel as though his heart had a fist squeezing it. His actions had resulted in his own men being trapped. It wasn't too late though...the Drael could hold their breath for some time. Maybe the airborne ink would dissipate enough to allow them to breathe. Sethrak held his own breath, worried for their lives and guilt stricken at his failure, even if it was due to Amok-to.
But matters became worse as The Force hit him like a cinderblock to the head. He collapsed, overwhelmed and confused. What had happened to create such ripples in The Force? He was surrounded by death, it wasn't the battle, it had to be something more important to him. He hasped for air, forgetting how to breathe. His limbs shook as if there was an Earthquake. His head hurt, an invisible nail hammered into it.
Slowly he regained control. His first thought was that this was an attack from a Force User. But he hadn't fought it off, it had just faded slightly. This was no attack. He rose to his feet, unsteady but able.
What the kark was happening?
The First Warlock suddenly figured it out.
He collapsed again.
No! No! NO!!! He shouted at himself. Fear was now in control. The Warlord Osam was growing weaker and weaker. But he wasn't the only one. Sylok's lifeforce was almost non-existent. They were both in The Eastern Section...The Surface Command Center. Something had killed hundreds and wounded even more.
Was it him? His order, had it killed everyone there?
"The East. What happened?" These words were all that Sethrak could get out as panic forced his mouth shut.
"The Surface Command Center collapsed, First Warlock. Casualties are high."
Sethrak was frozen for a moment. Then the anger pushed back his fear. He rose to his feet, letting out a savage shout. There were no words, just the power of his thick vocal cords creating the strongest noise they could produce. It was a shout of pain, loss, and rage. It was a shout that only someone without words could make.
How could he fail so badly?
How could his actions have killed so many?
How could he disgrace Hrajlmak's legacy like this?
Sethrak jumped to his feet, shoving The Baedurin out of his way despite the Drael's much larger size. Then he snatched a Khukri from an Aerevalin. Armed, The First Warlock sprinted toward the elevator. Once inside he punched through the ceiling of the machine, The Force preventing his hand from being harmed. Then he cut the thick cables, The Elevator entering a freefall with the doors still open.
Three floors away. Two Floors. One Floor. Sethrak jumped out of the elevator at the ground level exit, again using The Force to absorb any damage as the elevator smashed into the ground behind him.
He sprinted as fast as he could toward The Covenant Section, desperate to help his allies. Desperate for revenge.
Or was it something else? He was reckless. Did he want revenge, or did he want death? He had failed. He was worthless. He didn't even know what he wanted himself. He simply wanted blood, his, theirs, it mattered not.
In reality it was not his fault, and his friends could survive yet. No, this was the failure of Amok'to, not Sethrak. But it was irreparable, and Sethrak would not be able to forgive himself if Sylok'Vanarior Osamwere to die today. That's why he was so desperate, so affected by The wave in The Force. That's why he was running into The Black Abyss of Sun Quaker Ink, choking as he cut down everything in his way. Please do not die, Sylok. Please, Osam, stay strong. I'm coming.
But he couldn't. Even with the ink fading, it was keeping him from getting enough air. He was blacking out. He would survive, but his friends may not. He cut down a Jedi, catching another's blade, keeping it from slicing his arm off by absorbing The Energy with The Force. He sliced the disarmed Jedi down, now jogging as his vision became more narrow. Another Jedi fell to his blade, as The Warlock began going numb. He stumbled, thrusting his blade into another Jedi as he fell to the ground. One last thrust moved him closer to the surface command center but he didn't even know he had moved as everything went black.
With the Jedi's (Jacen Nimdok
) interference, Ostak found himself truly leaving the material world. He now stood, his body floating through an ethereal void. A sudden light that was not his own appeared in front of him, revealing a lean humanoid male figure. The shock of it all started to fade as he realized that Ostak's consciousness had been brought into another reality, one that seemed to favor the Jedi.
Indeed, an unseen force suddenly slammed into his head, pain receptors flaring despite the unaltered condition of his physical body in the material world. The shock of it all gave the Jedi a moment to act before the Shaman could regroup, and he succeeded in momentarily bypassing his defenses. However, it would not last long.
Recognizing his inferiority in the third dimension, Ostak reached out with his astral body and opened a second connection to the subconscious, sending about half of his essence back into the mental middleground. The other half stayed idle but observant in the dream state, patiently watching over the Jedi as to keep his energy expended.
As Ostak returned to his comfortable spiritual grounds, he came to the realization that his foes had been beaten back. The spiritual connection of the other Jedi (Kiara Ayres) could no longer be felt by the Shaman-Overseer, leaving only one rival for Ostak to focus on. A rival who the Shaman-Overseer would not hesitate to taunt just as they had taunted him.
-For all your cleverness, your comrades still fall.- stated the puppet body of Ostak in the dream realm. -Perhaps now would be a good time to give up? As scary as he may seem, my Chieftain can grant you a physical death far cleaner than my mind-breaking methods.-
Content to conclude his operation, the Shaman-Overseer sent out one more shockwave of pure neural energy, seeking to shatter the various mental forms of the remaining Jedi. Then, he returned to the world of physical sensation.
As always, the first light after Ostak opened his eyes was blinding. Yet this light felt brighter than usual, and concentrated in a long shape. With a sudden shock, the Shaman-Overseer realized that it was the blades of lightsabers pressing up against Ostak's dome barrier. He instinctively shattered the entire dome, the force of the displacement sending the assaulting Jedi (Ishida Ashina
) flying back several meters, right into the range of the Chieftain's mighty arsenal.
Briefly unmolested, Ostak stood up and took his bearings. The Chieftain was under assault from several sides but remained resilient, easily beating back any attempts to inflict serious injury. Further down the hall, the chamber doors closed, trapping the Jedi within the chamber. Now, the only way out would be through the elevator that Ostak guarded. Yet the Shaman-Overseer would not merely bend for the whims of the Concord. Twenty purple lances of energy now filled the air around Ostak, each aimed at nearby Jedi. The physical force of the master-race Chieftain and the energy capacity of the Shaman-Overseer would now combine forces against the survivors who were surely woefully under-matched.
It would be a slaughter.
Just as Ostak was about to commence his barrage, his command stone blared to life.
[Overseer Ostak, major news from the Command Center! Warlord Amok-Tu has been killed by Warlock Sethrak in a sanctioned duel!]
The Shaman-Overseer was momentarily taken aback by the report of one of his Enforcers. Clearly, he had underestimated the Warlock's desire for purity. Ostak had planned to use Sethrak as a tool to delay the Warlord as he verbally delivered his grievances to his superior. However, the Warlock had gone ahead and done Ostak's job for him. Still, it was a general success.
[This does not jeopardize our operations. Regardless of how it happened, Amok-Tu is now dead, and can be replaced by a more competent leader. Let us hope that the Council of Overseers finally begins to recognize the internal victory we have achieved. Now, please give me a direct connection to Warlord Osam. It's about time we tell him.]
After a brief crackling and rattling noise, the stone entered another frequency, the noises of a command room in the background.
[Warlord Osam, this is Beast Master Ostak. I need an urgent private audience with you, there is something important that you must know. Please isolate yourself from any prying ears.]
Ostak waited half a minute, launching his spears of energy as he did so. Finally, he spoke again.
[Warlord Osam, as you may have already realized, Warlord Amok-Tu is dead. I am partially responsible for this. In fact, I am not at all who you think I may be. You are fortunate to know this, as not many Draelvasier leaders are in the confidence of our Council.]
[Warlord Osam, allow me to introduce you to the Tachael-Vemnak and their role in your future leadership.]
The sequel was more quiet between the duo, as Reidun's condition improved, and she started digging herself out of the ruins as Dis healed her. She was moving carefully and slowly because she didn't want the whole thing to collapse. Fortunately, Dis was able to help with this, too, because they were able to use Force through her body. Thus, with telekinetics, they were able to pull some debris there to support the affected part.
Though these weren't too big, because Dis's power was finite, but the many a little makes a mickle, and enough small and large debris has accumulated to solve this. When the girl's legs were no longer bleeding and the edges were there, the last part to hurry could come. After a few quick moves, Reidun yanked her leg out of that part. By the time she did that, the whole thing was starting to crash, so she had to be very fast. Also succeeded at one last moment, after which the part that had been held by the armour and her legs so far slammed to the ground.
In this way, however, it did not cut off the leg of the draelvasier who was free now. Her injury was now only minor, no longer in imminent danger, so the Shadowcat left her body and sat down a few feet in front of the girl, hovering above the ground. The fighting continued, although the Shadowcat hadn't been able to do much so far, but they had already saved a life. Reidun looked at them, then thanked them and ran away with her gear.
Dis looked around, it was time to keep looking for the wounded and try to save others.
Sakadi Marathi Sinvala
Kiara Ayres
Jairdain
Ishida Ashina
Gerwald Lechner
Millu Lee
Vanya Aklin
Maja Fiore
Liam Du'Cal
Teyla Sal-Soren
Milya Vondar
Jacen Nimdok
Ki'an Vizsla
Kranak Vizsla
Primarch Drek'ma
Tathra Khaeus
