Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[FN-999]

FN AND THE TEN - 5/11
​

LOCATION: FORTRESS CARNIFEX | IMPERIAL BOULEVARD
ALLIES IN VICINITY: NIO | Caulder Dune
ENEMIES IN VICINITY: TSE | Ingrid L'lerim (engaging) | AMCO | Aren D'Shade
FN-999 EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE + LS-1 Light Sniper Rifle + SBR-60x Particle Rifle

In five seconds, five troopers collapsed behind FN-999.

Him and the remaining four troopers turned to find a female humanoid figure wielding two swords covered in the blood of their kin.
​

It was just as bad as that day. That day in his First Order service that he would never forget, where the lives of so many had been snuffed so rapidly. There was no other explanation. FN-999 realized, struggling to conceal his coursing emotions, that they were likely fighting a full-fledged Sith.

FN-999 would not let any more troopers suffer as they did on that fateful day. Because of that day, he had refined his melee prowess to be able to combat the Sith and their fabled lightsabers. As a leader, he would take the sole responsibility of bringing justice to the scourge of the Sith. He would be the one to avenge the platoon that perished years prior.

"Fall back, and let the company know that there is a very dangerous individual ahead." called FN-999 to his remaining troopers. "Tell them to bring along the most powerful weaponry they have."

The four troopers stalled, hesitant to leave their commander. After all, they greatly outnumbered their foe and they would not willingly leave their captain to perish to a powerful foe. However, upon seeing the captain reach for the sword he had sheathed moments prior, they realized his commitment. Without any further hesitation, they fell back to the front lines, guns pointed behind them in case the Sith agent pursued.

FN-999 unsheathed Iustitia, its large blade reflecting the sunlight from the sky above. With a press of the pommel button, a powerful electric current coursed through Iustitia, its blade rapidly becoming wreathed in static electricity.

"Sith bastard." stated FN-999 to the individual in front of him, struggling to hold himself back. "It's time for me to avenge my comrades, and bring your kind to justice."

That was when FN-999 released himself from his restraint. Fueled by adrenaline and the rage of vengeance, he burst forwards in a full sprint, electrified sword swinging at his side. Upon entering melee range, he brought the blade down in a diagonal vertical uppercut, hoping to use its superior weight and momentum to smash the woman's skull open in a single strike.

​

19TH ASSAULT COMPANY MAIN
LOCATION - "The Strip" OUTSIDE FORTRESS CARNIFEX
ALLIES IN VICINITY - Agrippa (Gladius Company), Ravraa Vyshraal (Dorn-02)

119/200

LT. FN-274 "Mad Gunner"

It was time for the Mad Gunner to prove his namesake.
​

He pulled the trigger on the machine gun emplacement, sweeping it across the front lines. Dozens of plasma bolts rocketed into the Sith defensive formation, tearing through several troopers. The Mad Gunner lost himself in the slaughter. He was an agent of justice, forcibly removing all who stood in his path. The Sith and their supporters were little more than abusers of the galaxy, vermin who must be swept aside.

Around him, the 19th Company and the 908th Legion as a whole fed into the swarm of white armor slowly, gradually gaining ground in the strip adjacent to the palace. When a trooper fell, two took their place. The machine guns and flamethrowers of the 19th tore through enemy forces time and time again, unrelenting in their assault. Some troopers had begun to run out of ammunition - they used their heavy weapons as clubs instead, rushing up to the front lines and bashing Sith legionnaires hard enough to give them concussions. When their weapons broke or were taken from them, the troopers of the 908th fought with their fists and sharpened pieces of shrapnel around them.

In their greatest battle battle, nothing but decapitation or limb loss would stop the stormtroopers of the 908th Legion and 19th Assault Company from fighting.

​

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HAND OF VENGEANCE | SEVENTH FLEET
A C H E R O N

​

Spoiler: Battlegroup Roan Fel | First Wave

F L A G // : NIV Penitent | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] DREADNOUGHTS //: NIV Shadowbringer | Ala | 10000m [ 100 // 100 ] BATTLECRUISERS //: NIV Lateralus | Phaetra | 3000m [ 100 // 87 ] TFV Pillar of Annihilation | Tambor | 3110m [ 100 // 100 ] DESTROYERS //: NIV Arbiter...... | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Stormbringer. | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Antares Draco | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Roan Fel..... | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] FRIGATES //: NIV Dagger One.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Two.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Three | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Four. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Five. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Six.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Seven | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Eight | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola One.. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Two.. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Three | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Four. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Five. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam One.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Two.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Three | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Four. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Five. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Six.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Seven | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Eight | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius One.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Two.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Three | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Four. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Five. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Six.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] CORVETTES //: Several Squadrons | Caçadore Several Squadrons | Gurkha Several Squadrons | Vandal STARFIGHTERS DEPLOYED //: Several Wings | TIE/OT Outlander Several Wings | TIE/HF Slasher Several Wings | IPLT-01x Excursor Star Sloop Several Wings | TIE/INx Interceptor Several Wings | TIE/VX Vanguard Several Wings | TIE/HB Bruiser Heavy Bomber Several Wings | TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack

BATTLE GROUP "Roan Fel" The Siege of Bastion Commanders Var Koon Kestus Bralor Hiram Voss Del Lovruc Hugot Tyvek VII ​

The pieces in play within this imposing sphere of industrial, interstellar scale death dealt at a neckbreaking pace were set in their venue of destruction. As it should be, this would be the last grasp at glory for the Sith before they might lose entirely. There was no feigning the expectation that they'd muster everything into this place.

Drawn to the enticement of severing the head from the snake, Thaelius attempted his grasp at destiny.

"Admiral, seems they're moving to bombard the Penitent...but...whatever indicated that- that you would be here? That this vessel is at the lead of the fleet?" The officer inquired, bewildered. As far as the Kel Dor could tell, Ordo might've never known he was aboard this very vessel at all. And if he did, he knew then that the Admiral's gaze had honed in on a narrow tunnel in a maneuver which all but indicated that Thaelius cared more for glory than victory in the end. After all it'd make the consequences of defeat here all the more palpable, surely it could not have been his fault if he was able to identify the New Imperial flagship and smite it from orbit, it was the fault of his comrades for bungling the defense so.

If Thaelius was so pointed in his intent, his avenues of attack, than the Kel Dor had to direct the Chiss to where he wanted. Headhunting his command assets left his smaller vessels an open hunt. This would be the makings for Hiram Voss 's killing ground if he took it.

Leaning over the holotable, the Kel Dor wrapped his alien digits around the edge of it as he narrowed his pale gaze, honing in on the conditions of the battle laid out before him. Before he could speak up himself, the helmsman offered input once more.

"As well as the Shadowbringer, they're targeting it with kyber crystal armaments." Being one of the more fortified ships within the New Imperial Armada, that status report wasn't enough to sound the alarm for the Kel Dor.

"Understood. Hail Gladius five to escort at our starboard side, bare toward the Shadowbringer and order Vexen's dreadnought...to assimilate." The Admiral commanded to one of the bridge comms officers. An old Sith Imperial analogue for 'shield leeching' to fit Darth Bellum 's moniker as the Lord of Assimilation and a tradition seemingly carried to the New Imperial Order.

"Yes, Admiral...and its target?"

"The Autarch-class. Whatever array its preparing, we need to leech it." The Kel Dor voiced in reference to the Athena-class Frigates moving up in line with the Siege Breaker, physically gesturing to them with a lone digit as they appeared enveloping the battlecruiser.

"And sir, if we're to be joining the flank of the Shadowbringer then we surely rid of our illusion if we still wish to continue shrouding our intent from the Sith?" The helmsman inquired.

"A deft argument, certainly. But the closer we stray to the Shadowbringer, the Sith may not be so intent to follow. Either we guide them into killzone between our two vessels...or we lead his attention elsewhere, make him uncomfortable and unsure in his decision making." The Kel Dor argues.

"And how, sir?"

"Hail the Arbiter, instruct it to move out along our starboard facing and then inward to the Sith fleet, allocate Vandal corvettes as well as Pilam one and two and Gladius one and two. Engage at close range...and perhaps, yes. Mirror it along our port side with the Antares Draco, Pilam three and four and Gladius three and four respectively. Divert their attention...we need to close this distance, take advantage of our broadside capability and strip away the advantage of their straight line kyber crystal cannons." Koon commanded.

"Of course, Admiral." The Helmsman replied.

Then the hail came from the Beachmaster. He might've been too late to deploy his ground troops, all the same, his assault ships could come in use here.

"NIV Siege Tower to NIV Penitent (Var Koon). Landing Squadron Seven Niner is awaiting further orders. We have begun targeting Sith ships and are currently tucked within your battlegroup."

"Understood, do relay to Captain Lovruc to keep one of his assault ships back to hold picket in our lines...all the same, with the rest of the squadron...prepare to board." Var Koon commanded, contemplating each word.

"Marr-class. Disable or destroy." The Kel Dor commanded, pinging one of the vessels on the holomap, presumably under the command of Thaelius . The Sith had to know they'd never have the initiative and that there would be retaliation for the NIV Dauntless at the command of Hugot Tyvek VII .

"Admiral, a status report from Kestus Bralor and the second wave...they're on schedule." Which meant soon, very soon.

"Acknowledged, thank you." Even to the ever collected Kel Dor, it'd be a welcome respite.

The orders were carried all the while the foreboding presence of the Shadowbringer loomed ever closer toward the Siege Breaker as the loud hum of its super-heavy shield leech cannon sprung to life as it looked to parasitically draw from the vessel just as its shields were due to be bolstered.

H A M M E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HAMMER WING
TARGET // Marr Class Star Destroyer
TIE/OT Outlander | TIE/HF Slasher | TIE/HB Bruiser Heavy Bomber | TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack

<"Looks like positive hits. Standby for next mission."> Hammer Leader sounded out to the rest of his unit, sucking in a deep breath of relief as a vast majority of his unit's payload made purchase on the orbital autocannons. Hammer squadron was meant for these hits, to nova flare and put the punishment down on graded capital ships.

Veering away from the Autarch-class they recieved their next ping for orders, to guide Del Lovruc 's landing squadron into position to board the Marr-class star destroyers. Though with the firepower they were capable of, Hammer Squadron set out to bear down unto the star destroyers engines.

<"Bruiser group, swap ordinance to ion bomb. Fall in on me. Target eta fifteen seconds. Egressing one one one magnetic, aft ion drives."> The Atrisian pilot sounded out, eyes narrowing as he peeled past the point defense of a corvette squadron only to lose two of his Outlanders in tow. It was a horrid, gut turning sight to see his pilots drop from the multi color display but he had to remember every time, they knew damn well what they were here for.

<"Watch for the point defense...Slashers, swap to turbos."> He commanded to feel the rip of the power as it fused toward the wing mounted turbo lasers, sounding out the scream of the heavy weapons as they targetted the base of the bowl enclosing the cobalt glow of ion engines, the bombers fell in line all the same for the strike in tow with the TIE Maulers who'd rendered a silence through the voice noise travel before they unleashed a horrible rip of their autocannons into the vessel.

// ALLIES | NIO //: Hiram Voss | Del Lovruc | Hugot Tyvek VII | Gordon | Detritus Ren
// ALLIES | TGA //: Dracken Pryce | Constantine Oliva | Olen Halcorr
// ENEMY | TSE //: Melia Siari | Grand Moff Aut-X | Thaelius | Vanessa Vantai

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Imperial Capital Complex.
Tags: Ra Vizsla Bel'sa'Nikto

Spoiler

Armour / Sabres / Wrist / Tsaisibola / Vibroknife

It appeared she had not been spotted. That brought curl to the edge of Ophidia’s lip.

She straightened up and stepped forward, softly and quietly beginning to close the gap between herself and the large leader of the Mandalorians. The sabre nestled comfortably into her palm, practically writhing in expectation. She heard the inquisitive prodding of a nearby acolyte, but mentally waved him off, too caught up in the delight of stalking her prey.

Then, a flick. Curious. She halted her second step, hedging her advance.

The leader disappeared down the hallway for a moment, and she followed cautiously, careful not to make a sound, not to break her carefully laid shroud.

“Perhaps”

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the nutrient frame being affixed to his back, and she cursed inside. She had been foolish, careless, too certain that the galaxy had not caught up to her old tricks. It reminded her of words spoken to her by rivals of old: Ruling has made you soft.

Soft indeed.

“You have FORGOTTEN me Sith’ari?”

The seed of a grin soured into a sneer as he levelled his spear at her.

“Let us remember together”

Her head flitted right and left as the mandalorians levelled their weapons at her. Ophidia stepped back as they began to spray their slugs down the hallway, high and low. It would have been enough to pin her down and tear her to pieces had she not employed a new and desperate tactic.

While, normally, the presence of a ysalamir would have posed a great disadvantage to the Sith, as it had in the Mandalorian Crusades before. Sith invention always caught up. Being one so reliant on the Force, Darth Ophidia had been quick to absorb the new invention of their alchemists: The Empyrean Gland. She had it implanted at the first opportunity, but had yet to receive positive reports that it had taken to her body and begun to work.

Despite the fair promises of alchemists, she knew that these implants never came with a guarantee. After all, she had made some modifications of her own.

So Ophidia gambled.

Closing her eyes and crossing her arms across her chest,, she threw herself back and focused her mind. Her body hit the floor as if it was water, allowing her to pass through. All that was left was the now ragged, black cape piled on the floor.

She hit the floor beneath hard with a thud and the ringing of phrik on steel. Her breath stopped in her throat as she tried to laugh and ended up coughing instead. She looked up at the ceiling above her and took a few steps forward before gathering the Force in her body once more. Phasing was a taxing ability, but she much preferred it to being shredded by bullets. Furthermore, going down a step was far easier than going back up. The timing had to be perfect or she may find herself with a foot stuck in foreign matter.

Soft indeed. She could practically hear Cerbera rolling her eyes.

Ophidia closed her eyes again and jumped. Once more, she gathered the power she needed to break through again. The world shifted around her as her feet hit the floor above, not where she had disappeared, but among the stormtroopers. The Sith Lord raised the hilt in front of her and flicked the switch to summon the scarlet blade. It came down in an arc, aiming its vicious slash for the small gaps between their armour plates.

“Ra Vizsla.”

Her stealth field generator tried to shroud her, but could not suppress her visual form while the lightsabre was active. She kept an eye on him though she had engaged with his stormtroopers. Underneath her helmet, a sheen of sweat had already begun to cover her ashen skin from her desperate tactic.

"I noticed your foul stench as soon as you made planetfall."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The energy passed through the first Mandalorian, sapping away his vitality in a vulgar display of raw power, before rebounding off the smooth floor to strike another in a similarly violent manner. Like the crack of a slug before a foot race, the surviving Mandalorian warriors scattering in every direction to avoid the still active conduit of energy which sparked and hissed through the air around them.​

​

The Emperor remained rooted in place as his enemies maneuvered around him, his eyes tracking the movement of Vilaz Munin as he rocketed up into the air before delivering a punishing salvo of short-range missiles from both his wrist and his jetpack. The events of the Red Coronation briefly flashed into his mind, a moment when the use of such rocketry by the former Mand'alor earned his galaxy-wide notoriety. Koda Fett's movements were likewise tracked, though not through any visual means like sight. The other grizzled warrior opted to let loose a vicious volley with his carbine, the weapon barking with each resolute pull of the trigger. Their movements were mirrored, isometric in their convictions, and equal in their shared yearning for vengeance and retribution.​

​

Carnifex, on the other hand, was a whirlpool that threatened to drag all that ventured too close into the dark crushing benthic depths of his immeasurable hate. His derision and disregard for life itself drove him forward, just as their desire for atonement drove them into this confrontation. His desire was to control, and when something fell beyond the limits of his control he regarded it as irredeemable, not worth salvaging any longer.​

​

And both Vilaz and Koda had fallen beyond the limits of his control.​

​

And they must be destroyed.​

​

Smoke and fire obscured the towering visage of the Emperor as the launched rockets struck true, the smog only briefly illuminated by the punching laserfire which streaked through the gloom. Without warning, the blade that had been held in the Emperor's firm grip snapped out of the shrouded smoke like a bullet, flying straight and true through the air towards one of the Mandalorian commandos that had accompanied Vilaz and Koda on their journey. Then came the Emperor himself, bounding in great full strides across the gangway which connected the circular platform of his throne and the entryway from which the Mandalorians had come through. Though he was not a very fast man by nature, the sheer size of his stature and the ground his legs covered with each step allowed him to cross the distance between where he was and the sealed door very quickly. ​

​

With a leap, the Emperor's struck out his legs to the flat surface of the doors and began to convert his momentum from running forward into running up and across the gradually sloping surface of the chamber's walls. The enchantments affixed to his armor by Pom Stych Tivé allowed him to adhere to the surface without much difficulty, the Emperor now running perpendicular to the wall itself as his view inverted so that the throne seemed to be above him as the floor turned to ceiling and the ceiling turned to floor. He reached out with one hand to retrieve his blade, whether it had embedded in the Mandalorian soldier or not, and call it into his outstretched fingers. ​

​

Weapon in hand, the Emperor catapulted himself off of the ceiling and through the air towards the nearest flying Mandalorian, Vilaz Munin, with blade flashing out to strike at the former Mand'alor's chest. The Emperor had positioned his leap in such a way, that even if Vilaz maneuvered out of his grasp, his trajectory would take him to where Koda Fett lurked just beyond. ​

Vilaz Munin | Koda Fett ​

 

[Stilicho Drumarch]

Imperial Capital Complex, Ravelin
Upper Floors
Objective: Retrieve
Focus: Grigory Tallis | Emmalene Thul (NPC)​

“We’ve found something Sir. Hyperspace codes intended for highest level civilian use. We believe it’s an alternate route to Dromund Kaas.”

“Impressive work sergeant, give the codes to Emmalene and prepare to move out.” The sergeant saluted Salvor and returned to his work.

Salvor turned to stare out of the windows that lined an entire wall of the office block, out into the endless cityscape that burned and crumbled from the bombs. Far beyond the horizon, Ravelin continued. It was likely that the people on the outer edges of the vast metropolis didn’t even know the city was being invaded. They continued this momentous day as if nothing was about to change, when in truth there was soon to be a landmark turning point in history. Salvor was glad to be a part of it. Their crusade that had begun on the fateful day of defiance against the Emperor was coming to a fiery conclusion.

Despite the battle that raged outside all was quiet in the tower, and Salvor could finally think to himself...

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6 hours before the Battle of Bastion​

For one of the few times since their inception, the Sith Host was united in full. The disparate crusaders who traveled the galaxy fighting in the name of the Warlords had been called together before the invasion of the Imperial capital. They numbered 10,000. 10,000 soldiers who had seen the truth in the darkness and pledged themselves to the mission of the Dark Kabal. A sea of red soldiers standing at attention, Archon Thul one of them. On this day, the Sith Host would be led into battle by Darth Avernus himself.

Salvor was blissfully unaware of what was about to befall his comrades. Completely blind to the possibility, and the eventual fact, that the Sith Host would be slaughtered in their attempt to take Ravelin. He didn’t know that he would lose half of his chapter securing the forsaken spaceport that served only as a stepping stone to their real target.

He had envisioned himself, with his sister and his soldiers at his side, standing triumphantly over their disgraced enemies. He didn’t yet know what immense sacrifices he would have to make for a future like that to exist.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present​

Lost in his thoughts and the view of the battle below he almost couldn’t hear Emmalene’s boots against the thin carpet as she approached behind him.

“Is there any word from that New-Imperial Commander?” she said with a hint of distaste on the words New and Imperial.

“He’s a Major, Em-” as if on queue, Salvor’s commlink flashed and beeped. “and I think this is him.”

"Death Knell, this is Guardsmen," Grigory used the designation provided by IMPCOM, "We have secured the ground floor lobby under your position. Awaiting further instruction. Over."

"Copy that Guardsmen. Hold your position and we'll be down shortly. I've secured sensitive info that needs to get to the bulk of my order's forces ASAP, over and out."

Emmalene looked at Salvor as he ended the transmission with skepticism, scrunching her heavily scarred face as much as it would allow. "You told him about it. I don't trust him"

"I'm in charge, and I do. Why won't trust our allies? What's not to trust about them?

 

[Rurik Fel]

P A R A B O L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Lightsaber | Pistol | The Vane
K I N G

​

"Brother...please. If not Corin, then protect Errant. If you fail...if you die here, then you fail your duty. To me...to him." The wayward ghostly voice of Vyrin Karis pleaded to Rurik once more as the Man of Iron faced down the Despoiler, the Demon. A foe as great as them all.

But he was waiting, he knew he was due to meet the might of Braxus.

And he was prepared.

In response to his former teacher, he offered nothing but the silent air around him as his eyes narrowed to see the Sith greatsword hefted into air, the tip of the blade forebodingly angled toward his face before the plume of super heated cobalt flames flourished out in an infernal rage toward the Imperial Knight.

He lifted his left hand, the sole organic limb to which he could still will the force through. His eyes fixed shut as he willed a barrier around his hand which flexed around his entire body, faltering the embrace of his control of the searing pain that consumed his body constantly in favor of preserving his mortal shell entirely.

A faint respite, only to make way for the tempest. The unfettered rage of the Shadow Hand as he surged toward the Man of Iron. His eyes narrowed, his mind one with body once more as he'd fully retrieved himself from the trance of a meditative state he'd enclosed himself within not moments prior.

He surged to the right, throwing his form from the path of devestation Braxus singularly set out on, all the while he reached out with his left hand, gaze focusing once more as he honed in on the pauldron clasped around Prazutis' left shoulder, splaying his fingers out before forming a fist of iron, to will a crushing force around the piece of Sith battle armor.

Then, he spoke once more-

​

// ALLIES | NIO //: Bastard | Vella Forte
// ENEMY | TSE //: Darth Prazutis

 

[Caulder Dune]

​

// Location: Thaumaturgic Tower, The Conduit – Control Room
// Objective: Data Acquisition & Recruitment Drive
// Equipment: Adekon Nanogene - Type 1, Imperial Mk. I "Dooku-Pattern" Jedi Armor (but, you know, more stylish)
// Associated Acts: FN-999 (Friendly), AMCO (Hostile), Aren D'Shade (Hostile), Ingrid L'lerim (Hostile)

He stared blankly at Adrian for what felt like an eternity. This man knew who he was? His eyes narrowed. He took a census of the Sithspawn, noted the work of their armor, how they simmered with the Dark Side. Gears were ticking, probabilities tallied, conclusions arrived at. ​

​

The Umbaran’s expression cracked into a wry, faint smile.​

​

“Lord Prospero, I am surprised,” he snickered, and his lightsaber deactivated with a faint hiss. “A man of your talents is wasted on cleanup duty.”​

​

Maliphant had gotten his hands on a few Tsudakyr some time ago, and had elaborated at length on their usefulness. By far the most useful feat of Sith bioengineering he had heard in a while. It was inevitable that the subject of who had made them, and their position in Sith hierarchy, should come up.​

​

And such foreknowledge, vague and incomplete as it was, made Darth Adekos amenable to… Discourse.​

​

There were more than a few people who would say Adrian had chosen the worse fate by far.​

​

“And I would hate to be disappointed. Would you prefer to negotiate?”​

​

Adekos took another lazy step inside, and the doors closed neatly behind him. Not him that time. He had just wandered out of range of the door’s proximity sensors. Not everything had to be a show.​

​

“You might impress that preference to your intern. She seems fidgety.”​

​

That seemed to be the only detectable acknowledgement of Aren’s attempt to tamper with his cybernetic vision. The gulf in expertise was too great. Like a fly spitting on a tsunami.​

​

Distantly, though, he could respect the initiative.​

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Theme: X
Main Objective: Gotterdamerung
Starting Location: Skyscraper, Ravelin City
Coordinated Allies: Vaylin
Umbrella Allies: TSE
Coordinated Enemies: Marshal Zovesa, Dorian Sicarrio , Mavia
Umbrella Enemies: NIO
Post 2: Engaging the Knights

​

They are unstoppable in their egregious assault. Undaunted against the might of infinite numbers - fueled by it, in fact. The Devil watches from his newfound perch, eyes gleaming with a color out of space as the Imperials charge with unmatched zeal for a damnable cause. A blooded smile curls under his hissing mask as he rises from his demon-like crouch, rotating and cracking his reformed shoulders broad in the impeccable armor that shifted and molded according to his very own body. The thick green layers of plasteel and silver and the Norris root threads had protected him in his flailing from the skyscraper to streets outside Fortress Carnifex - he hopes they would do so now as well as his gaze glares towards the one leading this band of rebels. A woman who is strong in the Force and confident in her abilities. He cannot make out her features for she wears a helmet like the rest of her cowards ilk, but he knows by presence alone who it can be. Who it must be.

"Marshal Zovesa herself," the Devil cackles to himself, his voice modulated to a deep thunderous volcano. Who else would lead the Knights with such righteous conviction other than Rurik Fel , the man who survived the unsurvivable?

With one last gleeful chuckle, he leaps from his vantage point over the Imperials. The twin-blades of his weapon - resplendent in sparkling gold and red - ignite in the air and twirl as he falls down, down, down to the streets below into the middle of the assaulting party. He is outnumbered 10-1 at the very least for he can not count how many he must slay to get to the Marshal. They come upon him immediately - no hesitation to become the Saint who at last ends the king of sin.

The standard soldiers - the Force Corps auxiliary - that follow the Marshal are skilled, that much can go without saying. They are quick and agile for their type, but not quick enough to avoid the bloody coin blades that slash through their chests with ethereal ease. For every shot that lands on the Devil's reinforced body and armor, three are killed that very instant - and yet, they do not falter, they do not fall to fear and despair. They match the Devil's ferocity with a warrior's heart and meet their death's the only way an Imperial can. That is what he hates most: for heretics, they sure are an honorable bunch at the end.

And then, there is the Imperial Force Corps itself. Apprentices, Knights, and even a few Masters - the Knights of the New Imperial Order. Silver and white are their battlefield colors, visual threats to the moonlit beasts of yore. They provide a better challenge to the Sith Lord, himself a veritable Promethean of evil and once a moonlit beast of yore. Yet now, he has grown out of that visual threat and clashes against white with hellish crimson. Each strike and dodge from each warrior is masterful and well-placed, but very few are able to weather the stormfront of the Devil's twin-blades. Most are decapitated, skewered, or blasted away with powerful shunts of telekinesis. Forks of purple lightning lick and char the Knights' armor and skin, killing some and injuring more. And yet they fight on, blocking every step the Devil takes towards their leader's flank with four - five - six. It reaches such a level of consistency and conglomeration that he must perform more dodges than attacks just to make forward progress.

And then, it unleashes from within. A Force Repulse - unintended and built by growing aggravation and unadmitted worry - cascades from his body and shatters nearby windows, overturns debris and vehicles, and launches many of those standing within its large radius. None are killed by the attack, more so injured, but it is enough to open a window to the Devil's intended target. Even with blast marks all over his armor still smoking, his internal organs and muscles now beginning to feel the strain of extended battle already, and the pressure of keeping the hell within him at bay, he still cracks another grin.

Sprinting to his target, the Devil deactivates one end of his weapon and rears it back high and drives it down for the Marshal's armored head, screaming as he does so: "Die, treasonous filth!"

 

[Melia Siari]

American Woman

Taskforce Siari

Battlecruisers Destroyers Cruisers Frigates Corvettes Deployed Smallcraft

• 
  
  • The Dagger - Autarch-class Siege Breaker (20 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Dread Councilor - Autarch-class Siege Breaker (20 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Erasure - Autarch-class Siege Breaker (20 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Nimbus IV - Potentate-class Carrier Battlecruiser (45 Attack Craft Squadrons)
• 
  
  • Tormentor I - Tormentor-class Star Destroyer (6 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Tormentor II - Tormentor-class Star Destroyer (6 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Marred Pride - Marr II-class Star Destroyer (8 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Marred Trust - Marr II-class Star Destroyer (8 Attack Craft Squadrons)
• 
  
  • Reach I - Longbow-Class Cruiser (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Reach II - Longbow-Class Cruiser (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Reach III - Longbow-Class Cruiser (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Reach IV - Longbow-Class Cruiser (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Reach V - Longbow-Class Cruiser (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Invader I - Eradicator-Class Cruiser (1 Attack Craft Squadron)
  • Invader II - Eradicator-Class Cruiser (1 Attack Craft Squadron)
  • Invader III - Eradicator-Class Cruiser (1 Attack Craft Squadron)
  • Invader IV - Eradicator-Class Cruiser (1 Attack Craft Squadron)
• 
  
  • Testudo I - Athena-class Shield Frigate (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Testudo II - Athena-class Shield Frigate (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Testudo III - Athena-class Shield Frigate (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Testudo IV - Athena-class Shield Frigate (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
  • Testudo V - Athena-class Shield Frigate (0 Attack Craft Squadrons)
• 
  None
  
• 
  None yet
  
  

Location: The Dagger, Deep Space (Between Gree and Bastion)
Objective: Repel Invaders
Allies: Sith Empire | Grand Moff Aut-X, TE-236 , Thaelius , Moon Seo-Yun
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Detritus Ren , Olen Halcorr , Var Koon, Hiram Voss , Hugot Tyvek VII , Gordon , Hans Rennagen

Death.

Of all the creatures in the galaxy, of all the catastrophes caused by nature, none caused more endless chaos and death than that which xenobiologists referred to as "sentient life" - so challenged by others, by their color, by their species, their varying degrees of intellect, or their beliefs that they slaughtered them en masse whenever they could. The Sith, the fascist Imperials in the south-western quadrant of the galaxy, the technocrats in the Southern systems, or the Alliance to the center-stage; all of them practiced some form of murder, indiscriminate in most cases, of their opposing groups.

What made the New Imperial Order any different?

Melia Siari, Lord Admiral of the Sith Imperial Armada, wondered that question as she observed the wanton destruction on scale seen only once in a life-time by many in the galaxy, barring the few that found themselves embedded in all of the previous galactic conflicts through sheer bad luck. Men and women, faceless pilots, got into their fighters, their interceptors, and they flew out into the deathly grip of space to be embraced by its searing cold or vaporized in a slaughter engineered by the very people that argued principled rule while practicing none of it.

Green eyes narrowed, lidded by pale, pink, skin, as she watched the display of entire squadrons, New Imperial and Sith alike, blown apart as those beneath her waited on her next command. The Sith were in a struggle here, there was no point in sugar-coating it. Sith, even the highest ranking military officials, demanded an outlook of positivity, of optimism - but what was there to be optimistic of here? She could have been the damned best strategist in the history of the galaxy and there would be only a slim change in probability that everything would move as according to plan and fall into place in just the right order for the Empire to triumph - particularly with the aid of the Galactic Alliance aiding the New Imperial Order in outnumbering the Sith Empire at their twin capital of Bastion.

"I've watched enough. This practice of the top brass not involving themselves in combat because of their cowardice ends now." She said, shutting the display off with a wave of her black-gloved hand. She wasn't used to this, this comfort, and it sickened her. She had been putting her life on the line for the last several battles, climbed the ranks through sheer will and tenacity, and all the while those that had been at this level of command had sat back and watched? How had the council, the circle, not known? Had they cared? Her mind flickered back to the discussion she had with Ellie Mors , the mutual pledge to make things better for those who were doing the work the ones above them took credit for, and she frowned - she'd been told of this, the shapeshifter had spoken bitter words of their findings, but she had hardly believed it until the single-most important battle in the history of the Sith Empire had already begun.

She hadn't even been here of her own volition, it was "protocol".

Important people "safe" so they could live another day, while the expendables were out dying - absurd as it was, with the work of the Grand Moff Aut-X being seen in space, which drew further concern to the broken system they had in place. If the bureaucracy was seeing action before the rest of the so-called Lord Admirals, or any of the generals as far as she could tell, then what use was there in them?

"Bring us to hyperspeed, I want us arriving at thirty-seven degrees below Bastion, beneath both forces, overshot. Every weapon is to be primed and ready, shields checked and double checked. All men and women to stations, no one is to be doing anything besides the tasks they are due - anyone who refuses is to be shot."

"Notify the Archdomus - respectfully, I disagree with protocol, and they can stick a turbolaser up their ass if they think I'm going to sit this one out and just approve and deny requests for reinforcements."

"And the council can consider that an offer for replacement."

 

[Jain]

Theme: Trojan
Main Objective: Gotterdamerung
Present Location: Fortress Carnifex
Coordinated Allies: None
Umbrella Allies: TSE
Coordinated Enemies: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Umbrella Enemies: NIO
Post 2: The Conduit of Despair vs The Vindicated Commander - Part One

The kick missed its target only slightly and still connected with enough impact to send the soldier flying back several feet. Only the introduction of boot thrusters saved them from clattering like a dropped cooking utensil. A smart move to be sure to have them implanted in the armor - many situations could turn from bad to good with a single usage of the pocketed fuel. Regardless, the Conduit of Despair huffed as her foe rose unharmed - relatively - and tossed aside their weapon that was shattered by the kick. The huff quickly turned into a barely audible surprised 'huh' when the soldier proceeded to - seemingly - order their soldiers to continue fighting onwards while they unsheathed a vibroknife from their chest plate.

This presented a dilemma for the Megalith who knew that she needed to halt the New Imperial's advance to protect her husband, yet the sheer intrigue of knowing the identity and secrets of this beacon of the Darkside was too powerful to ignore, even with the venom coursing through her veins. The only issue of that was keeping the target alive and getting them to speak, which was never easy when the malice was forcibly subdued.

With the ax, it would a relatively quick fight, but one that would only result in the target's untimely and comparatively unnecessary death. None could endure a direct hit from the Megalith's reinforced Arg'garok, not even Hildryn. While the soldier may have the advantage of the thrusters, a hit was almost guaranteed from the standard dodge-hit ratio for combat. It would have to be fought without the ax, she concluded, which would unquestionably take longer, but be more secured. Once she gathered her information through the resulting physical beatdown laid upon the target that now charged knife in hand, she could move on and be done with it all. The Devil could survive for a few moments longer, could he not?

Tossing the massive weapon aside, Jain beckoned her foe to attack - which they did with unexpected swiftness and expertise. For the first time in the battle, the Megalith had to backpedal from an enemy and dodge with her own surprising agility. For each strike, Jain responded with a gymnast's twirl or roll, barely avoiding the raw aggression in each slash and thrust - even still, the edge of the blade carved through her armor with ease and knicked her skin, bringing numerous rivets of blood to the surface, staining her plated protection. And then, as expected, the thrusters came into play and the Megalith's balance was taken from her. She only grunted with a crook of her mouth against the thud of the ground.

"You fight well with that blade. Mind telling me your name now or do I have to keep this up? I would like to return to my husband soon to confirm his safety," she says with a in a single rapid breath, yet somehow still gives off a tone of disinterest. Regardless of her foe's answer, she would still attempt to rise back to her feet, responding to her foe's assault with a swift angled kick to their clavicle combined with a back-handspring.

After this, she would follow up with a series of strikes and nimble kicks aimed at the soldier's armored pressure points, if for nothing else than to alleviate them of their weapon. And with each attack, she would remain unaware of her duraplast containment slowly forming microcracks - wounds that would end up costing her much more than she expected to pay this day.

 

[Lark]

​

Objective: One
Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO, Asharo Madar Sion Alar

It was a marvelous thing, for one's mind to be whole. In battles past, no matter how he performed, there was always something that held him back. Other personalities vying for control, believing that some other course of action would be preferable to whatever the dominant version of himself desired. Even when the intrusions were subtle, they had tremendous impacts on the outcomes of the wars he fought in. One might think having various masks to shift through would be a boon, Lark once foolishly believed so. But if he could control all of the aspects of himself, bind them to his will, not their own, and use their own collective knowledge to his advantage, then he could fulfill the role he once felt belonged to him.

What horrendous beauty he'd unleash once his mind no longer bound itself.

Limbs and organs fell to his feet, like roses at a pageant. Lark moved like a machine, aware of the ever shifting tides of battle. His blade was an extension of himself. Krest's betrayal still stung, even all these years later. But if nothing else he could thank that Zabrak for forging him into the warrior he was. Lark remembered one of his very first duels against his former master, it had been four acolytes against the lone swordsman, right here on Bastion. Months later, Lark was the only acolyte remaining. Krest forged Lark in the most infernal of volcanoes, the most grueling of arenas.

He wanted to revel in his own personal victory, but it would be a hollow affair if Bastion was not defended. So then, Lark fought along the rest of his Sith allies. No matter how many NIO soldiers charged through the gates, they would hold their ground. He deftly dodged a vibroblade, then quickly spun around and sliced the man's neck open with the tip of his sword. With the Force he lifted a blaster and pulled the trigger, mowing down nearly a dozen soldiers before he hurled the weapon hard at anther man's exposed lungs. The hot weapon burned his insides, but the screams quickly drew quiet.

From the corner of his eye, Lark noticed a pair of NIO warriors charging near where Lark fought. They were strong, and through their odd connection they could become even stronger. But Lark too had just experienced a reunion, of sorts.

A pulse of energy surrounded his enchanted sword, soon it surged with dreadful miasmas and wicked powers. He channeled the tempest of energy through his own body and his weapon, before unleashing the wave of power towards the two NIO soldiers. The wave would consume and devastate those it came into contact with, the torturous pain would drive one mad within moments.

 

[Mishel Kryze]

S T O R M V A L E
​

It seemed that her presence was finally noticed. She waited patiently in the front gardens for Taeli Raaf to arrive. Mishel in the meanwhile admired the architecture, places like this always meant that someone spent a lot of time working on it. The details were astounding and she was reminded almost of Avalonia. Fitting, she thought, after all, Galidraani culture was more than heavy-handed on Dosuun, and most especially in Avalonia. Mishel knew the coming fight was necessary - it was worth facing one's fear. It was the only way to become stronger not just in the Force, but as a person.​

​

"Darth Arcanix."​

​

"A pleasure." Mishel greeted quietly once she was able to make eye contact with the former Grandmaster. "Your home or I suppose, former home is wonderful. I only hope the New Imperials have the sense to preserve it rather than destroy it outright."​

​

Her voice was calm, almost serene. ​

​

"It is a shame we must do this, for I have many questions, but perhaps when this duel is done may I still ask them?"​

​

An inquiry at the very least her hand was over her lightsaber. Mishel did have questions mostly about imbuement and the Sith's alchemy. If anyone was going to know something about alchemy it was going to be Darth Arcanix, either that or she picked the wrong dark lord to toy with today. She also sensed something different about the woman, something had changed since they last met. Mishel smiled knowingly the Force had away of speaking. "I am ready when you are, Darth Arcanix."​

​

​

 

[Bel'sa'Nikto]

Part V: All Quiet on the Nikto Front...
​

Silence...all that could be heard was silence. By now several minutes had passed since Bel and the small unit of backing fighters were struck by a mortar and buried under the rubble. Most had died, however Bel and two of the Legionnaires managed to survive the initial impact although being severely injured. The three had varying degrees of consciousness, fading in and out ever so often. The raged on above, the muffled sounds of lightsabers and blasters being a constant. It was like the instrumental of the war, just no one had laid down a verse yet. That would likely be by whoever won the war, the leader giving some sort of grand speech at balcony or some promenade outside the Fortress Carnifex. With Bel out of the fight, albeit he wasn't that important in the grand scheme of things, the chances of the Sith defending their planet dropped. At this rate, only a deep conviction to win this war would awake him from this 'nap.' A voice called out to him. '"Wake up my son, wake up."

Part VI: Bel 2.0...
​

"Who is this?" said to the voice. He was not awake, rather he was in what appeared to be a spirit world. A cool breeze caressed his shoulder as if someone had touched him. Turning to look back behind him, he saw several spirits floating in front of him. They were all Nikto that were revered in their culture, Nikto that had done many great things across the galaxy. They recanted tales of victory and honour, and imparted their wisdom onto Bel. Puzzled, he asked them a question. "I don't understand, I turned to the dark side. Why are you helping me?" The spirits all smiled and answered in unison, their voices combining for a quite valiant tonality. "Because Nikto stick together. You are fighting for your home land just the same as we did in our time. It matters not what side you are on, your home is your home and no one can take that from you. You must arise, use the power in the Force that we know you have, and defend your home." Bel nodded and in a flash he was sucked back into the present, no gasping for air at the shock of still being conscious once more. Scanning himself for wounds, he found a smattering of shrapnel wounds big and small across his legs and a big one on his stomach. It had bled a lot since he was out and hurt to the touch, He grunted and pulled himself over to the other two soldiers, fighting back tears of pain. Asking them if they were alright, they both nodded and he gave them a quick look. They were tough, but toughness can also be stubbornness. They had broken ribs, legs, you name it. All three had received quite the beating and would require assistance to get out.

The current problem was the rubble, how would it be cleared without assistance from the outside? If they waited any longer to be found by someone else, they could suffocate due to decreasing oxygen supply in the airtight rubble pile. He himself was too weak to stand, but what if he could find a way to stand. The only logical solution he could think of was using a power he had seldom used, that being Similfuturus. This allowed him to create a double of himself which had the power to move objects with telekinesis, effectively saving the three trapped comrades. Taking a deep breath, he used the force to create such a clone, projecting it to the outside. Once made, the clone was controlled to move the piles using its mind, doing so with relative ease. The three men coughed and sputtered as the dust cleared with clean air quickly moving into their position. Bel gave a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Tag: Aerith Castiella

The devilish grin of a killer denied it's fair share of blood remained plastered beneath Lirka's cold and unfeeling helm; it was time to engage in the glorious dance once again. Or at least whatever sorry excuse of a dance this mortal could bring to her, Lirka staggered some as blaster marks burned into her breastplate: the plundered Beskar of Moridinae held true against the assault, slightly did the monster shake her head as she saw that familiar axe appear again. How unfortunate.

"How underwhelming. I thought this would be entertaining at least."

As the solider charged the Sephi, she began to move like water. Where their last fight had been Lirka barely in control, thrashing between the past and present murders with a decaying body that pulsed with unnatural power. Lirka was always a strong woman, even without the carefully crafted meat of her new body: but now? There was no berserk rage, only the cold, unforgiving, and calculating, sass of a predator.

"Is that it?"

She weaved, her bulk deceiving compared to the speed she was able to move when the time of battle came: working off the hope that the vicious downward blow would force an over-extension, she was not picky where she wanted to land the first strike; merely letting out the swish of cutting air and crackle of plasma as her even stranger and more alien blade struck for the nearest joint she could find. Some distorted mixture of a snort and a laugh coming from her after the fact.

"Better have tried, and few have succeeded."

 

[Sion Alar]

user :// THE EBON SAVANT
location :// UNDISCLOSED RESIDENCE, CARLAC
realative time :// EIGHTEEN HOURS BEFORE THE INVASION OF BASTION
[ i could never make it work ]
​

The uncomfortable thumping in his chest could be felt from the deepest recesses of his throat, all the way to his temples. As his breathing picked up, heavier and more laborious with ever inhale, so too did the speed of lifeblood's palpitations. Face quivered beneath the influence of the sudden rush, eyelids beginning to saturate with tears. Curled up, hunched down for the floor, he was stationary, but his body felt as if it were moving at lightspeed.

"I am sorry." ​

The initial sensation of an embrace was like a dam to the swelling river of emotion. Within that claustrophobic grip, a brief moment of serenity was uncovered. But no dam, no matter how staunch, could contain Sion. His reluctant indulgence became more and more uncomfortable with every passing moment. Muscles once again began to grow tense, and ventilation once calmed spiraled back into unpredictable erraticism.

"Just because you're in my head, doesn't mean you can touch me-" a firm pull away accompanied his protest with a vulgar surge of strength. Embrace now broken, the spine straightened into a full stand. Back foot anchoring into the floor, his shoulders torqued violently with the extension of his closed fist. The distinct sound of flesh on flesh, coupled with the echo of Asharo's chest cavity filled the room.

Sion's teeth gritted together as he shared the sensation, a sudden, sharp impact just beneath the sternum. Ash's sudden wheeze as the air left his lungs was a testament to exactly who had been struck. Sion took a step back, now looming over his Other who was now hunched forward, gasping desperately for air. "Never do that again," he demanded, words choking through the yellowing rows of denticles that had clenched together.

The durasteel door to the bed-chamber slammed with a horrid clash of metal on metal as Sion made a hasty exit, gripping his middle-torso with one hand...

location :// FORTRESS CARNIFEX, THE GATES
local time :// IRRELEVANT
objective :// ENGAGE
dyad :// Asharo Madar
allies :// Agrippa
foes(s) :// Lark
[ two at a time, i watch the kingdoms fold ]
​

Asharo's sentiment fell on a deaf psyche. Sion had already accepted and subsequently discarded Ash's refusal. No time to dwell on affectionate rebuttals or contrarian reasoning. Synchronicity anchored infectiously into every move he and his Other performed. In unison, hey frolicked morbidly through bodies and debris. Monochromatic streaks waved and flourished, sundering every fleshy barrier in their wake.

Lord Halketh's ghastly ranks carved doggedly through enemy ranks. A scarlet haze lingered over their shared stage of destruction. Horrible groans and gurgles of bodies affronting nature harmonized into a collective wall of clamoring, overtaking the monotonous rumble of war. Repugnant, but Sion was never partial to anything with Halketh's signature on it. Perhaps it was bias, but he didn't imagine may people would find animated corpses too savory, either.

A feeling in the deepest pit of his gut pulled his gaze to the left. Breaking synchronicity, stygian plasma cut down a charging legionnaire with an effortless slash. When the pulling did not cease, Sion knew the feeling didn't come from the flanking assailant alone. Eyes tugged towards an individual, locks of red, and squall at the tip of his blade.

"On the left."

"I see him," their voices chimed simultaneously as Asharo observed the same man through Sion's eyes.

A thunderous blare of energy releasing caressed the ears harshly. The horrible, twisting energy screamed towards the pair as the assailant was caught in their backswing. Doom Divison caught in an overextension wretched and withered violently to dust as they were caught in the approach. It felt alien, whatever it was, Sion couldn't place it with any traditional practice of the Force. His eyes widened as he witnessed the sudden carnage brought forth by the manifestation.

"Uh, Ash-?" Sion mumbled, taking a reluctant step back at the seemingly inevitable demise that carved its way towards him.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

BASTION // IMPERIAL CAPITAL COMPLEX // OUTER PALACE
ENEMIES//TSE: Allyson Locke
ALLIES//GA: RYYK + RAIDER SQUADRON [DISTANCED: Maynard Treicolt // Ryv // Kir Dantos ]
DON'T HURT YOURSELF ​

​

The Jedi were spearheads, acts of defense while the assault was covered by the soldiers flanking them. Volleys of crimson covered the overhead, firing noisily into The Sith’s defenses. Cacophonous sounds of war overloaded everyone’s senses where training and instinct took over. A selection from the remaining two dozen alliance soldiers took knees to solidify their aim, reciprocating in superheated exchange back and forth of Empire, Democracy and Imperialism. Unified only in bloodshed in the ceaseless intensity to do right by their fealties.

<"Where'd he run off to?">

She heard the question through their comms, but she felt the anxiety through their bond.

Maynard had a new level of responsibility. A mentorship to nascence that he swore to influence and protect. She’d been heart warmed at the outreach, and rationalized that even though his scope of influence was expanding, his promises wouldn’t be broken. Which is why their separation now was only out of understanding and rationality. His selflessness was less impulsive than it had been at the dawn of the war. No matter how many times they swore not again it happened. Like now, when he cut through to find and protect his student.

Keeping the position, Loske focused on the cluster of Blackblades. The guardsmen were ferocious and skilled. Their ability to pick their targets and meet them admirable. Milliseconds before it happened, a warning sensation ran through her spine, tapping each beefiness to alert. One hand snapped up to action, ahead of the group of armed Allies nearest her. An arcing, gossamer curved out from her palm to shield from an explosion. Fire, smoke and debris collided against the translucent half-dome. The soldiers and jedi behind remained unscathed. The dark clouds remained, and Loske vaulted upward and through the veil to the onyx clad guardsmen on the other side. Heel met a helmeted chin and her blade cut through limbs both empty and equipped with weapons.

Somewhere to her left, someone shouted a command. Shock troopers. Everything about them was heavier. More intense. One was kneeling to reinforce the launcher perched on their shoulder. Loske’s HUD locked on the target, highlighting the outline of the trooper and relaying a digest of the weapon and calculation of potential damages. The numbers escalated and the explosive sound of the launch stopped the math.

Her hand snapped up, the other rising to meet it with exerted effort. The velocity of the warhead was unmatched by anything Loske had tried to stop before. It slowed, but not considerably. Not enough to stop the impending damages. Her fingertips flexed, straining to pull and stop the missile. Futile. Maybe she could —- instead of trying to stop it, she released her hold on it for the instant needed to send a telekinetic force to intercept its trajectory, and repulse it backward toward the complex’s walls. Purchase was made in an eruption of stone and steel. She sighed with relief.

Meanwhile, the shocktrooper worked to reload the weapon. A Ryyk squadmate identified the potential and employed the General’s command to cover. They focused their volleys on the shocktrooper to the success that no further rockets would be loaded by that individual.

Stretched between the shared link of Ryv and Maynard, the tertiary dyad with the K’paur was little more than a whispering murmur. Until it amplified and turned into the shapes of the alphabet, accusing her presence.

At first it made her angry. How dare Allyson think Loske would be anywhere but here. That anger turned into resolve quickly — realizing that Bastion’s siege could be the last chance for the spy. The Corellian’s time was running out. She was so deep behind enemy lines now that Loske wasn’t only confused, she was scared. Terrified that Allyson’s fear of being turned against Loske, Ryv, Bernard and Maynard might come to light. All of their secrets a liability. If Allyson knew she was here, this could spin into a trap. She could relay information, coordinate something to exploit all their weaknesses. If it were to happen, Bastion seemed to be the place. The darkest heart in the galaxy for the darkest deeds.

>You don’t get to tell me what to do, or where to be.<

"I have to do this Loske if I don't - they'll find you. They'll find Ryv and Maynard. They'll use you against me, force me into telling my secrets, our secrets."

That voice in her head had a source. And while her hands moved, legs flexed, footing squared in a rhythm that deflected bolt after bolt, she traced to locate the pulsing node of her former best friend. A presence within The Force that was supposed to be with them on Brentaal, Borosk, Velusia, Chandrila, Dubrillion, Vicondor, but hadn’t been. Because she was here. With the enemy. Part of Loske felt Allyson had been lost longer than she’d been found. Longer than her time as a friend. What or…. who would Loske be trying to save? Memories? Projections? Was she foolish to keep holding on to hope?

It felt selfish to burden the responsibility of that decision on herself —– but who else was there to make it?

She snapped a glance quickly to Ryv. He’d feel her supplication through the ethereal tether rooted from the Son of Coruscant’s meld. The cohesiveness betwixt the three of them was fired and ironed in understanding above all else. The unity between the brothers would be enough to give her confidence to stay. And proximity wouldn’t be broken— she was near enough to not break her end of the bargain.

“I keep telling you, you don’t know what you getting into. You need to stay out of my way - or I’m going to have to make you back off.”

Navigating the outside of the complex was troublesome. Eventually they’d have to get in. Waylon’s tanks would do well with that. The edifice of stone and steel that pierced the skies was home to hundreds, if not thousands, of citizens and soldiers sworn to the dark lord. The twin towers on either side of the complex were thick with the dark side, and their permeating prowess coupled with the roll of death and fear all around the planet was hard for the young knight to see through. On top of the miasmic veil, it was foreign architecture and she was blind to the blueprints. New Imperial soldiers were scattered about, securing the palace level by level. She had to think where the woman would be, beyond tracing the trajectory of their link. Allyson wasn’t the same kind of warrior Loske and her other friends were. She wasn’t a hero of the front lines. She operated in the shadows, pulling at strings unseen until they unravelled.

Communications. Loske had to find some sort of communications room. Two soldiers flanked her left and right, sharing the same goal.

Gratefully, she didn’t have to explore very far from her original position before Allyson appeared. The kiffar skid to a halt at the top of the stairwell her ex-friend was ascending. Beyond the Corellian felt dark, twisted, magical.

Her helm rescinded back into the neck of the suit. The room’s thick air flooded over her face and her teeth clenched, shuddering an angry exhale. Her cheeks felt hot. Angry. The last time she’d seen Allyson, the Corellian had gassed her in a dumpster on Vicondor.

All she could see now, looking at the other woman, was deception. A fantastic falsehood.The embodiment of a lie that had broken her brother’s heart. Loske’s own disappointment had been worldview shattering. She’d never had a reason not to trust wholeheartedly until Allyson’s defection. It scared her that someone could live such a lie. Now, looking at the outline of the woman Loske didn’t know who she was seeing. Did Allyson? Did the traitor know who she was anymore? Was she worth saving?

It's just- I think the best we can hope for is to get her back, maybe try and take her to someone who might know more about this than us. Because I'm just not sure the two of us, Ryv or really anyone else can really help her as it is unfortunately."

"Her mind is just, I don't know, screwed up. She can't separate what's real, from what's a lie. Need to get her back home, get her some healing, and let her go about her business, I s'ppose."

I'm scared.
Am I the enemy?
Help me.

They thought so. So Loske would try. The appeal of those closest to her would anchor the conflicts within her to what, deep down, she knew was right.

<Captain?>

The pause in pace had been unpredictable. They wanted to know why.

<Press on with the advance. I’ll be here.>

On their HUDs, they’d see the traitor. Her burn notice. The NIO’s bounty. The pair that had followed her this far obliged, and navigated to aid the Imperial’s men to further secure and claim the palace.

Her brows knitted and mouth turned upward, making her expression small and complex. Normally she’d track the movements of her opponent before leaping in, but that hadn’t done her well on Borosk. She’d been too slow then. She wouldn’t be today.

Especially since Allyson had forewarned her.

“Sorry, Loske - next time we meet, it won’t be as friendly, like I said, stay out of my way and stay far away from the SIA.”

Like a wildfire, uncontrollable, she lurched. A roll of invisible energy raced through the duracrete steps, splaying debris in Allyson’s direction and residual force extending to knock her opponent back even further. All this while she’d never disengaged her lightsaber, and the golden blade swept upward and over in a rightward arc while she rushed the spy.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Irveric Tavlar
Objective: Assassinate

There was always that gnawing feeling of fear when in situations like this. The battle had been going for hours now, he hadn’t kept count. Every soldier felt this feeling except those that were sociopathic and behaved weirdly; the old fight or fought stimulation. Now it was time to march into potential death just that there was a high chance of him dying. He was fine with that he always expected his death to be on the battle or some espionage assignment. Should he die here? Well, at least it would be an honorable death. Would history remember him? Maybe, but he didn’t care.

At least he’d take down the big boss with him.

As according to plan right after the Legionnaires and his snipers made their move, so did he. Thermal detonators and EMP grenades were thrown at any tanks and artillery nearby either destroying them effectively or disabling them. Relieve some stress that the defending forces of the Fortress were feeling. Their next focus was to unleash their wrath on any Stormtroopers in their way, throwing any spare grenades they had in groups and overwhelming this side of the flank. Djorn got them right how he wanted them. Focusing on him and the charging Legionnaires, most likely they’d paid attention to what was big in numbers.

Where are you
​

His eyes searched relentlessly for Tavlar, distracted as a Stormtrooper caught him by surprise with a blaster shotgun aimed at him. A round was fired center mass, his personal energy shield taking a majority of the blast with the other scattered ionized bolts landing on his blaster carbine making it useless as it was damaged. Another round was fired, the operative trying to dodge it except some of the scattered bolts landed on his right torso. Even with all the advanced materials to give him the most optimal defense he felt the kinetic energy coursing through his chest. The Stormtrooper was met with a blaster pistol fired rapidly at his chest and then one landing on his helmet. A blow enough to incapacitate him from battle, only injury would be a concussion as the blaster wasn’t strong as a snipers.

His other operatives spread out, doing much damage as they could. Eventually they would be surrounded as they were deep in enemy lines. Bline was still searching for his target, standing where he was.

Finally he caught a glance of the man just as Tavlar caught sight of him. Both men, behind the visor of their helmets, stared at each other down. It was curious as to why the Imperator was focused on Djorn and not to his post. Did he know him perhaps? Maybe he caught a whiff of his name.

No words were uttered to each other; however, Djorn did mutter a silent, “Irveric,” under his breath. The Moff then rushed at the Imperator, his pistol firing several rounds knowing his accuracy wouldn’t be eloquent.

Show me what you’ve got, Irveric​

 

[Asharo Madar]

user :// THE SILVER SAVANT
location :// UNDISCLOSED RESIDENCE, CARLAC
relative time :// EIGHTEEN HOURS BEFORE THE INVASION OF BASTION
[ i won't scratch your surface ]

A quiet sense of calm swelled in The Guardian in the fleeting second The Ruiner eased in his grasp. He savored that temporary respite, despite the knowledge that it was merely the eye in the storm. A sliver of peace as temporary as anything else in the world the two of them had come to know too well. He closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath through his nose in anticipation of what was to come.

The blow to his chest was expected, though he did nothing to evade or block it. Acceptance had already graced his mind by the time the fist impacted him and sent him reeling backward first and toppling forward after. Ragged coughs broke through his lips as he sputtered, chasing after the breath which had been so hastily taken from him and he choked on the words he wanted to say, despite the resolve he dared display in the moments after.

He didn't deserve it. He never did. But that didn't change the state of their reality. Wishful thinking rarely did either of them good- though that never stopped him from dreaming. Sometimes it was all he could do to offer Sion a punching bag.

Mismatched sets of fingers curled beneath palms against the harsh ice of the floor as a shadow cast over his tucked face by the slipping of dark hair over his shoulders. He struggled after his wind still, clawing fruitlessly for it with the stabbing pain spreading through his bones. Blood flooded to the site, tenderizing it further and darkening what his ritualistic tattoos had spared.

The door slamming behind Sion signaled their exchange was as over as any of their exchanges ever could be.

"G-goodnight, Sion." He stammered breathlessly with a gentle push to right himself onto his knees once more. Sorrowful eyes fixed on the cold interior of his room, shifting over the modest attempts to decorate the rather depressing and bare space. And with another strained gasp, Asharo pushed himself up onto his feet and turned about, casting his gaze to the window and the ice crackling just beyond.

Tomorrow was another day.

Another fight.

Things never changed.

“Their greatest fear is you may step forward without fear.
Because your courage may become contagious.”
location :// THE GATES, FORTRESS CARNIFEX
local time :// LOST
objective :// WAR_SONG
dyad :// SION ALAR
allies :// Agrippa // DOOM DIVISON
foe(s) :// Lark
[ machines ]
[ x ]

The Guardian torqued his fabricated shoulder, vibrosteel fingers pushing and pulling the moshing throes of conflict around them, manipulating their space to hold the wolves at bay. His achromatic blade buzzed with a singular note, weaving the bass line for his tumultuous melody. Flesh sizzled. Bodies buckled. Dust unsettled, churning around him with the rise of temporary force shield and sudden discharge of razored energy. A blaster bolt splashed against the polished white of his chest plate, scorching the golden symbol of his faction with a blackened trail. He hissed and whipped himself about, saber humming to swipe the secondary shot before it had a chance to connect to flesh where its predecessor had failed.

A familiar feeling encircled his gut insidiously, pulling at the instincts he had developed over harsh years of torturous training. He felt the same rise in his Other. Sharp eyes snapped about them searching for the source of his foresight. A legionnaire surging for the left side of Sion's flank. His eyes upon this flanking attacker were alert enough for The Ruiner who turned to deal with it appropriately. Asharo's focus rocketed elsewhere.

But where was that feeling stemming from? It lingered. What was the source? Onyx brows pinched together in silent consideration- echoing the sentiment of the one he was tied to.

Crimson locks cracking against the winds of turmoil became his fixation. Then it was the blade. And then the sudden thrust of malicious energies towards their rank. Bolstered by his passive Valor, of course, the rest of their rank had pushed up with the two of them. It was easy to lose track of one's position when so much strength pulsed unnaturally through veins- however live or dead they may have been.

"I see him." His voice left him unknowingly, harmonizing with the rasp of his Other.

Whilst his mind's eye was trained onto Sion's vision, his own physical sight remained locked on Lark , offering his characteristic impassivity when it came to his battle trance. The insidious blade of effort slicing through the ranks of Doom Division made one of those eyes twitch, however. Asharo's will bolstered and he shifted his attention mildly, honing focus on the few living troopers who remained around him. He felt the pain splitting through them by extension, though not in any perceivable, physical sense.

And that, caused him to snarl. What manner of Force ability was that? He hadn't encountered such a thing.

"Uh, Ash-?"

Of course, that only meant he would have questions later.

Now was the time to act.

"I've got us."

The Guardian threw his weight to his right, sliding on dirtied boots to put himself directly in front of Sion. One heel dug in, twisting to the left, knees bent and his head ducked with the inward twisting of a shoulder, hunkering himself down as weight was thrown into his forward shoulder. Energy poured into the motion, warping reality as a shining, shield-like barrier hummed into being- glowing at its edges with an unmistakable silver sheen. The crashing tide of dark force slammed into it, dispersing to either side of the dyad, leaving them untouched and corrupting the shattered ground instead. He shrugged off the impact, allowing his armor to do its due diligence in the shock absorption.

He rallied his distant feelings, only to compartmentalize them, and without fear, rushed forward, charging the Sith Lord poised before them with silver lightsaber whirling to strike down any attempts to stop him. The first to strike out of the two Savants, as always, Ash was upon the Sith Lord in a climaxing whirl of collective effort. A blinding flash of Lightside energy erupted from his outstretched hand in an attempt to disorient and possibly weaken Lark before their blades were to cross and blood was to fly.

​

 

[Avernus]

// A V E R N U S //
// L O R D _ O F _ T H E _ N E W //
// Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Lucien Dooku | Jain //
// RAVELIN CITY, THREE KILOMETERS OFF LZ //
// D E S T R O Y _ T H E _ T H R O N E //
// K A I _ T A N G A T A //

“No amount of discipline will turn sheep into wolves.”
​

"My Lord, do you copy? This is Diamond Actual, your RDAG-"

"Did you really think I'd go down with the ship?"

"N-no, sir. Please advise, we-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Avernus groaned dismissively into the comm. His hand produced a small AvCorp holoprojector, and with a squeeze of his tumb the entire battlefield was displayed translucently before him. Blue and red blips flashed across the projection, representing the locations of forces both allied and otherwise. The collection of golden pips inflected the position of his own soldiers, separated in part from the wider conflict. Military command wasn't quite a game of Dejarik, and the blue light of the projections was definitely much more potent for inducing migraines.

"Continue with your original orders, supplement the New Imperial force's push near Fortress Carnifex. I will catch up in time."

"Negative, My Lord. Our position- blah blah blah blah blah blah blah," the soldier explained the hindrance while adhering to code and 'lingo'. But, to Avernus, it might as well have been gibberish. He blinked slowly over and over as the determined thrall serviceman continued, making an effort to accurately relay information. Again, though, it was all lost on Avernus' untrained ears.

"Diamond Actual, I have no shred of an idea what you've just said to me. Go shoot things and what have you, as you do. Uh, over?"

"My Lord?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it, I'll catch up."

Avernus tore the small comm receiver from his ear and tossed is leisurely over his shoulder. The digital sounds of the soldier's protest grew distant quickly before becoming totally inaudible. He strode slowly along the outskirts of the battlefield, Ravelin City having now become a durasteel ghost town. Where once the ambience might have been that of a bustling city, now the only atmosphere that graced these streets was the distant sound of a warzone. Avernus scowled and sneered as he absently inspected the architecture, he never remembered Bastion of all places being this tacky.

Several dozen minutes of trekking through empty streets and giving scorn to cold, inanimate surfaces went by before Avernus finally found what he was looking for; a path to one of the city's many anti-air emplacements. It was guarded, of course, not even the Sith-Imperial would be that stupid, but that wasn't going to stop him. With no care for stealth or other subtleties, Avernus began a confident strut towards the emplacement. The purples of his loose fabrics billowed gracefully behind him, adding to his visual swagger so that he might seem at least somewhat important.

"Halt!" Sith-Imperial Legionnaires, blasters trained upon him began to shout. A grip of Avernus' fist saw one of them begin to choke. "Lower your weapons you smooth-brained reprobates! I'll have you all executed if you don't move aside this instant. I am Lord... -Havoc! Star apprentice of Darth Aagenti, Pyramid of Military Command!" Was this going to work? Probably not, but if they fell for it, the process of getting to the emplacement would be expedited greatly. Blue eyes shifted from S-IMP visor to S-IMP visor, waiting to see how these pea-brained grunts legionnaires would respond.

They looked between eachother for a few moments, before one finally spoke up: "My apologies, Lord Havoc, we did not receive word of your arrival. What is your command?" That worked? Avernus mustered every single shred of power he could just for the sole purpose of maintaining his composure against the guffaw that was trying to form in his throat. "Make way for me, I'm headed to this emplacement's control center," he insisted, continuing with his confident strut.

"For what purpose, my lord? Do you require assistance?" Avernus stopped, pursing his lips, and squinting his eyes, he tried to think of an excuse. "Uniform inspection," he uttered matter-of-factly. "Uniform inspection? My Lord, we're in the middle of- HRGH!" Another clench of his fist released the first legionnaire and crushed the windpipe of the naysayer in one swift crunch. The poor fellow fell to the ground, gasping and choking fruitlessly. "Any more questions!?" 'Lord Havoc' shouted in inquiry, widening his eyes to play up the 'crazy' factor he'd put on. Several helmets shook quickly with the reassurance that there were, in fact, no more questions.

Legionnaires helped their choking friend as Avernus shoved past, his face contorted with spilling humor as it was obscured from them. "Fuckin' Sith, man-" one of the Legionnaires uttered as 'Lord Havoc' was out of earshot. Ascending the stairs, Avernus moved through several sliding durasteel blast doors on his way to the control center. Between him and the control booth, was a thick, metallic door with a singular window inside. Peeking in, Avernus could see the three engineers, sitting comfortably in their seats and staring at the retina-searing reticles awash with the images of New-Imperial ships that descended upon the city.

​

All three heads turned to the iconic snap-hiss of a lightsaber...

 

[Ryv]

Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Kir Dantos | Ellie Mors

"To plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire; and where they make a wilderness, they call it peace."
​

- Tacitus, Roman Historian​

Come the end of the brief ceremony, Ryv deactivated Resolve and stashed the lightsaber hilt at his hip. It continued to call out to him. Its voice, no louder than a distant whisper, reminded him of the coming battle. In creating the weapon, the Kiffar bound a piece of his spirit to the blade.

They were connected through not only the Force but also belief. Ryv sought the end of the Sith, permanently. Resolve hungered to eradicate the Dark Side's corrupting influence, specifically when used by those indoctrinated by the Sith Code. The lightsaber had proven itself a competent partner when faced with magics wielded by witches descended from covens of Dathomir. It brought a sense of clarity far more potent than he could manage on his own. His body felt lighter. His fears melted away, replaced by ceaseless valor. It promised none who stood in the name of Bogan could hope to challenge the champion of Ashla and his blade.

And Ryv believed it.

Still, Ryv knew to exercise caution. He'd given himself entirely to the Force on Borosk, and he could never forget what came of that decision.

His gaze instinctively fell to the left sleeve of his leather jacket. It hung lower than the stump, empty space devoid of what should've been flesh, bone, and muscle. It only took a glimpse to remind him of the pain. A burning itch flared up his arm, crawling up along each nerve. His blood boiled. Muscles tensed, each attached bone ached for a release from the lightsaber's superheated surface—Ryv grit his teeth in answer. He would not die at the foot of the Sith-Imperial palace due to ghost pains and empty promises.

Loske's sudden squeal ripped him from his reverie. He looked up at her, eyes softening as concern flooded through his mind. Her beaming grin chased such thoughts away. Ryv's phantom pains vanished immediately after that. Only her smile remained. It nearly caused him to miss what she said as her arm wrapped around his shoulders. He'd never wanted her thanks. Nor did he want Maynard's or Kir's. Their success spurred him forward, a constant reminder of what even a small group of friends with joy in mind and love in their hearts could accomplish. Yet, with her standing so close, thanking him as Maynard had, he wanted to say something. The Kiffar's mind searched for something to reflect how he felt in that instant. Looking into her blue eyes, he knew what he wanted to say.

Ryv reached up and squeezed her shoulder. "I know, Loske," but he settled on the next best thing instead.

Before he knew it, the battle was upon them. Lights flashed from red to green. A mighty wind burst into the ship the ramp descended, and Kir turned to them, offering what felt like a forced farewell. Ryv understood such sentiment. He'd seen his father, Vyrin, echo those same words to his mother on more than one occasion. Their lives were that of danger. And sometimes, just a hint of closure in the face of something so magnificently terrifying could go a long way. Ryv simply nodded after Kir, the Kiffar's remaining hand steadying himself as he hung onto the overhead bar.

When Loske and Maynard stepped forward, Ryv followed after them. He could barely make out the ground below them. Ships raced by at exhilarating speeds as colorful flashes of death zipped by from all directions. One such bolt caught the tail end of an Alliance X-Wing, sending the ship into a swift descent towards the distant world. Before it could make contact, another passing Sith-Imperial fighter pelted it with a burst of burning hot plasma. Next thing the Jedi knew, the X-Wing and its pilot were gone. Obliterated in the blink of an eye.

Elsewhere, a unit of Stormtroopers led by a white-bladed Imperial Knight charged a Sith encampment. The two force users clashed, flashes of crimson and silver light bursting through the dark smoke overhead.

Bastion was on fire.

And Ryv couldn't feel more alive.

His hand found Loske's shoulder once more, patting it once. "Together," he promised. "I'll see you on the ground!" he called after her, stepping up beside the Concordian as Loske disappeared into the chaos below. He turned to face Maynard, a knowing glance shared between them both. Ryv's hand found Maynard's forearm instantly, squeezing tight to the man he proudly called his brother. "Time to make war," Ryv took a deep breath, stepped forward, and leaped from the ship.

It felt good falling from stupidly high up.

Explosions rocked the planet, screams reverberated through the streets, people cried out in pain, while others begged for mercy—the threat of death, alongside the hope for life. Both burned true on each battlefield the Kiffar had known. Bastion called out to him. It promised him a glorious adventure, one that would see the Sith eradicated. The potential for both fame and fortune lingered, as did vengeance, hate, pride, love, and rage. None could escape the emotional severity of what war brought to the stars. He didn't care for any of that. No, Ryv wanted to cross blades with the Sith. He yearned to prove his idealogy, everything his father had left him, was superior to the Sith's depraved teachings. That thought alone centered him, aiding him as he summoned the Force to his side.

As the ground grew closer, Ryv slowed his descent. His feet made contact first. He bent his knees and tucked his chin before dropping into a forward roll. Executed correctly, he launched back onto his feet into a sprint. Loske already put a fair amount of distance between them, challenging the Emperor's elite Blackguard before he or Maynard could even land. Some would consider that a foolish maneuver. But Ryv? That's the type of action he could get behind.

His hand flicked out to the side, Resolve flying to his palm a split-second later. The Kiffar's mind expanded, reaching out beyond his own limited perception. Loske stood a dozen paces ahead of him, while Maynard issued orders to the Alliance's Commandos to his left. Ryv's essence took hold of them both, linking all three, with himself as the anchor. New information immediately flooded into his brain. He knew from Maynard's recent commands what their gunmen were expected to accomplish. Ryv could see the break in the Blackguard's defensive line before Loske even leaped up and planted her foot to one's face. He dashed forward, the verdant blade of Resolve surging to life as its master followed Loske's attack with one of his own.

Smaller than the insidious vanguard, Ryv went low. He ducked beneath the swing of a massive halberd, the force from the blow sending dust-up from the dirt. Ryv pivoted on his front foot, spinning out in a half-circle that saw his blade carve through the back of one Blackguard's knee. He didn't stop, his lightsaber was already drawn back in preparation for the thrust that saw it explode from the front of the beast's throat. The heavily armored monsters did not scream, cry, or beg as Loske and Ryv cut through them. Their autonomy was long bred from them, replaced by an undying loyalty for an Emperor who felt nothing for them. What made them so dangerous, ultimately made them predictable. They would not flee. They would fight on with reckless abandon, their weapons poised to strike, delivering death unto all who opposed Carnifex. So, Ryv took advantage of it. He baited out lethal strikes, danced out of reach, then slipped back into their guard long enough to cripple or kill them. Someone would clean up whatever he left behind.

That someone came in the form of a heavily armed unit of shock troopers employed to stop the New Jedi Order's push. Luckily, Loske saw them before they'd seen her.

Ryv spun about her form, his movements like a flowing river. He didn't jerk one way or spasm another. Wherever he sought to be, his body delivered him. And in that instant, more than anywhere else, he wanted to be behind the barrier erected by her to shelter them both from the legionnaire's explosive weaponry. When she felt her struggling behind him, he turned away a Blackblade's enhanced strike and turned to plant a hand on her back. He aimed to strengthen her barrier with one of his own, but she was still a step ahead of him. The quivering warhead turned about as a thrumming wave of telekinetic energy caught it, turned the explosive about, and sent it tumbling into a nearby structure.

"Nice!" Ryv shouted above the battle. The gesture was mostly pointless, given she and Maynard alike could feel the intense excitement threatening to erupt from within him. It led his blade forward, the Kiffar effortlessly parrying aside another blow from the Blackguard. He struck again, too fast to follow. The cybernetic monstrosity's eyes widened in shock as it looked down, both hands severed, still attached to the bladed weapon lying at its feet. Ryv met his gaze, winked, and sent him tumbling half a dozen feet through a legionnaire unit. He turned back to Loske, looked her in the eyes, and felt another's presence. It was distant, but it was there. She was there.

"Go," Ryv muttered, his eyes trained on the blondes. "I'll keep an eye on Maynard for you," he smiled after her, watching Loske disappear deeper into the complex. "Damn," he muttered, tearing his attention from the corner she took just in time to bat away an incoming blaster bolt. He followed its trajectory, spotting what looked like a sniper overlooking the street. Ryv tilted his head in evident confusion, hand raised as if questioning the shooter's decision. The sniper pulled the trigger of his rifle again. Ryv deflected it back into his face. "Idiot," the Jedi Knight rolled his eyes, turned, and chased after Maynard.

He caught up with Maynard a moment later. From where Ryv stood, he could tell the Concordian was cut off from his young apprentice's approach by a growing line of Sith-Imperial soldiers. Ryv glowered as he slid to a stop beside the general.

"I got this one, man. Get to Kir, I'll catch up after I handle these SIMPs."