Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Cara Dorniarn]

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Location: Datacenter
Opposition: NIO | Amon Vizsla | Tulan Kor
Allies: TSE | Nida Perl
Post #2

​

To the engineer, the Zeltron's nervousness was translated into unease toward the inevitable battle ahead. Perhaps she was new to the Empire’s ranks, unaccustomed to the stress that permeates a full-scale invasion. The capital planet had been a beacon of progress for the nation, then besieged by those who admittedly Cara once looked upon with favor. She had felt deceived, formerly under the impression those who split from the Empire were set on establishing a fresh and new endeavor in the galaxy. Yet lives were redirected, forged into a living tool meant to satisfy an outrageous guilt.

Their purpose was inefficient. Cara hated inefficiency.


No sooner had the Zeltron answered the inquiry did klaxon blares puncture the conversation. Imminent was no overestimation, and soon the facility had begun to fill with a mixture of so called New Imperials, Mandalorians, and those from neither side. All here for their own goals, all here to take what the engineer felt like she and so many others had worked for.

They'd come to reverse their progress.

It had not been perfect, little was in the galaxy. But civilization and modernity were brought to barbarous worlds. Science, medicine, and industry flourished. The disparities between Sith and Imperial had been sutured. If Bastion fell it would be a slap not in the face of former ruling classes, but to those Imperials who drove the machine forward with offerings of blood and body. Still, through all the achievement and sacrifice, questions bore into the engineer's conflicted mind, "With everything that's happened would you approve? Could you be proud of the things I've done, Lori?"

Cara focused on the hoard inbound. Among them a fighter wearing neither Imperial plasteel nor Mandalorian iron let loose a furious scream.

"We have five squads flanking the breach on the left and right along with a center detachment further back. We're attempting a bottleneck. With the amount of bodies dropping it might slow their path," the soldier beside Cara lowered his hand from the comm, "Remember your orders." He gave her a firm nod and, though limping, took up his blaster and charged forward to meet his kin at the line.

She had returned the dip of his head then begun to face the Zeltron. Like a rabid animal the soldier had lunged but was pushed back by the girl, and from his body language it was evident that the fight wasn't in devotion to some new creed-- it was personal.

But in her eyes his anger made him sloppy.

As Tulan leapt forward Cara slipped between him and Nida. She cast forward a steel grip, aiming to seize the knee he'd intended to plant on Nida's chest. The digits of her other hand were slung forward to clamp around his grip which wielded the knife. If successful he was suspended for a moment, able to see the reflection of himself in her visor before she slammed him onto the ground.

"Messy."

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

ACQUIRE DATASETS
16th SOM Expeditionary Force "Pre Vizsla"
ALLIES: NIO // Tulan Kor Meshla Detta
ENEMIES: TSE // Cara Dorniarn Nida Perl
D H A _ W E R D A _ V E R D A

​

DATACENTER TOWER,
CAPITAL COMPLEX

Tulan had no words for his former protege, only vengeance in the form of a knife's edge. What the ex-Ranger commando had sacrificed for the sake of Nida only to see her fall from grace and become one of the enemy. Treachery of its worst kind.

Amon wondered if that is how his father, Ronan Vizsla felt about him. He'd left behind the clan for the pursuit of justice for his sister and his quest to fight for the 'good', away from Ronan's brutal ways.

He heard his father's words in his mind rattling him, it nearly drew him out of the battle.

Nearly.

An armored figure threw herself at Tulan's onslaught. Amon reacted. His vambrace rose up and fired a grappling hook at the new assailant aiming to ensnare the opponent and pull her towards the Mandalorian. The Vizsla kickstarted his repulsorpack backwards pulling in with greater force.

Humming eerily in his other hand, the Darksaber impatiently awaited its next execution.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Thaumaturgic Tower in Fortress Carnifex, Bastion
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armour: link |
Allies: AMCO | Aren D'Shade
Enemies: Caulder Dune | FN-999

Background music:
Elena Siegman – Abracadavre​

Adrian didn't answer, though she felt that her lover had received the message, but still he didn't answer. According to them, he probably spoke in words at the moment. Unlike Ingrid and Telis Taharin-Zambrano , Adrian was unable to talk telepathically and loudly about two separate things at the same time. And how much he loves to hear his own voice! Then he could send back at least one feeling instead of talking. Anything that would let a woman know that her lover is okay. True, she would feel the telepathic connection anyway if he was hurt or in trouble. But still, it would be too late. Ingrid could teleport from here anytime and get to the Sith Lord quickly if he needed help.

If she hadn’t controlled her emotions so much, she would have even smiled. A dangerous opponent? Based on what the other said, she set the bar quite high, though she didn’t even get into what she was doing. Because of this, she was really pleased, she could be done faster by one person, and in the meantime, she could even close the corridor or order soldiers here to keep others away. Didn't move, just followed with her eyes as the four survivors and their injured companions left their companion.

”Do you really think I'll be close by when they return? But at least you saved their lives…” her voice was cold and distant as usual.

It wasn't as if she cared what the fate of the soldiers would be. If they had served the Eternal Empire, Ingrid would have been grateful to the man and let him go if he did not want to fight at all. But not like that. She also “watched” with Force the place where Adrian still was, and hadn't felt a problem yet. She hoped she would have enough time to get back to her lover if they start to fight. Huge electric sword. Ingrid had no doubt that her opponent was stronger and more brutal than she was.

She was an artist compared to the man. As long as the woman doesn’t let the other hit her or she wants to openly block the man’s attack, there will be no problem. She had to be faster and smarter all the time. This has been common for her since she was a small child. Also tried to engage in psychological warfare, that is, to upset the other. Ironically, with the truth and not a lie, meanwhile she thought for a moment to shrug, but she didn’t.

”I'm not a Sith! Even if you kill me, you won't achieve anything with it. You will never get satisfaction!”

However, the woman did not intend to die here. The man came, out of sheer anger, Ingrid toyed with the idea that she should steal the man's anger and then kill him. As the man got closer to her, the woman moved; the other moving with truly brutal force relative to her. But fortunately, such attacks were easily defensible. Danced aside from the attack with a quick, springy and elegant move. Feeling the slice caused by the blow, she had no doubt that she could die if one hit it.

Predators and prey; one is brutal, the other is elegant. She wanted to anger the other even more to make more mistakes and be an easier opponent. Of course, she didn't underestimate her opponent, but she could play with him. When dodged the attack, slipped past the man as she reached behind him with the sword sheet she was trying to strike the other's waist and buttocks, indicating that he might even be dead. Then turned back for a moment not to show her back to the other if the man turned around as well.

”You need more than that, to catch me!” she continued the psychological warfare.

​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

Market: Imperial Capital Complex, Ravelin City, Bastion
Investment: Objective I - Gotterdammerung
Portfolio: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Vokti Mekn iv Siarbras Naudot | Vaizdas iv Auksas | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Assets: TSE
Liabilities: Auteme | NIO
Stocks: III

---

A loud explosion rocked the building before the young woman had to chance to respond. Roof panels crashed to the floor, desks and equipment overturned, and the room’s glowpanels flickered before emergency lighting cut in. Tithe staggered into a nearby overturned console, his eyes darting around the room as he searched for a way to safety.

When the shaking subsided he could no longer see the young lady who had accosted him. A pity - there was something about her, an unusualness which had caught his attention. He presence in the Sith-Imperial propaganda studio during a large-scale invasion was without explanation. Tithe had committed almost every waking moment over the past week planning today - encountering a friendly stranger at the most critical moment had not factored into his planning.

No, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He needed to stick to the plan.

---

The Moff was no stranger to careful planning. His appointment to the senior ranks of the Sith Imperial Banking Clan had done litter to satisfy his lust for credits. He soon found himself mingling with likeminded individuals, many of who had become extremely wealthy as a result of the Sith-New Imperial conflict. Every interaction had been carefully planned to advance his agenda. Every casual comment had held a purpose, every meeting carefully slotted into a grander scheme.

Adopting the guise as ’Lord Exchequer’, he had joined the InterGalatic Banking Clan and attended a number of meetings. Again, his motivations had been carefully laid out, every move figured into grander machinations. Careful planning had seen him quickly rise to power and rebuild his wealth. There had been no room for wildcards or follies of fancy. Just himself, and a plan.

Aerarii dusted off his seat-soaked uniform. He needed to get out of here. The plan demanded it.

---

His data googles continued to provide scrolling battle updates. He hazarded a look at the latest from the nearby area - Sith warriors were engaging a red armoured Mandalorian, New Imperial forces had breached a data centre, and enemy dropships had disgorged Jedi at the Gilad Pellaeon Arboretum. Chaos was all around. While it provided the perfect cover for a sole bureaucrat to slip away unnoticed, the chances of being caught in the crossfire was high.

Taking one last look at the compromised holoterminal, Tithe turned and hurried out of the SINN propaganda studio. The security checkpoint he’d passed through on the way in was empty, the guards having been called away to secure another part of the building from the encroaching New Imperial attack.

In the few short minutes Tithe had been inside the studio, the plaza outside had been rendered unrecognisable. Bodies - Sith-Imperial and New Imperial alike - were littered as far as the eye could see. Attack craft of a dozen different designs swooped overhead as they engaged with aerial combat. The menacing sounds of repulortank and walkers pounding away at one another was omnipotent.

He took a deep breath and tried - unsuccessfully - to calm his nerves. The Moff had worked so hard for so long to get to this today. He just needed to keep his head about him and stick to the plan. He’d obsessed over his course of action, poured over every possible detail, devised a counter for every possible scenario. If he kept his head down and stuck to the plan, everything would be alright.

And maybe, if he kept repeating that to himself, the terrified Tithe might even come to believe it himself.

 

[AMCO]

​

Location: The Conduit, beneath the Thaumaturgical Tower, Fortress Carnifex
Objective: Preserve the Sith Empire's secrets... and more importantly, stay alive.
Equipment: SIB-14 & G1 OmniLink | Shield Talisman, Empyrean Gland, & [2] Jin'Pins | 6/6 Karza'Arana Darksworn
Writing With: Aren D'Shade (Ally) & Caulder Dune (Opponent) || Ingrid L'lerim (Ally) & FN-999 (Enemy)

​

His Apprentice was seemingly well on her way to mastering something as intensely complicated as teleportation and Darth Adekos himself had suddenly strolled through the door. My oh my, this day was turning out to be quite the interesting one - and to think he had only expected to quickly clean up a few loose ends before retiring to a stealth transport and observing the battle from a safe distance.

"Lord Prospero, I am surprised, ... a man of your talents is wasted on cleanup duty."

Smiling softly, Adrian inclined his head in recognition. "No less so than yours, certainly, unless you are looking for something specific?"

There was precious little left to pilfer in the Thaumaturgical Tower above, that much was for sure - he had personally seen to that some time earlier. One could hardly allow its various instruments of mystical power to fall into the hand of the New Imperial philistines, after all.

His smile widened as the Umbaran displayed his willingness to consider a more civilised solution, though it faltered for the briefest moment once he noticed what his Apprentice had been attempting. "Almost always, Lord Adekos, almost always - and I hope you will forgive my Apprentice..."

"... I don't believe she has ever stood opposed to a fellow practitioner of Mechu-Deru before, let alone one of your calibre."

That said, Aren had been properly informed of who they were dealing with - assuming, of course, that she even recognised the name, for a former Sith Emperor Adekos was a rather private individual. Fond of aliases; results over glory. Sensible, really, but it made it hard to assemble a dossier on the man, although there were still clues here and there if one had the intellect and patience of, say, a Tsudakyr Overmind.

"I would offer a comfortable seat and some refreshments, but I'm afraid this place is rather lacking in both categories."

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Madelyn Lowe, NIO custody,
Grand Vizier’s Flagship NIV The Sentinel,
Command-distance from Bastion
With Tyrell Paxxus

The trudging boots returned quicker than she expected. Perhaps the last beating had not been sufficient to shake out the pre-operation jitters. Or maybe, the looming spectre of the Sith homeworld had intensified their hatred. She didn’t know. As her captors approached, she imagined the Sith fleet silhouetted against the form of the throneworld. They would hold, repel the assault. They had to. But, what would that mean for her? She suspected a frustrated opposition would relish the chance to make an example of her, or else use her as a tool against the Sith.

The footsteps halted outside her cell, and Madelyn stiffened despite herself. She resisted the urge to turn her head as the door hissed open. Wincing involuntarily, she kept her eyes front, glued to the spot where the metallic wall met the flooring. The light that flooded the space was blocked by a figure. She waited for the blow, it did not come.

The figure spoke, and Madelyn tilted her head, her eyes widening in surprise. Her shoulders stayed tensed. Was this it then? She knew the voice, recognised it instantly. Tyrell Paxxus: Grand Vizier of the New Imperial Order and Sith traitor. Madelyn wondered if he would be reading out her charges before she was led out to the firing squad.

She ignored the man’s apology - meaningless - but cooperated when she was grabbed, rising unsteadily to her feet, her head spinning slightly. Madelyn brushed a lank curl off of her face, straightening herself up demurely. Finally, she turned her head, her green eyes flashing as they locked with Tyrell’s brown.

“Captain Paxxus.” She said finally. “Unexceptional and forgotten in the eyes of the Sith, then propelled to great importance by exceptional circumstances.” She took a step back, distancing from the silhouetted figures in the doorway as much as she could. “Some would say we’re alike, no?” Madelyn said, a trickle of blood spilling from her split lip as she smiled. Looking the man up and down, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, legs burning from hours of sitting still on the cell floor, and otherwise aching all over from various inflicted injuries. “But I’m no traitor.”

They probably weren’t going to kill her, she decided, not yet anyway. Madelyn bowed her head and gave a dramatic bow, her unkempt hair spilling over her face again as she did so. She looked between the forms at the door and smoothed down her crumpled grey garb. She looked back at Paxxus once again, looking tireder, more pallid and drained, than she ever had before. “Lead the way.” She said grimly.

 

[Tulan Kor]

​

Objective: Fight.
Allies: Amon Vizsla l NIO
Enemies: Cara Dorniarn l Nida Perl


His assault on the Sith acolytes and warriors was met with little resistance- until one came at him like no other. She actually reached up for him, and seized him by the knee and the wrist. His attack was stopped, and he was slammed onto the ground. His armor took the brunt of the attack, and she hadn't the time to really get him- the momentum was simply shifted. He looked up at her, about to drop his knife into his other hand to stab her in the neck-

When Amon's chord wrapped around her foot.

"Careless."

He snapped back, as Cara was yanked away, and he stood up to his feet, flipping his night-vision upwards. In the growing darkness, Tulan was fighting in low-light, against a Jedi- against a Sith. And he didn't want anything over his eyes. And he wanted Nida to look him there- right in his piercing blue eyes.

He stood up, rotating the knife as he stood to his fighting stance, his stance alone denoting his intensive training-


And experience.

He approached Nida slowly, remaining in the stance, slither-stepping his feet in order to advance on her.

He stared at her as he approached, narrowing his eyes.

"You're going to break your mother's heart."

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Melee | Grenades
M E T A L _ G E A R

​

"This is only the beginning,"

"While there is much to be done, we are not alone. Others can be turned, brought to heel beneath our might. Once Bastion is under siege, others will see the folly in serving a broken order, or die beside the dog that is Kaine Zambrano."

Just as it began, so it will end. The wayward dream of ambitious men made manifest in the crumbling foundations to a ruinous artifact of a nation. The memory pierced through his mind once more as if a warped means of feigning vindication for the

Odds defied, Irveric Tavlar stood in the shadow of the palace. The nexus of Sith-Imperial power. Still, it was surreal to think his feet tread this place at all. The conqueror, not the slave.

But there was still no certainty in the finality of this crusade. He could end up one among the ruins just as the many of his comrades he'd dragged this far did. But that was fine, it was a better death to die beneath this sky than any other. To die on his feet in the battle which served as culmination to the slog to now. It would be worth it all the same. Even if that was a deeply selfish mindset, those stroopers charging head first into the fray could not say the same though they knew the cost. They knew exactly what was to be expected of them, to die for the men and women at their flanks even if it was to play such a small part in darkness's fall.

“Of course Lord Imperator, a good soldier follows their orders,”

He could only hope that'd be so true for all them.

His gaze set down the sights at Diamondback as he stood him down. His name crossed the Inquisitor's lips aloud to him, as far as he could recall, perhaps only one of the first of few Sith to ever respect his birth name and not see a moniker like 'Traitor!' far more fitting for the Dantooinian.
Deserved as it might have been. Maybe it was that Djorn occupied a role only technically divergent from Tavlar’s the very moment he stood up in the Ascendant Hall and decried the Sith unworthy of the Empire that paraded over in their orgy of self indulgent tyranny and delusion.

Whatever respect might’ve been there, the crack of blaster fire still beat against Irveric’s chest, the particle beams splashing in energetic devestation over the breastplate before he peered back in his direction.

He was still an assassin, he’d crawl into Tavlar’s quarters as a bump in the night and wring the life from his neck personally if he could. Not that he’d view him any less for it.

Good soldiers follow orders.

The Grand Moff surged toward him in a dogged rush. He stared him down with narrowed eyes. He was ready.

When that extended pistol arm reeled off another shot which slammed against his helmet, serving to temporarily blind the man for the faintest moments before revealing the scorched crater of its purchase on his armor he reached out to grasp up at Djorn’s arm and pull it toward him to brace his pistol arm between his own arm and torso in a choking flex before his other moved to plant against Bline’s other shoulder in symphony with his foot crossing between the Inquisitor’sin the hopes to creating a leverage point to throw the operative from his feet and into the shattered ground beneath.

He might’ve had youth in his favor, likely superior conditioning. But Irveric had the cold sense about him, it allowed him to walk away breathing from an encounter with the Jedi Lanik Dawnstar on Kintan before he saw more fit to impose a nanogene to render himself null from the force and supplement his body with a synthetic fortitude and expanded thresh hold of pain and strength.

But now he could only match his own deeply ingrained instinct for combat against Djorn's, one of the Sith Empire's more lethal operatives. Even after the blaster shot marred his helmet and disturbed the beskar horn fixed into his skull, making the grounds for a warped reality about him and a teeth grinding anger which calcified his senses.

Ready to match Bline blow for blow in this primal exchange, Irveric was silent in retort.

// ALLIES | NIO //: Agrippa | Ravraa Vyshraal | Kor Vexen | FN-999 | Asharo Madar | Sion Alar | Halketh | Marshal Zovesa
// ENEMIES | TSE //: Djorn Bline

 

[Cyndane]

Objective: Survive & regroup​

Location: Residential Sector, bordering the Administrative Sector ​

Equipment: Lightsaber, Blaster pistol, 3 2 thermal detonators​

Enemies: New Imperial Order, Ursula Vizla ​

​

Her cocky grin was wiped off her face the minute the Mandalorian started cursing. It came out of nowhere; some god eating apples, what did it have to do with her? The confusion was written all over her face, which was luckily hidden behind what was left of her cover. She narrowed her eyes, keeping them trained on the Mandalorian in an effort to figure out if the question was aimed at her, or somebody else. Wait, was she perhaps... surrounded?​

A quick scan of the Force yielded no results. Get your head back in the game Arisia. Just stop listening to her. She thought to herself, but that was easier said than done. "Skyvar the apple-eater." She shot back, unable to restrain herself when the Mandalorian asked for her name. Although this wasn't the time to act all funny, she knew she could feed on her opponent's irritation through the Dark side. And that, of course, was exploitable. "What's yours? Tin can? Black Buckethead? Mandalor the pear-eater?" Yes they were terribly unimaginative names, but the Dark Apprentice wasn't here for a brainstorm session on ridiculous Mandalorian nicknames. No, the talk of apples reminded her of the fact that she still had three rather explosive round balls to throw.​

Slowly, the fingers of her free left hand curled around one of the three thermal detonators attached to her belt, her action obscured by the rubble she hid behind. Fighting this particular Mandalorian was going to be a battle of attrition; anyone who saw that heavy armor could tell. Therefore, she had to use her three trump cards sparingly.​

Waiting for the opportune moment to throw it, however, proved to be a bit harder. The woman kept on talking, and talking... and so on. The Dark apprentice's yellow eyes rolled in annoyance. "Lady, did your parents never teach you to shut up?" she exclaimed seconds after the Mandalorian was done with her whole philosophical monologuing over krayt-dragon's teeth and a plate with cookies. Or was it a jar? She genuinely couldn't remember, nor did she care. The maniacal laughter that followed, however, made her face contort in a pout. Again she had to ask herself... who was the woman laughing at?​

"Anyway..."​

​

Adrenaline abruptly jolted through her body as the shift in tone made clear that playtime was over. Her thumb applied pressure to the ignition switch, ready to unleash a destructive thermal explosion on the streets of her revered Ravelin. Right before she wanted to unleash havoc on what remained of the street, a sly thought crept through her mind. Why throw it at all?​

The Force surged through her body as the Mandalorian closed in, leaping at her to close the distance between them and end it once and for all. Except, she wasn't going to stay in one place.​

It all happened within a single moment. She'd let go of the thermal detonator and aided by the adrenaline and the energy surge of the Force, Arisia leapt up and flipped back. She would keep her lightsaber close to her body to deflect potential projectile. She barely avoided the Mandalorian's blade, narrowly escaping the electrified charge that would've incapacitated her the second it connected with her body. ​

The explosion that followed when the palm-sized device hit the ground still unbalanced the Sith in mid-air, despite the distance she had tried to make. She saved her landing with a slightly painful backward roll, one that ended with her in a half-kneeling position.​

"Not so bad for Skyvar the apple-eater eh?" she taunted, hoping that the Mandalorian had been caught in a less-fortunate part of the blast radius.​

 

[Darth Assimilus]

​

Direct Enemies: Quinn Varanin
Nearby Enemies: Ellie Mors
GA Friend-enemies: Kir Dantos
Equipment: Armor, Sithsword, Rifle
Vehicle: BARC Speeder Bike

There in wait, trapped within the psyche of his own mind, he stood frozen and let his perception of reality flow around him. Naturally the world around him was slower. An inherent trait all Gen'dai possessed. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Even now the heart beats of the two combatants could be felt as his own. They were among-st the many other hundreds of sensations Kezeroth could feel, as if it were originating from himself. Shouts of sith military forces came to hear in the near distance behind him. Men looking to serve their Empire. To finish their job of killing enemy forces. Oh how disappointed they were going to be. They were of no consequence to the red behemoth yet. Still the Gen'dai knew it to wise to move from his current position and advance and so he attempt to do.

"There he is! The big karker there. Blast him!" A commanding voice stabbed the air. His very words manifesting intent to harm and injure. From behind particle beam shots flew true to their mark. Riddling Kezeroths armored back with miniature explosions and jolting his body forward slightly. Smoke from the bolts damaging the duranium plating was now prevalent. Such an attack was not without retaliation.

I'll crush them. I'll crush them all! " Your dead!" I screamed turning around on a pivot. I could feel the whispers of the dark within my being tempting me to unleash the power stored inside, it would wait. With my left eye I took in their positions well. At three meters away they believed they were safe?! FROM ME!! From there Kezeroths left arm began to morph and grow. The armor that gave it a general form and shape started to segment apart. From shoulder to elbow and forearm to wrist it stretched out to exactly three meters. The muscle, nerve and tendons used as nothing more than a bludgeoning tool for the Sith squads demise. A simple yet brutal swat of his left arm was all it took to reduce the situation to nothing. And yet this was not enough. I took the last maggot who blasted me. I wanted him to see and hear the bones and armor of his friends and brothers snap beneath my might! And he did! The fresh scent of iron and crimson stains on my arm wafted about the air. Fear became the solider in my grasp. The duraplast of his armor cracked under strain of my unleashed hands.

It was then an only then did the force remove his sanity. Like a raptor-wasps sting the sensation of familiarity was once again felt in the distance yet only this time it was confirmed by the simple activation of a lightsaber. Flashbacks of suffering and rueful glares passed through like lightning and boiled his blood. The solider no longer existed in his view, rather instead in the Gen'dais grasped a woman vulnerable and trapped. She struggled for release. Flames in the Behemoths mind rose engulfing him. It was seen in her eyes and heard by the giants past screams. One Sith acolytes scurried past waving blades of red. It twas merely a memory, a post-traumatic flash back of the past. The One Sith had fallen long ago and yet it mattered little to Kezeroth. Taking off his helmet and dropping it to the ground below, he snarled. Holding back a primal roar begging to be released from a shattered past. Deep emotions screaming for expression and release.

Finally he gave in.

​

Augmented by the force the pressure of the sound waves pummeled the solider and rattled his bones and echoed for miles. Malevolent eyes stared at him as if he was someone he was not. And oh how he was! With a blink the flash back ended and reality set in. Returned the to the present Kezeroth blinked several more times and let his anger subside slightly out of sheer confusion. The veil had been broken and what was left was a sniffling mess of a man in Sith trooper regalia. " Your not her!" I told the soldier showing a disgusted look on my face. He did not respond. "Gaah!" Kezeroth exhaled his disappointment and turned around. The golden lightsaber held in the distance. The face of the weapon had been seen and now a name was remembered.
"Ashin. Varanin." He whispered. It was what he was feeling after all. He turned. Facing the direction of Quinn Varanin in the far distance. The flashbacks boiled to the surface once more but not as potent this time. Still it was enough to summon anger and rage from the abyss that was welled in his emotional pools. And so he shouted once more the named to ignite the flames. Simultaneously his grasped hand closed on the sith trooper producing at loud pop while also staining his hand with warm liquids.

​

After screaming the name, what was left of the soldiers body was given flight toward the young lady in the distance and her adjacent area. There was more oomph in the Gen'dais step after that. He had a focus. He had a purpose. He had a target now and so he moved faster and faster till a sprint was what followed. His heavy plated boots clanking into the earth and quaking it subtly. The motion of the movement causing his large sithsword on his back to swing about. A single hand gripped his rifle while the other was free.

Here I come Ashin.

There was only one problem that he was unaware of, This was not Ashin.

​

 

[Onrai]

Post: 2
Objective: Harm NIO fleet units and protect the Malevolence
Enemies: Hiram Voss Olen Halcorr
Allies: Moon Seo-Yun Grand Moff Aut-X

The attack by Hiram Voss's fleet assets on the Malevolence was the opportunity Vanessa was looking for. The beam weapons of Vanessa's multiple warships once more charged and engaged the former First Order admiral's warships. In concert, Vanessa's own vessels transmitted the necessary targeting data for Hiram's warships to the Voracitos-class bombardment spheres, which quickly unloaded a fusillade of seeker baradium missiles towards their capital ship targets. Preventing the weaponry of the Malevolence from being damaged was of critical importance, though she made sure her ships did not enter the range of the weapon.

-

Alpha Squadron was still engaging with the fighters, supporting Moon and her associated ships. At least one Forge had been taken out of action with several shots to its left wing panel, and multiple Eightguns were bearing the scars of laser fire on their frames. The ships turned around and came in for another pass. A Forge which was being pursued by an X-Wing quickly looped around, getting behind it and opening fire with its laser cannons. A pair of Eightguns came in guns blazing to try and disrupt the push by Olen's squadron against the bombers, now moving towards Hiram's ships.

Finally, the battle had begun.

 

[Nida Perl]

Gotterdammerung | Imperial Capital Complex | Datacenter
Allies | Cara Dorniarn
Enemies | Amon Vizsla | Tulan Kor | Meshla Detta

He stumbled, fell, and scrambled to his feet. Her efforts may have bought her a few seconds, but individual moments simply evaporated into thin air during battle.

L I A R.

A single word, dripping with visceral hatred rang in her head. Nida grimaced and brought her hands to her face, trying to will away Tulan’s voice clanging around her mind like a klaxon. The perils of being an empath.

She would have been dead if Cara hadn’t stepped in with her iron grip grabbing Tulan at the knee and wrist before slamming him against the ground. As quickly as she’d arrived, the Sith knight was yanked away from her line of sight by the Mandalorian’s hook.

With her protector swept away into the proverbial arms of another assailant, Nida was left alone with Tulan. Even though the data center was alive with the sounds of blaster fire and shouting, the Zeltron’s focus honed in on the ranger—former ranger, apparently, as he stalked towards her. Nida may have lost her way, but her common sense had not dulled. There was no way she’d win against Tulan in a physical fight, and Nida had her doubts about how long she’d even last. Trained and experienced as he was, Tulan also knew not to underestimate the little guy. Which meant that he wouldn’t give Nida the benefit of taking her lightly.

Then he said something that caused her skin to prickle, and her eyes to dilate. Mother. How dare he drag her into this. Tulan had no way of knowing the well-crafted lie fed to her by Darth Carnifex , so that statement hurt her on a number of levels. Nida’s hand fisted her cloak and she swallowed thickly, trying to swallow the image of her mother’s face—shocked, hurt—along with it.

“That woman is not my mother!”

She spoke with a coldness impossible for Nida Perl. Although the corruption in her mind had taught her to hate the woman who’d raised her, it conflicted heavily with the past 15 or so years of affection and warmth she’d been shown by her adoptive family. Love and hate battle within her, clashing and mingling so furiously that Nida couldn’t pin down one feeling towards Joza. The bonds with her family were not broken but tangled and knotted and frayed.

It hurt. Thinking of her mother hurt, her disappointment. The audacity to use Joza against her, the conflicted and confusing feelings Tulan had kicked up hurt. It hurt, and so Nida decided that she would have to hurt him back.

Fortunately, she already held a presence within Tulan’s mind. Locking eyes with solider, she let her senses seep deeper into his mind, exploring his memories, his fears, his anger. Or at least she would have liked to, as new to this as she was. But she was able to hook into one thing, one defining memory. A cornerstone in who Tulan was. A memory of infidelity, of murder, and desperate escape. Something that made him like her.

From the dregs of his mind, the treachery executed by Tulan Kor would explode forth, forcing him into visions of his own betrayal.

 

[Halketh]

user :// THE_VULTURE
location :// SOUTH APPROACH, FORT CARNIFEX, BASTION
local time :// UNKNOWN
objective :// BLOOD_RAGE
post :// v
allies :// NIO, Irveric Tavlar & THE 501ST STORMTROOPER LEGION // DOOM DIVISON
pre-determined foe(s) :// Darth Xer
opposition status :// OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT
[ ✝oxic ]
[x]
doom_division_status :// 215/230 [ 70/70 ]​

A blood-splattered, mud-caked whirlwind of dirtied white cloth torrented around The Vulture as he swept over the battlement, molten blood surging through his veins with every wicked breath pulled through the busted ventilation of his helmet. It was getting harder and harder to breathe with every blow punched into the side of the durable material. Even still, every fiery breath pushed from his lungs furiously as clawed gauntlets fearlessly caught the crimson blade of a lightsaber between them, locking the nigh intangible plasma in a wicked grasp. Energy raced through his hold, raising the sweat-stuck hair beneath his garb to his sickly, scarred flesh. Swiftly now. Swiftly.

Kezec reeled the blade towards him, channeling the energy into his collecting pool of resources for upcoming efforts. One hand released the wicked blade and reeled back to extend unseen tendril towards the broken remnants of a durasteel bench placed on the boulevarde for rest before this place was anything but a raging hot zone. His wrist whipped it around slamming the fractured, razor's edge of the impromptu blade straight through the burdened arm of the Sith Imperial Knight he was tangled with.

The shriek of pain and hot splatter of blood against his front prompted his release of the lightsaber and he tossed the severed limb to the ground beneath. But there was no moment of shock to spare for his foe; not a moment of mercy nor respite. The Vulture lunged forward, curling taloned gloves around the exposed features of the shrieking Pureblood and dug thumbs until he found the soft, fleshy membranes of eyes. Distinctive squelches and screams gargled in the struggle, though his bloodlust had long since bolstered his strength. A hot white pain shattered his focus and he wheezed a gasp.

"T-traitor!" the wrenching Pureblood screamed in his face, twisting the blade jammed into the sorcerer's lower abdomen.

Teeth bared beneath his mask, spittle flying from the edges of his curled lips with the violent hiss of a stabilizing breath. "Traitor?" Lord Halketh retorted his curt question, funneling the rage brought about by his wound into his gouging thumbs. A much more satisfying wail slipped from the struggling Sith Imperial. "You know nothing of who I am- yet." The weight of his last word bore the conviction of his judgment, and at once, he finished what it was he did, pushing until the jointed sockets of his thumbs ground against the fleshy tissue of lower eyelids.

The Pureblood went limp, losing his grip around the hilt of his knife. He slumped backward, released carelessly by The Vulture's deadly grasp.

The sorcerer swayed on his feet, reaching his bloody hands down to brace the blade still aptly plunged into his lower gut. He was no medic, nor doctor, and never had he claimed to be. The extent of the damage was not something he could assess- all he knew was he had been made the prompt host of an unwelcome guest. He staggered backward a step, holding the hilt of the blade steady and slumped against the shattered ruin of a wall. "This is VULTURE, I need... medical." The breathy words panted into his comm to his own forces, causing the other chatter to cease for a moment.

"VULTURE, hold on- I see you."

The cold creep of shock tip-toed up the sorcerer's spine, causing him to shiver. Craze swept through his consciousness, stoking the dichotomous fires of his endless appetite. It was a strange clash of sensations that rapt at the edges of his focus, warping and distorting his strange sight. What he had come to understand as red washed through the colorless expanse of churning, indiscernible smears before him. Rivulets of sweat rushed down his brow, tracing the edge of a cheekbone. Goosebumps rose across his frame.

"I've got you, I've got you. Here. You're alright, sir." The voice startled him, causing an involuntary jolt in response, "Don't pull that out. Good. Okay. You're alright. It's Corporal Beckett." He felt hands on his shoulders, urging him down.

And down he went without resistance, easing to the duracrete below. "Beckett..." the vague name was familiar. The Corporal from the hangar at Icorith. His brow furrowed. "Okay. Thank you."

"Take a deep breath." The Corporal eased hands around the hilt of the knife after shooing Kezec's away. "It's not far enough up to have struck organs. That doesn't mean it isn't gonna bleed like a queen though."

He wheezed for the requested breath. "Wait wait wait I'm not read-"

"Close enough. Okay. Here I go. One. Two-" swiftly the medic tore the blade out, angling the draw the same as the plunge had been.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Kezec screeched, nearly coming unglued at the aggravation to the swelling wound. Darkside energy rushed from his fingers, pouring into the veins of the cracked ground by his sides.

"Press on that, here-" armored hands took Kezec's fearlessly, pushing them firmly over the gushing stab wound. "-there you go. Now-"

The rest of the Corporal's words became hazy, droning noise at the same frequency as the irritating ring which had plagued Kezec's ears since the damage to his helmet. The rage was all-consuming, and he basked in it, seething with every whimper and growl clawing its way from between his lips. He nurtured it. Coaxed it. Tamed it. Swells of blackened energy coalesced to pour into the wound as the medic turned to prepare a bundle for packing. Tissue melded together in excruciating tandem, lunging across either side to reunite with the hewn fibers. His legs twitched involuntarily with the ignition of nerves.

"My lord-?" the Corporal's words fell on deaf ears. He could sense the rise in the sorcerer. It wasn't like anything he had felt from The Vulture before. Fear welled in his gut, seizing hold of his limbs and freezing him in place.

"Push- the attack-" Kezec snarled violently beneath his helmet, each breath laborious and strained against the tidal wave of agony as he sought to mend the worst of his wound, "I've something to do."

 

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Aradia

Spoiler: Post archive for our story

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider
​

The din of battle rang around her-- shots, explosions, screams. Screams of fear. They were the one thing the training room hadn't prepared her for. The Bastion Academy stood between the city and the Fortress, close to the center. All the best, Aradia resigned, she wouldn't have to go far to make her mark. It was all the other people standing in the way that shocked her senseless.

The civilians.

The families.

Aradia stood in the Academy's court yard, her lips parted as he ground quaked against an unseen attack. In a window beyond a gate, another child stood gaping, their vision set on the street leading toward them. Aradia's attention peeled off the child as a man tore them back, the curtains flapping in their wake. Men in white suits approached down the streets, blasters in hand as they pushed to break in deeper.

All the while they shot. They exploded. They ran over flower pots. She stood frozen as she peered out the gate, watching the swath of trained warriors push deeper into the city that made up her home. She gasped as the outside table of her favorite coffee shop became crushed under the wheels of an approaching tank. The city was falling to the invaders as they destroyed to conquer. And why? They marched on, so close she could see the dirt smeared across a helm.

Anger churned in her gut. She might not understand war, but she did know loss. She would not lose this place too.

A cry pulled from her throat as she left the safety of the courtyard, the teen jumping over a hedge and flying liking a monkey into the nearest solider as they marched on by. It was the shock alone that took him down, the girl small and frail despite how heartily she could now eat at each and every meal. There was nothing to note about her, the girl clad in simple black as she wrestled against the soldier's back. The march halted, all guns swirling onto her and the comrade that served as a shield.

You know she hadn't thought this through.

Her features contorted up at the white helmets that stared her down, her palm raising. "Get out of my home!" Fire exploded out at them all.

​

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Aradia

War, the thing Oceiros had once feared most. He’d feared war more than he feared the Sith, for it was in war where he’d lost his family. Where he’d lost his famed cousin. Yet no matter where Oceiros hid war always found him in one way or another. War had come to Brentaal, bringing with it death and destruction the likes of which the Jedi had never seen. It was also on Brentaal that Oceiros learned that he could no longer run, that he couldn’t hide, that there was something beyond simply himself. Arcanus wouldn’t have hid, no true Sunstrider would continue to bury their face in the sand while injustice and tyranny reigned around them. No longer was the Epicanthix running from war, now he marched in it.

Alongside the Jedi there were numerous Galactic Alliance soldiers and stormtroopers that moved through the streets. Standing atop a tank, Oceiros kept an eye out across the streets. Smoke and flames billowed to the sky, above the skies taking on the appearance of death. Oceiros could feel it as he looked across the cityscape, the force in turmoil, an odd sensation filling his being. This wasn’t a fight between light and dark, the Jedi weren’t the true reason behind this fight against the Sith. It went beyond that, it was a fight about reclaiming what was once lost. Those who’d once served the Sith returned to claim the home they’d fought for, bled for, and had sought to protect, many willing to do whatever necessary to reclaim it. This world wasn’t the Sith, it showed how little the Sith overlords cared for the planet by not evacuating it, by leaving civilians behind in the midst of a battle they knew was soon to come.

Oceiros’ heart was heavy as they approached the Bastion Academy, he could feel the presence of those within, all those that had been tainted by the dark. Those who’d had their thoughts clouded and manipulated by the Sith believing that it was the true way to live. “Watch your fire, when possible use stun rounds, glop grenades and sonic weapons. We will not be killing children today. Those who resist-” Oceiros stopped, the words he knew he had to say caught in his throat. Never did he think he’d have to do such a thing.


“Those who resist, do what you must.” With the order given, the troops descended upon the Academy, pushing into the courtyard. Legionnaires and Sith alike rushed out to meet the hail of blaster and sonic rounds. Hopping from his position above the tank, Oceiros came down in a cleave that freed a legionnaire of their arm before spinning and thrusting through the shoulder of another.

Making his way through the crowd the epicanthix, did what he could to defend his soldiers as well as incapacitate their enemies. Each slash a regret, and then it came from nowhere. A banshee of the night came flying out landing upon one of the troopers.

“Get her off me, get this queen the fuck off me!” The soldier screeched trying to fight the Sith acolyte off his allies, turning and raising their weapons towards them both.

“Noooo!” Oceiros shouted over the melee charging towards them but it was too late as a bloom of flame came to life. The inferno stretched out swallowing the entire squad including the one being used as a shield, white plastoid armor charred and turned black, the screams of the troopers filled the Jedi’s ears as he could do nothing but watch them fall to the ground and cease moving.

Staring through the carnage and fire to the lone figure who did this Oceiros’ cobalt eyes reflected the flames, and within those eyes was nothing but pity. Raising a hand and shoving it out, a concussive wave escaped the epicanthix’s palm, the flames shunted aside in its wake as it sought to fling the witch back.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider

Who wouldn't resist? This was their home.

The storm troopers fell dead in the courtyard they had invaded, their once pristine bodies charred and contorted as death boiled them alive. Aradia laid splayed in the center of it all, a look of shock rippling through her soot-stained features. She hurriedly shoved off the storm trooper she had tackled, blisters bubbling across the skin that remained in contact with his still simmering form.

She was not invulnerable to flames, nor the reality of deaths around her.

She had never killed someone before. A subtle quake rippled from her core, a horrified noise catching in her chest. She hadn't meant to do that. They were just-- and she- A sudden shock wave sent her flying backwards, her cry hitting the air as she tumbled like a rag-doll to a stop. Pain knocked her breathless, the burns singing the most poignant song across her nerve endings. She looked up between strands of red to find the lone remaining threat-- a man, his hand extended as he used the force against her. Her blurry vision cleared to a spike of fear.

Oh yes. She had been warned about this. Force users always had it out for each other, that was why this war was here. People with power always came to take what they wanted. She had heard the stories. She knew the truth.

He was here to kill her.

Her fear turned cold, self-preservation kicking in.

A shove of the force sent Aradia flying off the ground, onto her feet. Her clothing hung off her in charred strips, revealing a thin frame marred with scars and puckering burns. The pain of it all fell to the back of her thoughts, her training kicking in.

Her fingers slid to her belt line, where a saber laid in wait.

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!" She yelled, finding courage and strength inside each consecutive word. A snap hiss punctuated her final syllable, the dark red length of her saber sparking to life. It held raised before her in a wordless threat. He was not passing into the Academy without first going through her.

Standing amidst the chaos, and destruction, Oceiros looked through the fire and black smoke that rose from the freshly roasted corpses. The Jedi looked down at them, out of his peripherals he still saw the banshee that had so ruthlessly snatched the brave men from the land of the living. Men that wanted nothing more than to fight for their home, to once more regain what was theirs. The Sith forcefully conscripted soldiers, used them as cannon fodder, the men and women who served in the NIO knew of this, had experienced this. That was why they fought, why they’d gladly give their lives in perhaps what could be considered the turnabout of the decade.

Kneeling near one of the corpses, Oceiros simply looked at them, their breathing having ceased moments before, their presences in the force having faded away. “Rest in peace brother, I failed to protect you, but I will not let your sacrifice be for not.”

"Get. Off. My. Lawn!"

As the words pierced the air, Oceiros blinked rapidly, tears having begun to well up in the epicanthix’s eyes. “This was never your land, this was never your or any other Siths planet. You've deluded yourself!” Rising from where he kneeled the Jedi turned fully towards the acolyte. Looking upon her Oceiros could see so many things, fear, rage, angst. Someone so young, so twisted and corrupted in their thinking.

“You stole this world from them, they fought for this world, they defended this world and many others. They had families! Mothers, wives, children! And all you can think about is what you wrongly believe to be yours.”

The crackling red blade of the Sith’s caught Oceiros’ attention, he’d come to Bastion knowing a fight was inevitable, that he would eventually be forced to draw his own weapon. Reaching down to his waist Oceiros unclipped the silver hilt from his belt, raising it up and over his head. With a snap-hiss the sapphire blade came to life, to come down tip pointed towards the ground between the two.

“I do not wish for this to devolve into violence but if you leave me know choice I will do what I must.”

 

[FN-999]

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 (empty mag)

CAPTAIN FN-999 OF THE 19TH ASSAULT COMPANY

Just as her cries of opposition reached him, the woman was behind him.
​

Her speed was unnatural, perhaps helped by experience with the Force. She struck towards his rear end with one of her swords, slicing for one of the lighter armor plates. On instinct, the captain brought his blade between hers and his body, parrying the blow along the length of his blade. Using a combination of Iustitia's electrical current, superior size, and superior weight, he pushed the woman's blade away without much difficulty and turned around to face her.

"Sith or not, you can use the Force and you're in league with them. I will NEVER forget those who have fallen to your kind."

The captain slowly slipped out of his blind range and into a more concentrated state of wrath and prowess. Battle positioning. It seemed as if the woman had numerous melee weapons, though they all appeared to be smaller and lighter than Iustitia. In a duel of strength and stamina, FN-999 would win out. Still, there was an even simpler way of ending the battle. One that wasn't threatened by the superior agility of the woman opposing him.

FN-999 slid back, deactivated Iustitia's electric current, and sheathed the blade in one fluid motion, putting about five meters of distance between the two combatants. Then he pulled out his Angry Owl sniper rifle. It contained four bullets, more than enough to eliminate the lightly armored individual before him. However, when facing an enemy as deadly as a Force-sensitive Sith agent, it was always good to have a backup plan.

The stormtrooper captain peered into the scope, expanding it to 3x and centering her head. Then, he opened fire, taking advantage of the Angry Owl's rapid fire feature to send two bullets towards her head in the time it would take an ordinary sniper to fire one shot. Perhaps it was overkill, especially at such a close range.

But with the Sith, one could never be too careful.

​

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

099/200

Pvt. ST-1131 "Suppressor"

Chaingun

Five troopers, dead in seconds.

Supressor was going to vomit at some point in the future. But first, he'd beat Bastion.
​

As one of the ten troopers who has slipped through the breach in Fortress Carnifex's walls with their captain, he had pushed through the boulevard and used his chaingun that provided his namesake to distract the war droids. Then, a new nightmare separate from the typical horrors of war had descended upon him.

A single individual had killed half their group in seconds. Suppressor had not joined the Corps expecting such a bloodbath. Sure, as a relatively new recruit, he would have expected to enter a particularly gruesome battlefield at some point. Bastion had taken countless troopers from the 19th, even as they continued their relentless charge with the 908th and the 501st Legions. Yet even the long, drawn out brutality of Bastion paled in comparison to the weakness he had felt upon seeing his well-trained comrades so easily slaughtered. When Captain Nines had given the order for him and the four survivors to retreat, he had taken up the order far too eagerly.

Even now, guilt crept up on him as he left his captain fighting that monster of a human alone. Still, he had an objective to carry out, one given by Nines personally. He looked at the boulevard one more time, catching a glimpse of flashes of red and gray, with the latter accompanied by electricity, an indication that Captain Nines was still alive and well in his duel with the slaughterer. Suppressing his doubts, Supressor slid back through the breach in the wall.

With his chaingun, Supressor was able to make an opening in the Sith flank for long enough for him and the other three troopers to enter comm range of the 19th. The moment their comm static ended, Suppressor opened up his array.

[19th, th-this is Suppressor.] stated ST-1131 from behind a large pile of rubble. [This is an order directly from Captain Nines - we need to bring the most powerful weapon we have to his location just past the Fortress's walls, he's facing an extremely dangerous individual.]

[Suppressor, this is Lt. Hardhat, quartermaster of the 19th. I've pinned down your location, we've got one fully loaded mass-driver cannon coming your way. With it, I'm sure the captain will have no trouble at all. Just continue to hold your position.]

[Understood, thanks.] replied Suppressor before cutting off his comms.

Soon, hopefully, the 19th's revered captain would have the reinforcement he would likely need soon.

​

 

[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 (Neutral), Aren D'Shade (Neutral), Ingrid L'lerim (Hostile)

His talents? Wasted? Doubtful. Adekos commanded no legions, held no office, and carried no special prestige within the New Imperial Order (or anywhere else for that matter). Skulking around in this digital undercroft was exactly where he belonged. And if he died here, it would be a fitting end to an ignominious career.​

​

Not that death had been forthcoming when he had wanted it. Nor was it particularly desired presently.​

​

But a faint and amused smirk remained with him, a sure sign that the flattery was not wasted. He meandered further in, more like a curious tourist than an invader, peering at one of the consoles Aren had earlier wiped and disabled.​

​

“Not for nothing, I suppose. She clearly has a grasp of the fundamentals,” He sighed, and it sounded more like a concession than a compliment. “I doubt she’ll progress much further than that without specific instruction.”​

​

Adekos remembered someone almost as soon as the words left his lips. An irritable blonde woman, lost to time and condemned to anonymity. He frowned at the memory. “But I have been wrong before.”​

​

Whatever. The past was the past, and the present was yet to be shaped. And to shape the present required the most ancient of all rhetorical skills: haggling. ​

​

His brow furrowed in consideration, and he folded his arms lightly across his chest. The gaudy lightsaber he still carried caught the light. It glinted obnoxiously.​

​

“How much data is left in the Conduit? And how much of that are you willing to part with?”​

Something in his tone implied his interest in the data was merely obligatory. Perfunctory. If not when he first arrived, then certainly after seeing Adrian was here. Darth Adekos had other things on his mind.​

 

[Rezom]

Vitani Azumi

Rezom's time was being spent well he thought. Move, take down a target or two, change position. There were a few issues with the strategy, he could get noticed while on the move for instance. And it also meant it was harder to get targets further away. However it also provided a greater deal of adaptability.

He peered around a corner, watching with narrowed eyes as he spotted a group. It looked like they were investigating someone he recognized as having previously been killed by him. He took in a breath, moving back behind the wall and thinking back to how many he could see from his spot. He was close then normal to targets he'd like to go after. However, sooner or later, he was going to have to deal with something like this.

A plan started formulating in that Kaleesh brain of his. They were aliens to him, armed with a variety of weaponry. Sora was right, he was nearby. Enough, he hoped. To make them regret being here. He got onto the ground pushing himself on his side past the wall so that only his head and the rifle were remotely in view as he aimed at the group, intending to send one of the shots into one of their soldiers chest. Most armor was built for blasters, not slug-throwers. Especially not the stronger slughthrowers like his. It had it's disadvantages of course, mainly the fact that he'd have to reload one at a time. That could cause serious issues with multiple enemies.

Once he'd fire the shot he'd roll back into cover and listen for them. Then try and gently, as he could, climb further up the building so that he hoped he could catch them by surprise if they tried to chase him down. He'd have to reload when he got higher up with the rifle currently strapped to his back., in which case he was relying on them taking their time getting to him by being careful, or by trying to take care of their injured, or preferably dead, if he managed to take them down. If they did however rush his position, well, he'd have to adjust tactics.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

O U T R I D E R
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
JEDI KNIGHT GENERAL
Armor | Blade of Ruusan
O U T L A W

"Time to make war,"​

<"Time it is..."> Maynard said under his breath, his voice breathing with the triumph of his toil to this point, his gaze into Ryv's own signalling to the Kiffar vindication of their toil to this point. As Maynard served on behalf of the Galactic Alliance's Defense Force, returning from his wayward life of spacing in service to the turning wheel, void of any purpose. Ryv, once found near death in the Coruscant underworld now Sword of the Jedi.

There was no taking away this victory. The victory alone of being here. There was no doubt the bond they'd forged between the two of them and Loske played all but the lion's share of the part making sure they were here at all.

He was in the thick of it, the fires be damned, this was a moment of vindication. He'd drudged himself from that hole and now he was cresting the peak. To even just play the sliver of a piece in this monumental engagement.

To bare witness to the fall of the darkness.

He knew immediately after his feet touched solid earth that many men and women were going to see the end today, realize how it felt to choke down their last breathes.

Dubrillion was the last nail in the coffin of so viscerally absorbing that reality for Maynard. For better or worse, in the Concordian's mind it became an expected facet of it all, of war, of the struggle. He knew what was coming...for him, for all the ones he cared about, for all the men and women under his command and all the people that looked down the sights at them all the same.

There wasn't any playing hero to stop it, there was only making it their problem, not his.

Maynard would make sure of that, as a Jedi, as a leader. They would claim victory, rip the air of pride from the Sith and make them choke down on all the folly, despair and anguish that had culminated in this moment.

Loske had splintered off again into the fray. In spite of the circumstances and all the obligation that necessitated it, he enveloped his stomach in a pit of dread each time. There was no telling if their reunion would be the embrace of relief of Dubrillion or the dying body in the arms of another like Harnaidan.

That worry seemed all but instantly calcified as he ignited the cobalt serenity of the Blade of Ruusan. With the weapon willed to life, his anxieties were smoothed down into nothingness.

He could understand Ryv's fixation with the lightsaber then. It withered down those heavy worries to nothing but the bare realm of struggle around him.

Even when his mind was forced from the near rhythmic slaughter, the cut and skewer of each Legionnaire at his behest with a nearby blast. It must've come from armor, artillery, bomb, whatever it was. The Rangers around him had scattered before it made purchase in the shattered earth beneath.

It threw the Concordian from his feet, but the armor encased around his form managed to bare the brunt of absorbing the shock and scorch of the explosion. The heads up display flickered out before dimming all the together.

But not unlike his brother, he'd never felt more alive. He sprung back up to his feet, a hand rising up to pull the armored visage from his form, the burn seeping through unto the bare skin beneath if only to singe his skin.

A Ranger was quick to his side.

<"General! Are you alright, sir?"> Urged the concerned tone of Colter Darik, one of Maynard's long tenured comrades within his service to the Galactic Alliance.

"No."

<"Wh- why what's wrong?"> A response like that wasn't like him, wasn't like Outrider, one of the more tenacious spirits within the New Jedi Order.

"I still see Sith." Maynard uttered in defiance. It was time to work. Time to make war.

A wall of flesh, bone and duraplast met their advance, the Sith Trooper stifling the forward progression of the General and the Sword.

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

"Understood. Raider-Actual, you're under Karis now. Make sure he doesn't get himself in too much trouble." Maynard ordered to the Rangers before he advanced forward.

A bloody path carved his way to Vesta and that was then that he was able to hone in on that dark presence.

His mind flickered for a moment, with a voice. Her voice.

"In death, I am born -"

Only for the voice of her spawn to phase into reality before him.

"The princess has her partner, she doesn't need another."

"I am more than enough for the both of you."

>"You know what you need to do. Don't hesitate."< The Blade of Ruusan spoke, piercing his mind with its eternal dogma. He honed in on that sentiment, however vague it was.

>"Then I'm not about to waste any time."< His internal speech thought in reply.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." He spoke aloud to Vesta. If this was another malfeasance of the same kind as Braith...as Alekto.

He'd put it down.

Grasping the Blade of Ruusan in both hands, he couldn't will any other weapons or gadgets to disposal, not while he wielded this vessel of the Ashla's will in his grip.

He surged forward for a cut down toward Vesta's abdomen, following through with a lunge forward with intent to make purchase once more if the first strike failed.

// ALLIES | NIO/GA //: Loske Matson | Ryv | Kir Dantos
// ENEMY | TSE //: Ellie Mors | Quinn Varanin

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Location: Throne Room
Allies: The New Imperial Order | Sons of Mandalore | Koda Fett
Enemies: The Sith Empire | Darth Carnifex
Objective: Vengeance

His barrage were true to its aim, striking at the Emperor in hopes to wound him. The man was still on his feet, almost not feeling a scratch from his attack. Koda’s were also proven to be ineffective as they struck against the armored plates. The only answer as to why their attacks meant nothing was of the cursed and abomination power that was the Dark Side of the Force. Being a mercenary for these degenerate creatures gave him insight on how these Sith Lords and Knights fought and thought. Their source of power and strength, a majority of them, relied on the Force. Take that away from them and they were pathetic in combat. Any opportunity they had to use the Force for their own advantage they would not hesitate in taking it. But men like Vilaz and Koda? They did not have such shortcut to obtain that strength. Instead they fought for it, trained themselves in harsh environments, forged themselves into hardened warriors that would face and conquer the treacheries of the Galaxy unlike most men.

A battle between gods and men.

But even gods bled and were vulnerable, so long as they were exploited.

The sword that was thrown from the smoke by the Sith’s hand made its way to the Mandalorian commando, its blade not killing the warrior as his armor and integrated defenses survived such blow; however, the attack was enough to create a great dent into the armored plate around his solar plexus and punched the wind out of his lungs while causing bruising in that section of his body. He’d fight for air, laying on the floor as his body tried to remedy the situation. Alive, but with a piece of his armor compromised that another hit such as that would puncture through.

Vilaz’s eyes were trained on the Dark Lord, and even if he could not catch up as the man made unnaturally great strides from his position, his HUD and other targeting systems would be able to catch up with Carnifex. Everything that the man did was bizarre and unable to be done by men. The Sith was able to climb a wall of the great Throne Room with his two legs, ascending with speed although gravity was sure to pull him down, this rendering his velocity. The Epicanthix was near him than the other three capable Mandalorian combatants, his HUD alerting him he drew closer and closer. Even for what his eyes could not see behind him, his HUD can and provided that vision for him to understand his environment.

With the Force the man called back his Great Sword and dived for the Munin, the blade ready as if to piece him. Facing him the Mandalorian reached out with his right hand, holding it out openly as if trying to stop him. The grav-glove upon his right hand activated, miniature repulsor generators in the glove applied to what they were created for. It gave him pseudo telekinetic powers, but they came from innovated technology and not from the damnation of the Force. It would deflect the direction the Sith sword was pointing at while also tear away any flesh if possible. He would not sustain a hold on the Dark Lord like a legitimate hold in Telekinesis as the technology was limited beyond that area. All it would do was redirect the path of the sword, potentially tear any muscle and tissue behind that armor, and decelerate Kaine’s fall. He would maneuver out of the trajectory to avoid the obvious tackle, though he would receive a Force Push from the Sith which made him lose control of his flight and hitting the wall with his side bracing against the impact and falling down to the floor with a grunt and a groan escaping from him.

His vitals were being scanned, no serious damage except bruising and his armor was not compromised.

Just a scratch. There was worse to come.

 

[Republic Engineering]

Location: Bastion // Ravelin // Administrative Sector.
Primary Objective: Raid the Imperial Capital Complex.
Secondary Objective: Secure Alliance L.Z. #23 for Marine Support.
Status: Engaged.
Allies: Galactic Alliance | New Imperial Order.
Enemies: The Sith Empire.​

His heart thundered beneath his armoured breast. He knew what needed to be done, and how quickly that mobile emplacement had to be destroyed, lest more Allied Gunships suffer the same fate as the others. However, a moment of hesitation gripped his limbs tight. He knew just how terrifying it was to fight a Force Wielder. With only their minds, they could reshape their surroundings to suit their capricious whims. What could they hope to do against such power and wanton malice? Sure, there were safeguards built into their armour. Sure, they underwent specialized training. But, all of that mattered little against a being that could pulp another's bones with a single thought. In the end, however, every encounter with a hostile Force Wielder boiled down to deception and luck. With either aspect on one's side - it was possible to even the odds against such powerful beings.

They had the high ground. The attention of the Squad's target was fixated on commanding their subordinates, saturating the skies with plasmatic fire. The Sith wouldn't know what transpired until it was already too late. Unless the Force was with them, and their danger senses flared moments before the attack. Such an occurrence was likely to happen. Force Wielder's had an uncanny Sixth Sense for whenever their life was endangered. It was at that moment, as his mind filled with the untold possibilities of what would happen next - that an explosion rocked the structure they all occupied. Gideon exhaled, releasing a breath that he didn't realize was being held and rifled through his Squad's life signs. No casualties; that was good.

Whatever it was that hit the building, it didn't matter — only the mission.​

He needed to refocus. Gideon closed his eyes and took a breath. His world began to narrow to a point - where one moment bled into the next. Anything else that occurred outside of those mental parameters was negligible. He brought his weapon close to his chest, as his mind was cleared, and slipped an armoured finger behind the trigger guard. It was now or never. He had to act before the moment was lost, and an entire portion of their Operation was considered a failure. The Commando then pulsed his intent across the Squad's localized BattleNet, which was met by a staggered reply of flickering runes that signalled his Unit's acknowledgement. Sigma would move when he did.

And so, Gideon shouldered his rifle and swung out of his cover. Once freed from the structure's embrace, the Commando opened fire. A dozen particle bolts erupted from his weapon in seconds, and several Sith-Imperial Operator's dropped; a trio of smoking holes filling their breastplates. The mobile emplacement weapon went silent soon after, as those soldiers dropped. There was a loud bang that erupted from nearby as Whisper's sniper rifle discharged its ferromagnetic payload. Through some miracle of the Force, the Sith managed to bring their Lightsabre up in time to connect with the magnetically-accelerated quarrel. While the act saved their life, it also doomed them to an existence rife with agony. The plasmatic sheathe dispersed, flaring up as soon as the bolt struck the Lightsabre. However, the metal encased within flashed fried as it exited out the other side.

Their face was suddenly bathed in molten slag, and a scream of agony burst forth from their smouldering lips. Whisper would've put another round into the Sith, but before the Commando could act - an Anti-Armour round was lobbed into the gathering. As soon as it impacted the intended target, the high-explosive charge detonated, bathing its immediate surroundings in a blossoming, fiery inferno. Whatever remained of the Sith-Imperial detachment painted the nearby walls, and shattered windows. The charge was indiscriminate in it's discharged wrath, as it tore through flesh and metal alike. There wasn't much left of the mobile emplacement either, as the device bore the explosive's fury's brunt. So much so that it's power generator began cycling down, knowing that there wasn't anything left to empower.

The Sith, on the other hand, managed to throw up an invisible barrier of coalescing energy that safeguarded their person and their immediate surroundings. "Damn bastard won't go down," Wrecker commed, as the man ducked behind cover to reload his weapon. Whisper - elsewhere within the structure - stepped out and took aim. However, the Commando never had the chance to open fire. Instead, Whisper was yanked forward as the Sith utilized their mystic powers to pull him down to the ground. Rage permeated the smoking figure, as they brought their coruscating Lightsabre to bear.

"You…" the Sith said, seemingly gasping for air. "Will die…"​

Whisper struggled to move but was held in place and drawn forward by an invisible hand. He couldn't move his arms, let alone try to aim his weapon at his assailant. If nothing was done, Whisper would be skewered on the Sith's Lightsabre. His life and everything that formed the core of his identity was now measured in minutes. Despite everything, the Commando still tried to fight against his fate. He swore and cursed in several languages. The Commandos couldn't get a shot, and Wrecker wouldn't put his Squadmate at risk. They had their weapons trained on the Sith and kept shouting at them. Put him down. Drop your weapon. Surrender! Yet, the Sith ignored them all.

They kept drawing the Commando closer and closer with a mangled and insidious grin peeling across their face. "I'll kill… this one," the Sith wheezed, as their eyes darted from one Commando to the next. "You have your shot… Commando. Why not... take it? Scared I'll make you... shoot your friend?" They chuckled hoarsely. "You'd be right."

At that moment, the Sith felt something press into the charred nape of their neck, right between the armoured gorget. The sensation was cold and filled them with a sudden dread - as their danger senses flared too late. Their life was in danger, and they were powerless to react in time. The Sith's attention was fixated elsewhere, so much so that it didn't sense the Commando moving in behind them. Deception was one of the primary weapons of those without the blessing of the Force. Despite all of the power they could wield, they were still mortal and fell prey to the book's simplest tricks.

"No," Gideon said with a serpentine smile, pushing the blade's sharpened point deeper as the Sith sought to free themselves from the Commando's enhanced grasp. "They were waiting for me to carve you open like a Lifeday Fowl."

As those words eclipsed his lips, the Lieutenant roared in anger - and slammed the pommel down. The life within the Sith's red-rimmed eyes slowly began to flicker, as their vitals plummeted. Gideon watched impassively as the Sith died in his arms. The Lightsabre deactivated with an extinguishing hiss, as the casing fell from the Warrior's outstretched hand. Whisper, now freed from the dying figure's invisible grasp, stalked forward and kicked the weapon aside. "Is it dead?" He asked, taking a moment to kick the cooling corpse.

Gideon twisted the serrated blade once, before ripping it out of the stilled figure. "If it wasn't dead before - they are now. You alright, Sergeant?"

Whisper chuckled, as Dynamo rushed over to run a quick medical diagnostic. "Thanks to you. It was a risky gamble, Eltee, but I'm glad that it all came together in the end. For a moment there, I thought you wouldn't make it in time, and I would've ended up being skewered by their angry lightstick." Gideon wiped the crimson-soaked blade's flat on the scorched hem of the Sith's armoured robes before returning the weapon to its sheath. "If it didn't, I'm sure we'd all be dead and unable to lament our actions. We got lucky this time around."

"Yer damn right," Wrecker said, as he took position by the smoking emplacement weapon. "But I think we've got a problem. Our long-range comms are being jammed, and the armour's transmitters ain't powerful enough to break through. We'll have to exfil and find something nearby to give us the boost we need."

Gideon nodded as he roused himself, picking up the discarded Lightsabre along the way.​

"Then let's get to it. Sigma? We're Orenth-Mern."
​

​