Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Darth Carnifex]

Sword poised to deliver the finishing blow, the Emperor's eyes beheld the small spherical device that was thrown towards him by the smaller Mandalorian.​

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There was a flash of light, and the world went dark.​

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Sonic vibrations rattled across the Emperor's body, unprotected as it was from specialized attacks such as this. Though he could no longer experience the physical sensations which roiled about his being, he was acutely aware of the pressure building up through his outer, then the middle, then the inner ear.​

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At once there was a pop of liquid sound, and within an instant, the Dark Lord of the Sith could hear no more. ​

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But that was not all. The vibrations of sonic energy that engulfed him also rattled the jelly of his eyes to the point of breaking, and in a hideous explosion of blood and viscous the Emperor lost both of his eyes as well. ​

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Rendered immobile for those few scant seconds, the Emperor stood still and silent with his sword lowered into a guarding posture in front of him as he allowed the sonic sensation to at last abate from his body. Blind and deaf, any other individual would have been utterly hapless and at the mercy of his assailants. But the Emperor was no mere man, but neither was he a God as Vilaz Munin was trying to disprove. Gods were ephemeral things, the subject of myth and of superstitious devotion. There were those subjectable masses who believed him to be of God-like statue, for their minds could not comprehend the power he wielded with such ease as anything other than divine or otherworldly.​

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But he was no God, he was no man. ​

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He was a Lord of the Sith.​

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And he would not be humbled so easily.​

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Stretching out with the magnitude of senses he had developed over his storied career as a Dark Lord, the Emperor could visualize his surroundings through the Force and through picturesque memorization. He could sense the advance of one of the nameless Commandos which had joined Vilaz and Koda on their journey into the Emperor's sanctum, his weapons raised to take advantage of the Emperor's lapse in movement. A spin of his mighty blade amputated the Mandalorian's arms at the elbow, which a second spin relinquished the Mandalorian of his head from his shoulders. Spectral corpse-light was drawn away from the body on the killing blow, absorbed into the runes riven into the flat of the blade. ​

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The Emperor's head inclined in the direction of Vilaz Munin, bloodied sockets staring blanky. ​

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"I do not need eyes or ears to hunt you, woyunoks."​

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He reached out with his weaponless hand, an orb of brilliant light blinking into being in his palm. At his gesture, the sphere of light was thrown into the middle of the room and immediately expanded to over four times its original dimensions, filling the room with such ferocious light that it was capable of oversaturating normal vision sensors. The Emperor then again made his move towards Vilaz Munin, his thunderous footsteps ringing out through the confined space they all occupied. Then, about halfway between them, the Emperor seemed to vanish.​

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Only to reappear a few meters behind Vilaz's position, sword coming down to deliver what could be a finishing blow.​

Vilaz Munin | Koda Fett ​

 

[Bastard]

Into the void...

Vella Forte | Rurik Fel | Quinn Varanin

"A handful of men, inured to war, proceed to certain victory, while on the contrary, numerous armies of raw and undisciplined troops are but multitudes of men dragged to the slaughter."​

- Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatu
​

Every oath sworn meant nothing in that instant. Those same vows made should've kept Errant in check. They gave the Imperial Knight purpose when the wild and chaotic galaxy ripped it all away. His father's disappearance, his mother's absence, his sister's betrayal. Errant could do nothing when his family fell apart. He was too young, too weak to make a difference. But those promises, uttered beneath the New Imperial standard no less, changed everything. He found not only a mentor in the Knight-Commander but also a man who could fill the shoes his father left behind. He found new brothers and sisters. Sworn in service to the same Order, they bore the same white-plated armor and wielded the same white-bladed sabers. The New Imperial Order gave him a family again.

But something about Vella made him forget all that. Vyn faded from memory. Spencer could no longer dictate what she considered suitable for him. Quinn, well, she chose to leave long ago. Why be held up over her now? And if the weight of his missing family no longer shackled him down, what purpose did the New Imperial Order hold in his life? If he found peace in his kinfolk's absence, he didn't need others to fill that hole in his heart anymore. Errant could move on. He could be free, his chains shattered, a new purpose born of the Sith's kindled eyes.

When the Daughter of Vahl deactivated her sabers, the Albino took a step closer. While her mind whirled with the possibility of what-ifs, his hands slowly went up, fingers splayed, palms facing her. A universal sign for peace, he meant no harm. That intent carried him closer to the Ember. His pace was slowgoing, meant to appease the moment's tension as it exploded all around them. Sith died in droves. He could feel their deaths clearly. He could practically see each individual light snuffed out by his brethren. If he sensed it, then Vella did too. There'd be no convincing her of some misunderstanding. This was a betrayal carried out with the precision that delivered the New Imperials through Mygeeto, Muunilist, and Dubrillion. He stopped mid-step, her smoldering gaze now locked on his.

"Vella," Errant started, his words barely louder than a whisper. "Please, listen to me," he stopped several steps away. "This betrayal will see you dead. I can get you away from here. I have a ship, supplies, and somewhere safe we can go," it all spilled out of him faster than he could think. "Eshan is my home; we'd be safe there. Safer than you'd be beside your fellow Sith. Safer than I'd be beside my fellow Imperial. This can be a new beginning for both of us, please, just calm down," he extended a hand to her. "Take my hand, let me spare you from this awful end. Allow me this chance to make amends for all the wrongs we've committed in the name of this war. A new beginning," he reiterated. "You and me," he smiled, the gesture carrying truth from both heart and mind's deepest recesses.

Vella rolled her immaculate shoulders. She arched her shapely back, stretched her tantalizing neck. That earlier feeling returned to Errant as he watched each movement, his heart beating faster in his chest, thundering against his breastplate as he kept himself in place. The yearn grew stronger, replaced by an overwhelming sense of desire. Shadows cast across her distant visage, born from the still-burning ring that encircled them. The flame licked at her form. It flattered her perfectly sculpted body—a muscular body, scarred flesh, armed and armored. But beneath that outward display of strength sat soft, supple skin. It didn't take much to imagine his pale fingers running across her back, dancing along her spine, up through silken black tresses. He wanted to take her right there.

All she had to do was take his hand and accept his offer. They could start anew. Together.

Instead, she struck out at him.

Flame hissed as it leaped at the Albino. Her fingers conducted the burning orchestra, delivering a destructive symphony of vengeance and pain.

The fire lashed out in two orange whips. Errant neither moved nor combatted Vella's action, he remained in place, saying nothing, even as both latched onto wrist and knee. He gritted his teeth in pain, a low groan escaping the Albino as it bit into flesh. The armor of the Imperial Knight provided some reprieve, though the growing sizzle of metal told Errant more than enough. It wouldn't last forever. It would soon turn on him, from snow-white to molten orange, cooking him alive. He had a time limit, a short one at that. With a deep breath, Errant pushed through the pain. He reached out to Vella, both hands taking her face within them. His pale gaze looked longingly into her lightless hatred.

"Please, Vella," Errant ignored the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. They evaporated from the Ember's heat long before they could fall from his face. "Don't make me do this."

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Side story, continued:​

Fortress Carnifex:
Kitchens

“Halt!”

Something red and angry fired past Rizuti, burning overhead. He ducked around the corner just to see a grey-clad biped shot down by another one. He could not tell them apart, nor did they resemble the ones that fed him.

He crept through a door, gliding as close to the floor as he could, ears pinging forward, back, side to side.

This was pandemonium. Where could he go? How could he warn them,

The Dark Lord would not be vanquished this night, not like this!

Beyond the door he heard a sob, he saw a figure. Sneaking alongside the wall he hid underneath something, one of the things they put food on top of. A nameless contraption.

He saw many figures, strewn throughout the place, and one sitting in the middle. She was rocking back and forth, pressing down on something. She bent down, then bounced back up and proceeded rocking.

Rizuti slipped closer. She could see her pouncing on the chest of a robed figure, one of the ones with tails on their heads. She was sobbing. Not sad sobbing, angry sobbing. Her fingers sparked like that one wire in the cellar, blue and crackling as they pushed on the chest of some dead meat, red meat, biped with a crown of claws.

The Darkest Lord crept around, following the wall, staying low.

A small meow.

A lure, a test, a signal.

She shot up reaching for something at her side. A treat? Yes, definitely. Homage to the Darkest Lord. Rizuti peeked out with his largest eyes and looked at the tail-head.

Another meow.

She came closer and crouched down, presenting digits, they smelled wrong, but she recognised the face. She had been there before. Yes, good, safety.

 

[Meshla Detta]

Location: Datacenter, Capital Complex
Objective: Data retrieval, retribution
Allies: SoM, NIO - in the vicinity of Amon Vizsla, Tulan Kor , Ra Vizsla, Crius Hannad
Enemies: TSE - in the vicinity of Darth Ophidia , Cara Dorniarn , Bel'sa'Nikto
Engaging Nida Perl
Gear: In bio

WE ARE MANDALORIANS

Mandalore remembers...
I remember...
This is for you, Val'ika, my beloved son.
Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.
_______


The Detta's HUD tracked the wrist rocket trajectory as it flew towards Nida at the other end of the long hallway. It looked like it was going to hit paydirt, well that was until the last second...

Gods how I hate Force users.

The damnable little Sith was able to deflect the mini concussion missile with a seemingly last-minute wave of her small hand in the air about her person as she probably hadn't expected such a friendly Mando greeting walking out that Datacenter's server room door. But nonetheless, the self-preserving move did its job, deferring the rocket up into the ceiling where it exploded behind her.

KABOOM

Seems the freking Munin curse strikes again.

Meshla steeled herself for the concussive explosion as the aftermath happened in a split second or so, though it seemed like slow motion. There was the initial blast spitting debris outward. The Mando's dampeners in the helmet worn helped to keep her eardrums from bursting, then the personal shield on her suit of armor took the brunt of the smaller pieces of debris coming in her direction. Ting, ting, ting... Following, there was the flashover where the hot fiery flames rolled down the elongated space like a wave crashing into a shoreline. But before the combustion reached the Detta, surprisingly what was left of the fire suppression system kicked in and began raining retardant down snuffing it out quickly. What occurred next though she wasn't ready for but should have anticipated it...

Nida had been propelled forward through the air. Whether the velocity in which the young girl was hurled was just from the physics of the explosion or was aided by the Force, it didn't matter much as either way she still came at Meshla like a freight train, knocking her backward with the Sith in tow as if they were lovers in an embrace.

A loud grunt was uttered from Meshla's lips as her back smacked the floor and there was a taste of blood too. The two female warriors slid along together on the green-gel like substance parting it like a boat speeding across the water with a wake flowing outward and trailing until finally coming to a stop near the end of the hallway. With the wind knocked out of her it took a moment or two for the Detta to catch her breath and reorientate. It was fortunate the Zeltron was petite because any of the bigger Sith probably would have crushed her.

Remembering what Vilaz Munin taught her while he mentored his step-daughter in the art of hand-to-hand combat back before all the family poodoo happened - The Warlord said to always keep moving and make even a bad situation advantageous so she did just that...

Reaching with her left crushgaunt, Meshla grabbed for the back of Nida's head ensnarling the now slimed violet hair in her gloved fingers and pulling back hard as more of a distraction cause hair-pulling hurt. At the same time, she extended the knuckle vibro blade on her right crushgaunt and sent it in a powerful punch toward the Sith's lithe body to inflict a life-threatening or disabling injury hopefully. Secondarily, she would push upward with her strong legs and booted feet after the punch to kick the woman off because staying on the bottom wasn't the Mando's preference.

 

[AMCO]

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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 | 4.5/6 Karza'Arana Darksworn
Writing With: Aren D'Shade | Ingrid L'lerim | Shade of Decay | Caulder Dune || FN-999

​

It seemed his transformation into a form more suitable for the harshness of war was... premature, its sleekly inhuman nature serving only to further terrify those poor technicians, for his entropically-inclined comrade had acted quickly. Had acted decisively.

Eying the unnaturally decayed remains, most still encased and by extension hidden by still-gleaming armour, he was both disgusted and fascinated.

"You've quite the affinity for death and decay, I see. How very novel, I tend to lean towards entropy in the physical sense." Much cleanlier, for one.

Forming a mouth from mutable tissue for the sole purpose of smiling humorously - or at least trying to smile humorously, truth be told he had not spent much time in this form - in response to Adekos' departing comment, Prospero nodded amicably.

"Quite, my favourite kind of battle." As in, the one he didn't have to fight personally - suddenly, however, the spindly Sithspawn spun to face the roof, as if reaching outwards with his senses. For a long moment he remained motionless before suddenly setting off towards a nearby passage without bothering with further conversation - except, that is, telepathically ordering his pair of bodyguards to stay at his apprentice's side.

---

Moving through the snaking passages of the Conduit and the sections above with superhuman speed, he used the faint bond that seemed to have formed between himself and Ingrid as a beacon of sorts, though most practical information came from the trio of Darksworn still standing.

Well, two of them - one should just barely be able to move itself back to his shuttle, so as to die without inconveniencing him.

<Damn it all, what were you...> Confirming the severity of her wounds with his own eyes, though he already knew from how she had felt, how their telepathic connection had collapsed. Surging forward, he paused for only a moment before seeming to arrive at a decision, clawed hands pressing against her cauterized wounds, a thickly transparent substance of some sort excreting from the skin, functioning much like low-grade bacta.

It was times like these he wished healing wasn't so damn difficult for Darksiders - he would have to find a workaround, somehow.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

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

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The blade punched clean into his back and a bout of pain gave way to the feeling of lifeblood plummeting from his form.

But he would endure.

And in the final breathes of Kor Vexen, the very man he'd deemed despicable, irredeemable. The shadow looming over his shoulder. A threat that'd kept his guard high, his mind bristling still with the voice of deceit, doubt and death. All the while, unknowingly he molded himself into the prodigal pupil of the Warmaster. Or so it was he intended and willed, his own legacy of war into the fabric of the Galaxy.

" You and I are the same... As much as you may despise or refuse to acknowledge it. We both carry the same strength of character and resolve to see our actions through to the bitter end. I never once considered you like any of the mere pawns and livestock that awaited their deaths, rather an extension of myself. You were one of the few that I chose to inherit my legacy and will. Through you and your hatred for the Sith my actions will resonate, my desire for conflict fulfilled and everlasting. By your hand, my death is made immortal, and I shall live on for time eternal. Till all return to dust when war consumes all. "

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" You may accept this fate or defy it, but you cannot deny it. "​

A foreboding sentiment, one of a distorted reverence from the Anzati as he welcomed the end. Or at the very least, the end of his time in this false guise.

He didn't address Vexen again, silent as he went about delivering the coup de grace.

Grasping at the broken sword he pulled and punched the shattered point into Kor Vexen's abdomen over and over until all that remained was the husk of the Warmaster beneath him.

Triumph. The battle had long progressed past them to the Palace itself as he slowly rose to his knees, the clatter of blaster and ordinance fire a distant illusion as the scrape of boots over shattered earth sounded around him.

He rose unto his knees, his gaze taking in the view of the Imperial Sun being hoisted over the Fortress Carnifex.

Triumph.

Slowly, his hands rose to his head, to grasp ahold of the helmet enveloping his gaze before slowly pulling it from his gaze.

Sweat, blood, ash all bathed his marred gaze as his lone eye peered longingly to the flag. It was the ultimate vindication, to see the identity of all he'd created, all he'd fought for awash in the dead winds in triumph.

He couldn't help the scream that came after. It wasn't anger, it wasn't sadness. It was that feeling that he'd walked the path he'd set to the end. This world seeming so distant, so untouchable. He'd confided in those he was close in that this was a suicidal venture, that he was unwilling to accept that he might see it through to the end. It was what led him to abandon Lyra in the looming shadow of the thrust of the dagger into Muunilinst and Mygeeto, only for the victory of his will to endure enveloping him in regret.

But now, those numbers and designations etched into his armor all carried the meaning, all there in a purpose seen through. He'd carried them all the way to the end. Belisarius, Sam Deckard, Cameron Farwell, Adrial Magnus. They were all alive so long as he marched forward.

Eventually his form reared down low as his temple grazed the broken ground beneath, letting out a deep, shuttered breath, screwing his eyes shut before he slowly rose to his feet again.

His gaze met the man of the Sovereign's Shard, Anden Fancelo . He was a man who'd marched beneath the crimson saber...but now, they'd both vanquished the same enemy for the same motive. Just as he and Djorn were, they were little different.

"Soldier..." He uttered, he wasn't in Sith uniform and just as he could with Bline, he was confident he might be able to talk him down.

"You...and your men...lay down your arms and you'll be granted your peace." Irveric offers to the Sovereign's Shard, his gaze reeling down to the gaze of the helmet in his hands, seeing his face awash in the ashes of the fallen in the reflection.

Anden Fancelo | Djorn Bline | Darth Bellum

N O M A D
MAJOR GENERAL WAYLON TREICOLT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
12th ARMORED ASSAULT DIVISION 'MAXIMILIAN VEERS'
CAPITAL COMPLEX
Tank | Armor | Pistol
FOCUS : Darth Assimilus | Loske Treicolt

The battle had been raging for some time now. That all too familiar sight of bruising heavy metal. That smell of burning fuel and disparate tibanna in the air. What began as a singularly focused battle with the aim of Treicolt and his armored corps of bringing down the hammer onto the capital complex in Ravelin soon took a violent divergence.

Kyber Dark.

The New Imperial Order was expected to turn its barrels on once allies. It made sense in the end and Treicolt was well aware of the directive from the start. But he could've never predicted its implementation here.

Emotion drove his next course of action, something so uncharacteristic of the Concordian Officer. Word had bleeded through the comms that the allied General within the Galactic Alliance, his close kin in Maynard Treicolt had seen himself fatally wounded at the hands of the Sith, driving his armored detachment closer to the venue of his fall.

<"Sir, target in sights, Kyber Dark hostile designation."> The gunner voiced back to his commander.

Left no other choice, Treicolt gave the order.

<"Understood...load up...fire, anti-personnel, bait him away."> And the twin linked laser cannons at the flanks of the Cataphract fired its pulse in the direction of the Gen'dai, hoping to incite its fury to bring it into open ground to open him up to fire from the MegaCaliber Six.

 

[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 | Shade of Decay | Caulder Dune
Enemies: FN-999

Background music:
Arn Andersson - Dawn [Beautiful Intense Emotional]​

Silence and emptiness, that was all here, she heard some sound from the other side of the collapsed roof, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She tried to gather her strength and try to push herself up again, but failed again and again. The blood slid very beneath her on the ground and she had no strength either. Didn't want to die here, not like that. Not before she could see Adrian and Tubrok again. She won't let that happen. Tried to crawl away, but she couldn't even do that. She shook by the cold, was cold, wanted to sleep and rest. Nothing more, just this.

Ingrid realized with her mind that if she couldn’t do it, if she did, she would die, she would get a shock that would only happen even faster. Fell back to the ground, groaned and turned her back. She gasped frequently in the pain, her clothes bloody everywhere, front and back. Suddenly she heard voices, something approaching, very quickly. The Darksworns here didn't move, she tried to reach her lightsaber but failed. By the time she could reach for the vibroblade on her belt, who was approaching was arrived.

Although she saw a little vaguely, she knew the strange-looking figure. Had she not known the man in the form of Doppelganger, the disturbance caused by the Force or the new thing between them, it would still have been eloquent. A pleasant warm tingling in the man's vicinity permeated her soul and body as well. She wanted to jump off the ground to jump around the man's neck and kiss him, but she didn't have the strength to move slowly. She tried again, but it was only until she supported her elbow that she could no longer move from here.

She smiled wearily and weakly as the man came closer. She would have tried to speak, but had no time left for this. As hard as she was, now the pain was greater as Adrian pressed on her wound, her whole body tensed from the pain and screaming. Her body twitched from the pain, she turned on the ground in her own blood, her hand weakly gripping Adrian's arm, which she gripped infinitely weak.

Due to the pain, she gasped again, feeling close to fainting. Instinctively, she tried to control her breathing, to take deeper breaths. She still didn't understand why she felt Adrian’s emotions. She felt anxious and helpless in anger when she wasn't trying to do anything in the Force and she wasn't feeling the telepathic connection either. After about half a minute she managed to breathe a little more normally, but she was still shivering from the cold.

Her already very white, pale skin was now even whiter from the blood loss, and Ingrid also looked infinitely pale. As she looked at Adrian, her blue eyes gleamed feverishly. She could see the man a little vaguely from such a distance, but he must have been. She smiled involuntarily at the feelings. In such a situation, such a small trifle caused the greatest joy, besides the fact that the Sith Lord was here with her.

”Now you are doing what I used to… you are rushing to save me.” she whispered infinitely weakly. ”You're worried about me, handsome… you've never done it before. Not even when the armoured figure and his companion on the ship…”

Ingrid could feel her mouth moving, but no sound came out of her throat. Again, a wave of pain slammed through the red-hair woman’s body, causing her to moan.

”I did what you asked. I get cold… very cold… now it would be nice to have a hot bath with you.” in the end she even forced a flirtatious smile on her lips.

​

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

VENGEANCE_FOR_MANDALORE​

Location: Dissident Aggressor -> Shadowbringer; Target Designate: Hostile.
Primary Objective: Vengeance.
Secondary Objective: Survive.
Allies: The Sons of Mandalore, New Imperial Order.
Enemies: The Sith, and the Sith Empire.
​

​

Rynn was an impressionable youth when the Clans stood partially united. He believed in his House's cause. His Clan thereafter took pride in the shriek-hawk symbol adorning his pauldron that denoted his allegiance. But, when the position of Mandalore was claimed by an unworthy soul - things began to change. His House stood divided. Some believed they should remain loyal to the Mandalore and the course they charted. And then there were others, who were disgusted by that path, as it brought their stagnant Empire into the poisonous arms of the Sith. The horrors of the past were so readily thrown aside in the hopes of a brighter future. Such optimism was commendable, at first. However, the notion of peace with the Sith Empire soured faster than spoiled milk. It was the nature of the Sith to betray and purge themselves of weakness. The Mandalore should've seen it coming. Yet, the hammer fell faster than anyone could fathom.

The Clans, once united, were now shattered and scattered amongst the stars.​

Some still clung to the Sith Empire's breast, seeking to suckle upon their teat to remain in their favour. However, they were outcasts to the rest of the Clans. How could these Renegades, for lack of a better term, embrace their destroyers? Was it because they believed that their Clans would survive the coming and successive purges? In truth, no one outside of their Renegade Houses knew why. For every Sith-Imperial Supercommando that was found was gunned down without mercy. Rynn's first was a fellow Mandalorian who belonged to the traitorous House Saxon. He remembered gunning the Warrior down during the opening phases of the Third Imperial Civil War. The sudden rush of adrenaline and revulsion claimed him soon after he pulled the trigger.

Although it was the Mandalorian Way to teach their young about becoming a Warrior, Rynn's father elected not to teach him about how it felt to kill one of their own. Droids, Hunted Animals, Stormtroopers and Pirates were killed without a shred of empathy. But, once it came to killing another of his Creed… Everything changed. He felt wrong in many respects. Like a part of his soul was cloven in twain. For a time, Rynn considered himself a Kinslayer and refused to pick up his weapon to defend his culture. In his mind, the Wayward Vizsla believed that he could've pulled his Cousin away from the Darkness and guided him back towards the Light through speaking with the Misguided Saxon.

Sadly, such beliefs were naive, as the perverted mind of the Sith-Imperial Supercommando opened fire once Rynn was revealed to his visor-enhanced sight.​

It all happened so fast. A lifetime of training, and the armour that cloaked his form, saved him from the initial volley. His instinctive reflexes took over, and before Rynn realized what transpired, the Sith-Imperial Supercommando was knocked prone. The neck seal and a portion of the man's Iconic Helmet were marked with smoking carbon scores. His breathing was shallow, and every exhalation telegraphed the agony gripping what remained of his life. He tried to hold onto his weapon, but the muscles wouldn't respond to his body's will. The Saxon teetered on the edge of oblivion and would either live or die at Rynn's behest. It was clear to the Mandalorian Youth that the man was suffering and would likely suffer throughout the rest of his life with Rynn's inflicted injuries.

Such a notion left the Wayward Vizsla with only one option. He had to end his Cousin's suffering before it was too late. So, with years of ingrained conditioning, Rynn drew the Kal Dagger from its sheathe and placed the tip of the blade against the Saxon's artery. It would be quick, Rynn whispered. There would be no more pain. The Sith-Imperial demanded that he be armed; that he doesn't pass from one life into the other without a blade at his side. The Mandalorian couldn't object, for it was a part of their traditions. To die without a blade or blaster in their hands went against their religion and their culture. It wasn't the Mandalorian Way to die unarmed on a battlefield of their own making.

Nodding, Rynn withdrew the Warrior's beskad and wrapped the Saxon's hand around the hide-bound hilt. You fought well, Rynn lied - knowing that fate intervened to save his life, rather than allow this Sith-Imperial Supercommando to sever his mortal coil. There was no honour in this man's death, but at least before the Afterlife claimed him - the Vizsla could send him off with whatever could be restored. It would at least be an honourable warrior's death, worthy of praise beyond the veil of reality. With a grunt of effort, the Kal Dagger's point descended into the hidden meat beneath the armoured exterior. Before sputtering a mouthful of unintelligible words through the fountaining rivers of blood that pooled at the back of his throat, the Saxon groaned.

A part of Rynn's soul fluttered away as the Saxon's life ebbed away. He was harrowed by the act of performing a mercy kill, especially since the slain was one of his Misguided Cousins. Rynn began to question his beliefs at that moment. Why should he be forced to take his Kin's lives, when they could be guided back to the Light? He was plagued by an ever-growing list of questions until the Wayward Vizsla was found by the Neo-Crusaders that formed the proverbial heart of the Sons of Mandalore. Through their guidance, Rynn was made whole once more. Every question that begged for answers were given adequate enough replies for the Mandalorian Youth to navigate himself back from the abyss.

He didn't betray the Creed by killing the Saxon Supercommando. Instead, the Saxon turned their back on the Mandalorian Way and was given a Warrior's death for the error of their choice.

With that notion in hand, Rynn devoted himself to the cause of the Sons of Mandalore. He would take vengeance on the Sith, and their Empire for sundering the Clans, for their betrayal was without honour. They deserved to pay for everything that transpired within his lifetime, and beyond. But, such righteous fervour had to be tempered - as the New Imperial Order, a disillusioned splinter group of the Sith Empire - used the Sith to fight against others of their kind. They were tools in the pageantry of their own demise. While Rynn wasn't a fan of such tactics, the man understood the reasoning behind it. They were proverbial gods amongst men, and deception was one of the greatest weapons the Galaxy could wield against such warriors.

So, Rynn bit his tongue and bided his time. He was openly tolerant of the Sith as the New Imperial Order marched on Bastion. He would even share drinks with several members of the Sith Order before the curtain was drawn back. They wouldn't know what hit them. Thus, when the curtain fell, and Operation Kyber Dark was implemented, Rynn found himself invigorated with newfound life. No longer did he have to pretend to wear a hidden smile beneath his helmet's featureless gaze. Now, Rynn could openly wear his hatred for the Sith and those that chased after their coattails.

When the Order was given, Rynn found himself attached to the Oathsworn, who were situated in one of the many hangars of the Dissident Aggressor. While he was more familiar with a Battle Tank's controls or having his boots on the ground, the Wayward Vizsla was mounted atop a Basilisk War Droid. One of the newest models of ancient steeds that once ferried their Crusaders into the fray. His armoured fingers gripped the control sticks tightly as he waited, and listened to those around him repeat their Rally Master's war chant. Vode An - Brothers All. Rynn didn't join in the chant with his kindred. Instead, the Mandalorian sought to refamiliarize himself with the War Droid's controls.

Let them claim that he was distracted. He sought to ensure that he survived this encounter and that he'd continue the fight another day.​

As the massive hangar doors opened, and the despoiled starscape beyond was revealed, Rynn watched as his Brothers and Cousins dusted off the flight deck with relative ease. When it came time to take to the stars - Rynn tightened his armoured thighs and pulled back on the control sticks, forcing his War Droid to activate its anti-gravitic thrusters and lift off the polished obsidian platform. Once freed from the Imperial Warship's grasp, the Mandalorian pushed his hands forward and forced his Mechanical Steed into Space's bespeckled depths. And, into the Orbital Battle raging on between the Betrayers and the Betrayed that laid ahead.

TIE fighters and their Sith-Imperial equivalents raced past Rynn's visor as the Mandalorian joined his kindred in making a run to the Shadowbringer. Once considered a formidable and loyal dreadnought within the New Imperial Order, and the flagship of Kor Vexen, before being marked as hostile once the Kyber Dark order had been issued. His primary armament barked into the soundless void whenever his visor had given him a targeting solution. However, every time the Wayward Vizsla pulled the trigger, it cleared his projected trajectory, rather than to diminish the opposition. That's what the rest of their Strike Force was for. Exposed as he was, there was little time to engage the enemy whilst that Dreadnought's point defence network was up. They'd be shot to bloody ribbons after their guns cleared the war-torn heavens of all opposition.

Rynn leaned to the side, forcing his War Droid into a spiralling jink as the Oathsworn came into effective weapons range of the point defence network. They took advantage of the momentary confusion and created an opening, with dozens of War Droids turning several turrets into molten slag. The Wayward Vizsla was one of the last to forcibly board their intended target and used his steed's weapons to cover his dismounted Kin's advance. The primary armament tore through armoured blast doors, liquifying the metallic composition on impact - forcing them to burst open just as soon as they began to seal. Their path forward would be unobstructed, at least until they speared deeper into the Dreadnought's heart. That would be enough for Rynn, as that meant that his boots would be placed firmly on the ground from that point forward. No more of this fancy flying with unfamiliar controls.

With the armoured claws splaying out over the Shadowbringer's flight deck's surface, the War Droid came to rest - allowing Rynn to grab his weapon and dismount in one smooth motion. As his boots kissed the deck, the Mandalorian patted his War Droid and silently thanked the mechanical steed for ferrying him safely into the enemy's arms. While the Wayward Vizsla was sure that the War Droid didn't care, let alone feel the appreciation, it was what the man wanted to believe. Sure, it was a semi-lifeless automaton, but that didn't mean it didn't have a fledgling connection with its rider. Who knew? Maybe the Droid was sentient, in a fashion, and took the gesture in stride.

Regardless of the truth, all that mattered from this point forward was vengeance. In response to his hardened resolve, Rynn shouldered his rifle and joined his Warrior Kindred as they pushed deeper into the spinal corridors of the Shadowbringer.​

| Trajan Fett | Valdus Bral | Careena Fett |​

 

[Nida Perl]

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

Launched forward by the force of the explosion, Nida landed smack-bang against the Mandalorian’s torso. The force of her projectile body sent the pair sailing backwards and ultimately crashing to the floor, covered in the fire-retardant gel that coated the halls.

Slamming into beskar was always a losing battle, and the world Nida saw turned erratic as her brain bounced inside her skull. Groaning, she brought a hand up to steady her head, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth where a few chipped teeth were precariously loose. The Zeltron was certain that she was concussed, and she wasn’t given much time to try and rub the black stars from her eyes before an armored hand wound itself in her hair.

Nida gasped and squeaked, thrashing wildly against the Mandalorian’s hand as it was a stark reminder of her predicament. The opposing blade sliced against the side of her abdomen as she squirmed, missing a deadly mark but causing her to cry out and crumple inwards in pain. Shortly thereafter, her adversary had released her with a mighty kick to the chest with a sickening crack, sending the Sith flying backwards. She collapsed unceremoniously to the ground, gasping in pain. Everything, every nerve, every muscle fiber was on fire again, incensed by the pain throbbing in her head and where her ribs had been cracked, and the buzz of fresh pain where the Mando’s blade had torn into her flesh.

Groaning, Nida knew that she was thoroughly outmatched in a battle of physical strength and skill—there were very, very few that she could stand up to on that front. A beskar clad Mandalorian would always have the upper hand in a battle of martial prowess.

And so the Zeltron fell back to a skillset that she was more adept in. Time was of the essence, and Nida pushed herself to rise shakily to her feet, one hand groping the slippery wall beside her for support. Extending her free hand, Nida drew strength from the seemingly endless stream of deaths heading to the nether. Unintentionally, she fed from Knight Dorniarn’s passion, the vestiges of which seeped into the halls surrounding her main data core. The empath was swimming in a sea of emotions that were not hers, feelings that compelled her to protect the Sith word and expel in the invaders. With a shudder of an exhale, tendrils of paralytic energy wound through the space between her and the Mandalorian, seeking to grasp her foe and stun her into a state of catatonia.

The enemy had overstayed her welcome.

“You need to leave.” She growled. “Right now.”

Whether or not the paralysis had worked or would even last, Nida would withdraw Tulan’s knife from within the folds of her cloak and push forward towards the Mandalorian with blinding speed. Her aim was the woman’s neck—a clean slice to end this quickly between her helmet and her chest plate.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The tides of battle shifted and once more the giant found himself with the upper hand against the bleeding, burned knight.The battle focus that wove his mind into a fortress had begun to crumble amidst the crippling wave of a deafening repulsor blast. A product of a weapon ripped off the cold body of a Son of Mandalore taken right off the field. Every piece of tech was taken and dissected. The warriors own body was defiled when his skin, muscle tissue, were slowly peeled off layer by layer. The organs were taken and the bone too. Each fulfilled some vile purpose in the laboratories of the Lord of Lies. It was a disgraceful end for a proud son who should've gotten an honored warriors burial. It was a display of just how deep his hatred of that culture went with the Despoiler of Mandalore.

As blood flowed from the battered combatants sparks flew when the lightsaber crashed against Daesumnor. In one hand did that Man of Iron, did the proud heir to the Fel Legacy stand resolute. It was here and now in the Gardens of Pellaeon that he stood with the eyes of his ancestors on him, with the great battle raging all around them as the New Imperial Order paid for every inch in blood and screams. The defenders of the nearby fortress those black armored, inhuman butchers didn't simply kill, they slaughtered. A horrific death was in store for every inch they pushed to claim the fortress world. Every muscle screaming, cybernetics screeching so loud they were clearly heard to the world beyond his skin. The deadlock wouldn't last for much longer not at such a disadvantage, it wouldn't be long before it broke and that damn giant pressed down with unholy strength again and again, a relentless tide.

Boom.

The accumulated explosion of telekinetic power speared right at the torso of the giant, straight for the same area the sonic blast hit. It was a focused and directed charge of immense fury, the full force of the vengeful Fel, the spirits of his ancestors were practically behind him when he unleashed the fury that broke the shaken plate and cast the great giant for the first time since they began, off his feet. In a last ditch attack as he flew the giant fired a rocket prepared in his wrists vambrace towards the knight. It was part of the last loaded payload, a heavy wrist rocket designed for anti vehicular attacks. It would've struck the ground before him and if permitted, to deliver an explosive wave of fire, more than enough to drive him through the adjacent wall if it successfully landed.

As for the giant?

Blood sprayed from the point when the telekinetic blast struck. Even dampened through the layers it struck and snapped bones, rending organs and caving his chest in. The attack carried him straight through a gigantic column and his immense bulk smashed its base in a spray of shrapnel, bringing the immense white marble down. The building rumbled and shook as a section of the roof collapsed and came crashing down straight on top of the Mountain, vanishing beneath as the stone buried him alive.

Rurik Fel ​

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

ACQUIRE DATASETS
ESCAPE
16th SOM Expeditionary Force "Pre Vizsla"
ALLIES: NIO // Meshla Detta
ENEMIES: TSE // Cara Dorniarn
B L O O D _ R E D _ S K I E S

​

DATACENTER TOWER,
CAPITAL COMPLEX

“Enough!” The floor groaned with the clenching of her fists and the servers exploded, sending down a waterfall of sparks that pooled onto the floor.

“Your masters are any who provide you war, your minds too feeble to understand any other existence. A dying breed that worships a dying creed. Welcome to the future, to your extinction!”

Amon staggered as the ground beneath him rattled while the fiery show of sparks flashed across his T-visor. He carried on forward firing as the vambrace heated to a melting point. What words the Sith said fell on deaf ears. The Mandalorian locked in.

...and abruptly the floor sought to devour him. The cursed trickery of the dar'jetii. Unbridled rage and power. No piece of metal could save him, not even beskar. The energy shield lit up, flickered and died under the battering. Amon's firing stopped, hands crossed before him protecting mainly his head. He lost his footing and fell into an abyss. Bones broke, crevices of flesh opened and...

Failure. His father's voice rang in his head. A nightmare, a reality.

Indeed. The server room was all but destroyed, his life all but on the edge.

Rage.

Rage against the dying of the light.

Buried underneath everything the Sith had torn asunder, somewhere on a lower level blue lights stirred to life. The last of the repulsorpack bellowed, one last stand of machinery against demise. It propelled him upwards like a rocket. Vambrace locked upwards and a hail of rockets carved the way into the higher levels of the building, passing by the level where the Sith stood and leaving behind the roof toppling down in his ascent. The rubble of concrete and steel burying indiscriminately friend or foe.

The repulsorpack carried him long enough till he reached a platform on the exterior of the building before it choked, wailed and died. One last missile was fired back to where he had nearly met fate's end and the vambrace melted. Amon punched the now useless and fuming gadget off his forearm, and limped away from his exit point away from the battle. Broken, beat and scarred, the Mandalorian opened a line to Meshla:

"M-meshla...we-" he coughed blood feeling his lungs on the brink of collapse. Amon stumbled, fell on one knee and kept on coughing. The tight grip of pain did not cease. He barely stood back up again and carried on limping. The Vizsla removed his helmet, clipped it to his waist and uttered the unutterable "-retreat."

 

[Hiram Voss]

Objective: Sabotage the Malevolence.
Allies: Hans Rennagen | Detritus Ren
Enemies: Grand Moff Aut-X
Location: Somewhere inside the Malevolence.
Equipment: New Imperial Officers Uniform | CK-60 Disruptor Carbine [x] | 2x Null Grenades [x] | 3x Smart Grenades [x]

"What is it-" Lieutenant Hadrian Boars snarled, "With this, stupid bastard!" Boars grunted taking cover to avoid another volley from the advancing B-1 battle droids. The group of would be saboteurs had found themselves at an intersection, pinned by the interlocking fire of B-1 battle droids. "And his damned antiques?!" Boars stepped back out and opened fire again, as another stormtrooper was cut down by the fighting. Hiram reloaded his battle rifle and grimaced. He hadn't honestly felt this sort of pressure or even alive for a long damn time. Even Dubrillion hadn't cut close to this. Hiram scowled as he heard the rumbling of destroyer droids incoming. "Sir!" Boars snapped, "We're never gonna make it if these droids keep gutting us!"

Hiram knew that. He also knew that the Imperial Knights aboard relied upon him. Time was of the essence was in Jin's message, and that needed to be relied upon. Voss sighed and reached to his utility belt where he had clipped some grenades to him, and clasped one of them. Null grenades. If training taught him right, this was one of Gat Tambors little tricks. Hiram looked to Boars and the other remaining crewmen as another was cut down. "Alright!" Hiram barked, his voice clambering over all the incessant blaster fire. "All of you, on me!" Hiram bellowed, standing himself up from his position against the wall. He cleaved the grenade from his belt, and pulled the pin, before letting it go. Smoke began to billow out of the grenade, obscuring vision but more importantly, stifling blaster bolts. Voss turned to the corridor, facing the impending wall of ancient droids and their weapons, and they fired. But nothing. Nothing. No fire could pass through as the smoke billowed from the smoke stack of the grenade.

"This is it!" Hiram growled, "Charge!" The New Imperial naval personnel, stormtroopers and others stormed forth, charging the battle droids, and knocking them over as he pushed forward. The New Imperials now found new momentum, and Voss dropped the grenade as they pushed forward, blanketing the droids in smoke. "Knights, Kyrel, other man!" Hiram howled on the comm, "We are pushing toward the weapon, what's your status?"

 

[Lily Kuhn]

Somewhere Only We Know

​

Location: Ravelin, Home of Lily Kuhn
Objective: Protect the little one
Allies: The Sith Empire
Confirmed Enemies: The New Imperial Order
Equipment: Lily's Blaster Pistol, Saber for a Lily, Lily's Casual Attire, Heart of a Lily

"You need to leave, take the boy and get out." The voice said, its tone, its coarseness, so intimately familiar to her and yet simultaneously alien - foreign - like a stranger that sounded, looked, so similar to someone you couldn't quite place. "You only have a few minutes before it's too late." The man added, his voice now falling on deaf ears as the older woman moved the speaker from her ear to listen closely to the sounds of approaching footsteps. "Hey, are you there? You need to g- " She cut him off, throwing the communicator to the couch as she moved to her baby boy, the little six year old that was the only reminder to her brief stay with the First Order. The sounds of footsteps, inaudible to those who didn't know to use the force to hear when sound could not travel quite as far, began to increase, from one to six, six to twenty, and they drew closer, their placements methodical - as if they knew the one in the home could hear them coming.

Child of the last Dark Lord of the Sith, as brief as her tenure had been, the former Empress of Teta was a threat that needed to be eliminated - it had been that way when the Ssi-ruuk had descended on Dosuun, when A'sharad and Lily had parted for the last time, and her past - her genealogy - had followed her like a phantom ever since. Bounty hunters, assassins, and now soldiers. Just shy of a decade had passed since she'd last needed it, but the lightsaber her mother had constructed for her flew to her hand from its place over the mantle of her fireplace, her pistol already fastened to the holster strapped to her right hip. "Come on, Jai, mommy is going to put you somewhere safe, okay?" She said as she tucked the hilt of her saber under her left arm so she could lift up her son and carry him from where he'd been sitting on the floor in confusion just moments before. "Where we go?" The boy asked, suddenly unhappy with being taken from his play spot, his little Vornskr toys left on the floor where he had been just before. "Mommy is going to be busy, but little Jai, you're going to our practice place, okay? Just do mommy a favor and stay very quiet, okay? Mommy will come get you when it's safe, alright?" She said as they moved over to the fireplace, a swipe of her hand over the place her lightsaber had been activating a hidden mechanism only reachable through telekinesis to reveal a small hiding place where a false chimney had been just moments before.

"Stay very quiet, okay? Even if mommy is loud, be quiet for me, everything is going to be fine."

"I don't wanna play this game now." The little boy grumbled, shaking his head with a grumble, a look that, if not for the circumstances, would have been something to poke fun at - instead she chose to just smile, holding him still for a moment after raising him up to his hiding place so she could look over his face, her green eyes taking in every last detail to commit it to memory, as if it was the last time she'd ever look at the only thing she'd ever done right. Her son. A'sharad's son. "I love you, Jai, now isn't the time to argue, mommy will bake a big cake with you if you behave, okay?" She asked, to which he slowly nodded with clear hesitation, deciding cake outweighed the inconvenience of a game he didn't like. "Okay. But only if mommy promises!" He declared, to which the slight sting at the corners of her eyes nearly became too much. Throat tight with hesitation to make such a promise, one she wasn't sure she could keep, she nodded slowly as she put him into his hiding place and turned to clear her throat, her face turning a shade of red that it hadn't in quite some time. The sound of footsteps could be heard now, even without the force, and there were voices, too, just like the stranger had said. She sighed as she turned to shut the hidden door, her smile smaller now, eyebrows arched and knit together.

"I promise."

Jai nodded excitedly as the door shut, the soundproofing keeping him from hearing the sound of a door being blown off its hinges by focused explosives, the darkness keeping him from seeing the flash of red as his mother ignited her lightsaber for the first time in years - entering the stance she'd been taught by Vrag so many decades ago as a child. "Get. Out. Of. My. HOUSE!" She shouted, her voice hardly a muffled whisper inside of his little box, fire erupting around the Kuhn matriarch, her lightsaber arcing to the side to knock away a volley of blaster bolts as the amulet she wore around her neck began to glow - amplifying her power for a single, directive, push - while her free hand reached for the pistol at her hip, blaster bolts she couldn't knock away colliding against her clothing, bouncing off of her like the surface of a mirror as the points of collisions burned away.

"And stay away from my family!"

The little boy couldn't see the blaster bolts fired from his mother's pistol as she leaped towards the closest New Imperial trooper, her lightsaber cutting him clean through as her pistol unloaded on the helmet of the next. Flames danced around the pyromancer as they licked at her furniture, consuming another that tried to rush the mother in her own home. He couldn't see her side as several blaster bolts burned through her clothing and tore through flesh, couldn't smell the scent of burning flesh as his mother screamed in pain - pain she used to burn away the man that had struck her as more blaster bolts filled the room with flashes of red and green and clouds of smoke.

He couldn't see the struggle, the mother that desperately wanted to make her promise a reality.

Couldn't watch her break it as she collapsed, couldn't see her knees give out on her as she pulled on the talisman at her neck to raise a wall of fire that burned away a dozen men as even more poured in.

But he felt the exact moment that the bond between mother and son faded, snapped like a cord, the pain like a real wound.

And he knew.

Tears that streamed out of his eyes, struggling not to scream, not to cry, to keep his promise, hoping beyond hope that if he was good she'd come and open the door.

She never did.​

 

[Vella Forte]

These violent delights have violent ends
BASTION // RAVELIN // THE GARDENS OF PELLAEON
ENEMIES: Bastard
HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT

The young prince’s doting supplications were vibrations in the air, outmatched by the cacophonous crackling of the flames and the steady, loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. She could barely see the movement of his lips, her vision so obscured by the incessant redness of her rage. Rationality and irrationality had never been braided together so immaculately as the Echani’s unheard words. Woefully, the demons in her mind were louder than the angel in reality. The lost sentiment from his heart was gentle. His approach was tender, sweet, generous. Weak.

It should have been appealing. Every word that dripped from his silver tongue was honeyed with a tone she’d never heard before. The intonations of his promises were earnest, she realized. The conviction of his delivery spoke louder than the shape of the words he confessed. The sincerity of his heart was as blinding to him like the wrath in her own. Neither could be diluted in this standoff. The detriment was obvious.

The feedback between her inferno and his flesh was tight and constant. To anyone else, the odour would be nauseating but the Vahla’s sickly, contorted senses found it sweet, putrid, and steaky. In this instant, he was bewitching. The Echani heir’s ash-white tresses mirrored the goddesses, enriched by the flames that danced around him. The supernatural’s face tightened, her maturity smoothing over and finding harsher angles in her face that overlaid Errant’s deceptively. For an instant, Vella waivered. The tautness of her expression slackened, affording the consideration of mercy for the twitterpated youth.

Hypothetically, if she were in the frame of mind to run such thought experiments, she could evaluate the caliber of his suggestions. Ultimately, the afflicted vessel would deduce the same conclusion each time. Their exile would not be in balance. His home would mean his rules, and it would be the same oppression she’d felt under The Empire’s fist. Her liberties would be stripped, the goddess’ vindication abated and malformed.

Even in the moments of suppression and control as The Empire’s inquisitor, she knew her future. Lassiter had been a Sword of Vahl, reminding her of the culture’s history and prowess. How mighty they’d been, how destructive they’d been. How much fear they’d inspired. The fear that drove their enemies to slaughter them to extinction. A history that would not, could not be replicated on the battlefield today. She could not be another statistical fallen Vahl. Instead, she had to focus on that future. The one she wanted, and the one she was meant to actualize. It was not what the boy Knight promised. Au contraire, it was the manifestation of The Goddess’ will. Total destruction in Vahl’s name and with the powers and strengths she granted alone.

A conflagration to consume Bastion. Glory to Her name.

At this moment, Vella’d never felt more connected to the otherworldly deity. Her body and mind were no longer her own, prerogative stolen and replaced instead with fanatical purpose.

To the goddess, Vella took a final bow deep in obeisance. And the ancient dryad grinned upon her, a toothsome smile emerging from the shadows beneath two onyx orbs. The harmonious image of the elder woman’s face over Errant’s harshened once more, the opacity of the supernatural becoming more tangible. The fingers that pressed against her burning flesh were slender but strong. Pleading. Encouraging. The delineation between Echani and Vahla blurred until there was only her.

Vahl.
The goddess distorted Errant’s voice, the words disembodied from his lips overlaying his adenoidal tone with the modulated raucousness of Vahl’s. The encouragement from Errant was fragmented, touching on a different note than he'd intended within the Bladeborn. Her understanding was corrupted.

"Please, Vella. Do this."

A hoarse grasp was the only sound drawn from her lips, and she clenched her teeth. Her cheeks flexing against the pressure of the fingertips framing her face. Tears welled along the lids of her glowing eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Vella’s countenance betrayed the humility within; Touched by the serene beauty of the goddess and the honour of the deity’s communion. She’d never felt so small, and so powerful at the same time.

Trembling hands recalled the whips that burned Errant’s flesh, and she reached up to curl her fingers around the burns on his wrists. The unnatural curve of the goddess’ lips, still a veneer over Errant’s, sharpened in pleasure. Beamin. Beaming at her, Vella Forte. Rewarding her years of servitude and tireless faith. An appreciative huff quivered from her nose, and a weak, tired twitch of appreciation spread through her lips. The broken smile from the worshiper intercepted the trajectory of her fallen tears, and she tasted salt on her tongue. Previously bated, her shallow breath returned slowly. Flames began to lick through the cracks in her lips, born from the brackish burn of her soft weeping.

“I will.” She promised in a shaky whisper, heeding the summon of the Warrior. The undulation of Vahl seemed to nod once, as if granting permission to her follower, imbuing the woman’s strength with the honour of The Ember.

Devout to a fault, the cultist’s moral conviction became infallible, profound, and impervious to the whims of mortal flesh and counterfeit relationships.

Glowing embers leaped and twirled in a fiery dance, twinkling like stars in the hot swirling air around the pair of killers. There was mirth to the movements, wicked and gleeful. The rage within the woman who manipulated the power blossomed uncontrollably, exploding within the confines of her silhouette and pouring out in an outrageous blast of sanctification. Illuminated into molten there was only purity in the shadow of the Bladeborn. Like a covenous supernova. Faith would see her through the day, and would burn all the nonbelievers.

 

[Shade of Decay]

​

Location: The Conduit, beneath Fortress Carnifex
Objectives: Bye-bye
Equipment: Lightsaber, Puppeted Body
Nearby: AMCO Aren D'Shade Ingrid L'lerim Caulder Dune (frenemies?) | FN-999 (enemy)

​

The oncoming troopers quickly came to suffer for their hubris; thinking that they had the capability to attack and defeat a trio of Sith, when armed merely with blasters and numbers, was a sin deserving of the punishment they had earned. The blinded eyes of the body he was controlling burned with an equal mixture of hatred and curiosity as the bodies approaching them began to decay, as if each were attacked by a sudden, massive infection of flesh-eating bacteria. The first few ranks to advance within the aura of decay he was emanating quickly began to scream, crying out for help, as their bodies were reduced to sludge.

As the initial shock passed, the nanogene troopers opened fire, mercifully ending all those that hadn't already succumbed entirely to Tsisaar's power. Of course, by that point enough suffering and pain had been created, alongside that suffusing the planet's atmosphere, to enable him to finish out his attack without the body he was using succumbing as well.

So it was that the troopers came to an end, one just as ignominious and ignoble as what they had sought to enact on their quarry.

"More effective than I realized," Tsisaar mused to himself. His body's mouth curved into a rictus grin, as he turned to face Adekos and Adrian when the pair began to leave.

"Enjoy yourselves," he croaked out, still smiling. "Prospero, maybe bring him along for a meeting some time. I'm sure the three of us could create something quite entertaining." With a final, almost cheerful wave, he released the hold he held on the body, his spirit instantly retreating from it and returning to its proper home.

Lifelessly, the body of the acolyte that had once studied aboard the Ebion collapsed in on itself, falling into a wet, sloshing pile of unrecognizable matter on the floor.

 

[Ursula Vizla]

L O C A T I O N | Residential Sector.
O B J E C T I V E | Survive.
T A G S | Cyndane
G E A R | Armor, lightsaber, pistol,
Lightwhip, ring, gloves, necklace.​

Perhaps she was born at the wrong times. This galaxy was in a stage full of unbridled chaos, perfect job opportunities for a woman in her profession, but her people were diminishing. Mandalore's paths were now sparse, scattered among the stars and concentrated under the thumbs of those with power. The Imperials were no better than the Sith had been, to some extent allies, understanding to some extent but never better, they saw the mandalorians as honorable warriors or loyal dogs to kill in their service to the extent that they were no longer useful and were discarded, just as the Infernal One had been along with all its people.​

Sometimes she missed Concord Dawn's acquaintances, sometimes. This was perhaps one of those times, because although she might have chosen to run away, Ursula was determined to keep what she called honor, without ever giving up that was her intention and keeping to the false ideology that everything she did was driven by credits. Her rival was as much more lethal as she had even been able to imagine, she had been more than capable of neutralizing more than half of her weaponry and was obviously more experienced in handling a sword than she was. With patience and watchful eyes she tried to keep pace with the attacks as she had planned them, using the upper mechanical strength of her arm to tire the opponent's, putting the weight on her feet in that lethal dance.​

Only the Sith were more treacherous than she would ever be. And the false hope that the heavy power of her blows could be crushing her rival's vitality soon showed itself in the moment that the female finally informed the name to the mandalorian. Ruffling the hair on the back of her neck, almost giving her time for one last irritated growl before the chaotic threat erupted right in front of her eyes, caused by the breaking of the bladelock they exchanged, with just enough last thought about how that crimson blade it reminded her more of a death herald than anything else. The choices were few, her response time even shorter and Ursula Vizla chose to do what she did best: improvise.​

The cybernetic arm snapped loudly but caused little pain running through the rest of her body after being broken like a stick by her opponent's lightsaber, benefits from the robotic technology of the times they lived. She pulled her arm back and plunged the tip of the sword deep into the ground before losing it completely, just long enough to let it be cut only at the level of her elbow, the sacrifice was made effective in the next attack launched against her. Vizla used her organic hand to close around the stump of her old mechanical arm knowing that she had no time or strength to draw the sword stuck in the ground, she used her burning blade to push it to the side to minimize the damage suffered from the next attack. The impact of the energy weapon against Arisia's lightsaber being only partially stopped by her sword rotated on the ground. But without even looking at it, Ursula knew her leg was destroyed by the amount of steam that broke off from the inner parts of her leg, causing painful electrical impulses to rise up her thigh and all over her spine to the point Ursula flexed her jaw and contracted her lips showing her teeth behind the helmet.​

She swallowed the desire to cry out in pain. She allowed the painful expression born from her tired body to twist into a smile, a large and wide smile that she regretted not being able to show that beautiful brunette. Taking this chance and using all the adrenaline that remained in her body, Ursula flexed her neck and threw her head forward in a keldabe kiss. The leg damaged by Arisia creaked, with sparks and hot steam jets flowing to the sides, the mandalorian lost its balance and followed the rules of gravity as her body fell backwards hitting directly against the floor, echoing the dryly sound when the steel in her armor hit the asphalt of the capital of Ravelin. Her face still smiled under the helmet despite her head spinning with dizziness and nausea.​

"Any last words, Arisia?", Her voice asked as she fell to the floor, letting herself laugh out loud and unrestrained shortly thereafter. Her eyes roamed inside the helmet passing through all the warnings that shone on the screen of her visor about the parts of her armor that were in urgent need of repairs. She was trying to find how to operate her flamethrower remotely only to discover the fluid wasn't enough for what she intended, 'Am I going to die in Bastion?', her mind instantly said, 'Damn it, I still want it to blow up the Jedi Temple...', perhaps the gods took good care of her and almost whispered of how she would have her chance to bring mayhem to the Alliance, her eyes noticed a small function of the beskar'gam that still worked, of something she had not used in a long time, ever since she hunted criminals for those suckers in the First Order. "One last question. How do you say cortosis electroshock net in Siffy?"​

She was already raising her organic right arm partially before shooting.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Location: Fortess Carnifex
Allies: Irveric Tavlar | Anden Fancelo
Enemies: The Sith Empire
Objective: Liberate

He followed Irveric, not as an ally, but as a comrade. Before the two soldiers met, Djorn had nothing but respect for the man. He did not join his ranks at first not because he did not disagree with his values and beliefs, simply because he did not wish to dubbed with the title of traitor. If there was one thing in this world he disliked, it was the act of betrayal. But now...enlightened by the words of Irveric, he saw that it was the Sith who had betrayed him and his comrades, alive and deceased. He was just a tool, a weapon for their own convenience. Men like him were bribed with delusions in order to fall in line and build monuments with them straining their backs for it and their overlords lounging about with pleasantries. It was their nature, after all. Nothing but a parasite. In the end, they would betray him without second thoughts. After all, where was the Emperor he swore to serve? Had he predicted a future of Bastion falling into the hands of the New Imperials, thus making his leave? Djorn had fought for the Sith with valor and purpose, but they would never return the favor as it didn't favor their hand.

This was not betrayal from Djorn.

No, instead this was salvation. For him and those that fought for the ideals of an Imperial Order with it following a destiny to bring order and justice to a cruel, lawless Galaxy without exploiting it for the sake of power.

Bline followed the Imperator and the 501st, pushing through the front lines of the Legionnaires and other hostiles. He could still hear some of the men under his command demanding for answers in whatever was going on. He would tell them that they would explain if they surrendered themselves to Tavlar's men, but that would be all he would tell them. Should they act otherwise, they would only meet their fate.

But what surprised him was that every Sith would be treated indiscriminately.

Every

Single
​

One
​

That was evident when the New Imperials targeted Kor Vexen, a Sith that also deserted the Sith Empire and joined the ranks of the New Imperials. Irveric faced the Sith Lord in close quarters to find the fight concluding in Irveric's favor. Like Djorn, he would not live side-by-side with these damnations. It didn't matter their affiliations, they were all the same. The only good Sith there was, was a dead one. With the dead Warmaster and the triumphant Imperator, there was still another side in front of them that needed to be dealt with. He knew not every Imperial would follow Irveric, narrow minded to see him nothing but a traitor. But those that could see the truth could still be saved.

"Anden, it's over," Djorn said to Fancelo, still no helmet to protect his head. He extended his hand, with his blaster carbine held down. "Things aren't what we thought they were at the beginning. Give a chance and you'll see."

This war wasn't just a war to remove a power and replace it with another as that would just be meaningless. It was instead a war of conviction, of ideals, but most importantly...truth.

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

Location: Royal Academy of Bastion, Ravelin, Bastion
Objective: Defend the Royal Academy, ensure Acolytes escape and information does not fall into the hands of the New Imperial Order
Allies: The Sith Empire |
Enemies: The New Imperial Order | Lunafreya Solidor
Equipment: “Twin Dancers,” (Dual Lightsabers), “Apostasy’s End” (Lightstaff), Sarassian Iron Platemail, Telis’s Legion, a handful of brave Sith Acolytes, and a whole Academy’s worth of information
Post Number: V
Theme

The Commander felt the rumble and roll of each and every explosion, her breath still and calm as she continued, blind to the fighting behind her but feeling the heat of the battle as though it were bearing down her neck. In her shaded hollow, she continued to piece together her desperate invention, hands for the first time in a long time shaking as she heard the first cries of the commandos being cut down by the line, followed then by the ear-rupturing rain of explosions, deafening and verberating into a deep part of her soul, carving a sound that would exist in her mind for many years beyond this battle, should she even step from it alive. Below her the line of commandos silently held, the first lines suffering casualties, and simply having new soldiers replace the ones that had fallen. It was a grim necessity, but they knew the rhythm of the battle, and this was the nature of what they prepared for. Death was never an idle onlooker for them, and when it decided to slake itself, all they could do was simply move forward.

Death was in their name, after all, and as far as the commandos knew their title was less an honor and more a castigation, a recognition that they were already dead from the moment they stepped into Aagenti’s legion. They would always be at the front of the worst battles, ready to lay down their lives for the ever-distant dream of sovereignty, a dream called ‘empire.’ Before them the wall of rubble had begun to crumble into dust and broken metal, a wall of metallic corpses lining both sides of the structure as a grim testimony to the efficiency of the commandos. Their volleys had begun to slow, munitions running low, but too with it did the swarm of droids ever fade, until eventually the assault seemed to cease, the sound of the constant marching replaced with heavy thuds, monotonous in their movement and grinding the ground with each step.

From above, the Commander slid the barrel of the gun back over the amalgamation she had crafted, taking a deep breath as she lifted the far-heavier invention, resting it against the slab of stone she had hid behind, expecting to see the army of droids, and only to be met with the sight of the robots clearing the way for the walker that now approached. The Commander looked at the vehicle with a sense of brief panic, but once more it melted into a cold apathy, in her mind a single plan forged, formed, and already in motion even before she could put it to words. The walker and Omer inside advanced like a giant, lumbering, purposeful, total compared to the bodies it towered over. The commandos below could take it out, but not without casualty or cost, and they had done their duty well with the line remaining unbroken. Now it was her turn to fight.

Standing above the stone cover and stepping out from behind it, she held the amalgamation of a weapon at her hip like a machine gun, taking in a deep breath as she stepped out into the last fading vestiges of light, her armor covered in dust and grime, her hands blackened from her jury-rigging. For a moment, as she looked into the cockpit of the mech, she felt like she locked eyes with Omer, before she raised the gun as far as she could, aiming it right towards the advancing machine, uttering a silent prayer, before shouting a single line of defiance into the wind: ”You have gone far enough, and I will not let you take one step further. You. Die. here.” Pressing her finger to the trigger of her volatile, heavy gun, she would press it, holding it down and feeling the sudden kick, magnified a dozen times over, forcing her to place a foot behind her at the force of the invention.

Combining the three modules of the gun into one heavy machine, the Commander had set her sights on Omer’s walker, and from the barrel of her gun came a barrage of plasma, unstable yet flying like a lance, straight and true, blossoming into vicious explosions as they hit against the chassis of the mech, cutting like a buzz saw. With each passing moment more and more of the battle began to glow, quickly going from red to bright orange and eventually white, flecks of the gun spraying off into the wind as her gatling gun scorched and screamed into the wind, nothing to stop it from falling apart in on itself, but nothing to stop it from using the full of its power against Omer’s walker. As she fired right onto the machine, the Commander’s body was highlighted in a constant red glow, her visor perfectly reflecting the light as she felt the gun heat up, but still she continued to fire, letting her voice raise to a shout.

And with her shout, there came a resurgence, a few brave commandos climbing the stone to claim the hill, lowering into a kneel as they reached the top to bring the battle straight to the droids that were waiting for them, taking hits as they became open targets but rallied by the cry of the Commander and her spitfire gun that failed against Omer’s walker. The backline of the school woven into a surge for the hill of rubble as the grenades continued to fly, but no longer did they wait for the war to be brought to them. They followed in their Commander’s footsteps, shouting as they charged to the top of the hill ”This is where you fall! You will not take one step further!” There was nothing strategic about the move they took, but there was a sudden call to action in their veins, a surge to see that they dealt to their enemies what their enemies had sought to deal to them. Even if they were to die tonight, they would die making their enemy bleed, and for the commandos of the dead, that was less a desperation and more an honor beyond words.

Beside the school, as war awakened in the back, a beast of a different nature truly took presence, being fired upon by the climbers, it’s mind changing from its task to a sort of pure malevolence at the defiance of the soldiers that escaped its grasp. The living web twisted, writhing as metallic tendrils dug into the walls, and like a vine, it began to climb, the sound of metal digging into stone screeching through the dusk, it’s body dark save for its empty, pale eyes, all centered on the crews climbing the walls ever upwards, following in slow pursuit, the tendrils of the creature acting like sensors as much as they were weapons. It was slow to respond to the new presence of the walkers, but as they appeared, it awakened in the beast a new sense of divergence, surrounded, threatened, it was no longer just a machine but something thinking, feeling, hungering, metal flesh being cut up by the fire that pierced it.

In a chorus of a thousand chittering metal fangs, there came the sound of splitting metal, a high-pitched, nauseating whirring filling the air as it took one last swipe at those that tried to climb the wall, bringing the full force of its blow to knock the climbers towards the ground near the walkers. Surging like a desperate animal, it scrambled down, moving like a horde of rats all eating through one another to get to its target, the sound of creaking metal ever present as tendrils were split, disconnecting and reconnecting in the ever-shifting web of lights and saws. It rushed towards the walkers to the best of its capabilities, but with the fire from all around, it began to break down on itself, minds going haywire as they all tried to siphon off the discord, tearing itself apart as it reached out more and more to try and grasp and tear and shred everything that surrounded it into nothing more than slurry.

It was a beast that was threatened, and as it grew closer to its death throes it grew more and more rampant and vicious, stuttering and spasming as it leapt between the walkers and those that remained on the walls, lights peeling off like scabs as it simply started to deconstruct without the stability of Aagenti’s constant control to keep it together. As it waxed and waned it became something beyond words and descriptions, merely a mass of metal and light, grasping, gasping, gaping, writhing, twisting, inflicting upon the world around it a scar that would never truly heal and leaving a stain of red when it grasped an unfortunate victim within its net of blackened arms, neural networks destabilizing into a eldritch swarm existing solely for mass. It became synonymous with Aagenti, and for a brief moment it seemed to live, before it returned to the machine that it was, ripping and tearing, a cornered beast not long for this world, a distraction more than anything.

And out front, Aagenit’s duel commenced, as the front lines began to charge more and more to meet their foul foe, guns blazing and no reservation, the acolytes lost somewhere in the crowd, leading small squadrons and being swarmed by the masses of legionnaires that surrounded them. Aagenti’s legion was sorely outnumbered, and still they managed to push, blasters ripping through heavy armor with the sheer amount of blaster bolts and the grenades that tore into the hearts of groups, bypassing shields and simply leaving nothing but torn scraps of blackened limbs when they exploded, turning the once-neat line into a field of bloody combat and ruthless, dirty fighting. There was nothing reverent about the fighting, both sides truly zealous in their stead and fighting, the sounds of the cries of the commandos as they charged almost drowned out.

Aagenti, within the now-empty gloom of the building, watched as from the force of the battle a figure rushed to meet him in the quiet of the new arena. Lunafreya, in her elegant elven glory, danced to meet his challenge, the tip of Aagenti’s blade resting against the ground, blackening the stone, as he watched and waited for the challenger to greet him. Blood covered his metal hand, his clawed fingers cruelly curled as he still felt the feeling of his dance out into the field, his art becoming a living weapon as he cleaved through the soldiers of House Solidor in his search to find and draw Lunafreya within the quiet sanctum. Discord continued to sing in his veins, chaos feeding him like a spigot, filling his veins with a lightning that danced between his claws.

As Lunafreya struck her blades into existence, Aagenti’s face briefly showed in full, a grim smile showing upon his striking features as he looked towards his opponent that rushed towards him, swift as a serpent and as ruthless as a dragon. As Lunafreya brought her blades down to cry and carve an ‘X’ through him, Aagenti raised his blade in retaliation, one hand behind the saber as he struck the oncoming blades with his own, a clash of gold and red sparks filling the air and continuing to do so as Aagenti’s dancer seemed to almost quiver and lance with excitement, sparks flying from the blade as the matrix just above the hilt continued to dance in the chaotic lines and geometries like a tiny storm. His eyes glowed with power as he met Lunafreya’s, the two of them locked in the fight for control.

Each passing moment that Aagenti spent in the blade-lock, his breath became labored as he pushed back against the force of two sabers with his one, a single hand holding his sword while his spare arm was behind him, fingers curled with malevolent intent as he seethed, his eyes filled with fury as he smiled almost mockingly from beneath his hood. He pushed himself into holding Lunafreya back, his right arm clenching as he flexed his muscles in order to ensure that he would not be moved, the shadows of the darkened antechamber pushed back in a pale mixture of gold and red, a fight between the two colors. ”Lady of House Solidor… you fight for an empty cause, there is nothing here but loss-“

As he hissed the word, Aagenti would drive his clawed hand towards Lunafreya’s side, attempting to dig the talons of his hand into her armor, trying to pierce the plate as he pushed forward with his saber, a sudden burst of energy rushing through his veins with his attempt to throw Lunafreya off of him. Trying to pull his clawed hand away from the treacherous stab, he would grab his saber once again in both hands, the red light of the blade turning his skin crimson, the frost flowing off of the hilt ever more even as the blade of energy sizzled the air around it, the very matter of stars. ”You have forced my hand. I have warned you once, I shall not show you any mercy, as the would-be conqueror you are.”

Breaking from the block, Aagenti would rush towards Lunafreya with a single leap, driving his blade around to try and cut her right across the torso, lighting dancing in his eyes and along the full length of his blade as he swung, not shouting or even grunting with the force of his assault against Lunafreya, no savagery withheld as he sought to truly let his words have the weight that he threw behind them. To him Lunafreya was a conqueror and an invader, and while his men bled and died, he was here ensuring that their sacrifice would not be in vain - even if the school was lost, Lunafreya would go down with them, and even if he fell, he would ensure that the archives of the school would never be breached, his hand a martyr’s, nothing but retribution guiding his action. He had nothing to lose, and it showed in the recklessness or his fight. He fought with abandone, striking like a storm that only had a moment to live and all the energy to rip the world asunder, as the purge of the New Imperial Order filled him with more and more strength, their treachery feeding the Sith who stood.

For a brief moment, there was a greater realization in his eyes of what was happening, but it only fueled his assault ever more, cold rage turning reckless fury into something dangerous and deadly. Aagenti in his prime, the machinist, crystallized. His movements were like water, and his thoughts were as clear as glass, as he saw Lunafreya before him and sought to make sure that she would not be the one standing when all was said and done. He was ready to fall in his efforts, but to bleed and to make another bleed, here, now? It was a comfort beyond words, a satisfaction that Aagenti could have slept an eternity to.

 

[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.

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



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.”

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider


Aradia's brows furrowed as he leveled accusations her way.

You stole this world from them. ...They had families! --wrongly believe this world to be yours!

The young teen swayed in place, not a single word making sense. "You're crazy," she breathed, and looked at him as such. The big, bulking jedi lit up their saber. She took a sudden step back. The determination crumbled to a sudden jolt a fear, the girl facing the reality of what she had engaged. There was nothing more unsettling than realizing your fight with death would be against a crazed Zealot coming to storm your school... For the first time since Kaalia Pavanos had bought her freedom, Aradia considered running. It was a primal thought, but it consumed her.

Remember that fear. It will save your life. Her Master's final words were a balm. Aradia struggled to pump air through her through her lungs, the stand off stretching between the two. What felt like hours was actually mere seconds. The jedi's ultimatum was left in the air, the girl wavering against the heat of the smoldering courtyard. It wasn't that she didn't want to face the big, bad, crazy invader, it was just...

A bite of pain pulled at her-- the token coin that had been in her waistband had seared into her flesh, burned in there like a brand. It brought with it the reminder of the owners words, Allyson Locke oddly needed advice reaching her again.

You are strong. Have faith in yourself. Somehow it meant more coming from a stranger. Aradia faced down Oceiros and his bulking form, her fear reminding her what she was here for: Survival. ...And a test of merit. But still! Survival. She took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

"I will not stand down. You will not come into this Academy. Did you not hear me?" The red of her saber reflected against her features, raised higher as she found her resolve. You strike down your foes. You do not hesitate. Came the words of Kaalia Pavanos .

Yes, Master.

She burst forward in a flurry of speed, hair and clothing alike streaming into the wind. She collapsed in on him,empowered by the force as she aimed for a clean decapitation. Don't think. Just do.

"I said get off my lawn!"

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


When faced with the wrong-doings of her kind, when given the chance to stand aside, she stood stalwart. Oceiros had heard much about the Sith it only tormented the Jedi so to see how deep the seeds of malevolence had embedded themselves into the young woman. She could’ve been so much, she could’ve perhaps been a politician, perhaps a fighter pilot, or even a Jedi, yet it seemed Fate and the Force had conspired together to place her firmly within the clasps of the Sith.

Escaping the Epicanthix's mouth was a heavy sigh as he resigned himself to a fight he did not wish for. “So be it, I only hope you can forgive me for what comes next.” Oceiros offered. Raising his blade to defend himself he stared onwards at the acolyte the world, no the force itself seemed to recoil away from his touch. The air grew cold around him, his heart seized and time seemed to slow.

From all across Bastion, Oceiros could feel it, the rage, the sorrow, the agony all coming out at once, formed and harnessed in an instant. It all concentrated and focused on one single thing. Death! Whatever was taking place the Jedi did not like the feeling of it. So caught in the currents of the force the neophyte barely had time to register his opponents attack.

Gasping inwards as time returned to normal, his body once more under his control, Oceiros kicked off the ground with his leading foot much like a fencer skipping a step back. The crimson blade of the acolyte skirted mere centimeters from the warrior’s neck, what would’ve been a near instant fatality. If Oceiros had been even a millisecond slower his legacy would’ve come to a definite end.

Azure blade rising its lethal song penetrating the air, the tip pointed towards the exposed woman and thrust towards her right shoulder. When taught to fight one is told to do what one must to survive and bring the encounter to an end. For Oceiros it wasn’t that simple, it would never be that simple. There were Jedi out there who would go to death as the first solution, that would have no issue bearing down upon the acolyte and leaving nothing but a corpse in their wake. Those weren’t the actions a Jedi should take, they wouldn’t be the actions Oceiros would take. He couldn’t bring himself to strike down one so young, so misguided, and with so much room left to find her path back to the light.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider




She had been so sure, so confident in her training that she didn't expect him to dodge. As she swept in to strike him down, he had stood frozen, distracted... Yet it had changed so abruptly, her blade a millisecond away from passing through his throat... Within just that millisecond left, she had expected success.

It was an assumption that cost.

His sudden twist of his saber struck its mark, her own momentum spearing her to its hilt. Her flesh sizzled against the heat, her blood boiling where it struck.

The shock of it all was so profound, she did not feel as she clattered into him. Her small frame, barely covered by the rags of her burnt clothing, slid down to her knees.

No, came the terrified thought, her body coiling for his killing blow. But he wasn't given the chance.

Energy exploded from her, twisted and driven by her fear as she tried to throw him back. A shield would catch any immediate blow, the light quickly corrupting to black mist. She couldn't die here, she was expected- She didn't-- Instinct drove her, her features wild and panicked as she reached out to the force for strength.

Yet all around them, a sudden betrayal had occurred, NIO men turning on each other and murdering their fellow force users without hesitation. The disturbance in the force could likely be felt all, the balanced tipped to something dark. Aradia was not experienced enough to understand what it meant, she only knew she was moments from being outmatched and killed. And that couldn't happen.

Kaalia Pavanos face came to mind as the acolyete breathed in the power surging around her. The woman was the only kind face in all of the galaxy. Aradia would see her again. She welcomed the darkness, its power frightening yet necessary as the young one leaned into it for the first time.

Her limbs strengthened, slick and shining in sweat, as she found her way to her feet. Her fear over the power diminished as vitality returned to her. There. This wasn't so bad. The crazed pain of the injury fled her, leaving space to think beyond the primal concept of survival. She had a hole in her. She needed to heal. It was a task that had been inaccessible to her before, on Gree. But she hadn't been this strong then-- the city's air ran red with the darkness of the murders-- They continued, the corruption growing stronger. She had never felt anything like it before, the power burning through her veins was so poignant she could-

Her shrill scream hit the air, instinct driving her. The souls of the freshly dead troopers ripped from their bodies, ghostly aspects that were dragged to their beckoner against their will. They stood no chance. With the balance of the force tipped, she was too strong. Aradia's head tilted back, the darkness growing around her as the Valkyrie summoned her first souls into her...

And consumed them.

Their minds flickered against her own, countless voices, thoughts, pleasure, pain, grief-- tearing through her faster than she could comprehend. Her feet left the ground, the girl's mind lost to the terrible power she had tapped into. The skin around her shoulder knit shut. A life for a life. There was only one way a sith could heal, and she had discovered it. The burns left her body, the marred skin drifting from a puckered red to a soft cream. There was no fear. There was nothing but the darkness she had welcomed into her. Anything to survive.

Her feet found the ground as the last of the energy burned through her. The dark lashing of energy slowly calmed, then left her, the courtyard slowly falling to calm. Aradia stood still, unresponsive for the barest moment as the young mind struggled to adjust.

Her eyes snapped open, blood red. Her saber jumped back to her. She met Oceiros Sunstrider gaze with a smile. Gone was the fear. Gone was the girl.

"Apology. Not. Accepted." A vicious yank of the force pulled on him, attempting to impale him onto her saber in turn.

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


The blade of the Jedi had found its mark, the scent of burning flesh, muscle and fat reminiscent of a fresh Bantha steak. Face grimacing, Oceiros caught the diminutive woman with his left arm steadying her. Looking down to the woman, Oceiros simply shook his head, he’d rid her of her fighting arm, the fight was over. Or at least Oceiros thought it was.

A jolt of electricity went from the crown of Oceiros’ skull down to his feet, the jedi’s body beginning to move on its own accord. It was too late. An invisible blow slammed into Oceiros’ body with strength enough to shatter stone and bend metal. The concussive force lifted the Jedi off his feet, flinging him up and back into a statue within the academy’s courtyard.

Mouth agape the Epicanthix felt the air flee his lungs from the impact. The duracrete statue giving way and crumbling down with the Jedi atop it. Laying upon the now pile of rubble Oceiros’ entire body ached. A stream of crimson retreated down the right side of the Jedi’s head, and his right arm lay limp along the ground. Looking over to the misshapen appendage the padawan willed it to move, only for nothing to happen.

Sapphire eyes turning to focus back on the acolyte, Oceiros could do nothing but watch as what could’ve once been an innocent turned into an abyss. All light in the area seemed to blot out, even the lumas of the street had gone dark. The epicanthix could even see his breath as he looked at the thing before him. No longer could the acolyte be seen as some simple Sith, or some meager acolyte, she was an all consuming darkness now, lost to the force.

Her scream chilled the Epicanthix’s blood, the Jedi stuck in his position, frozen to the spot and simply watching, sensing as those he’d just fought alongside were consumed. The sight brought back memories, memories of when Aeris had come to Brentaal, of staring into the heart of the Netherworld. This was how the descent started, how one became corrupted and gave themselves over.

Searching for his saber Oceiros saw the silver hilt on the ground between him and the Sith. “In the search for power, in your fear of defeat you’ve allowed yourself to be consumed, assimilated. The Sith accuse the Jedi of being weak, of allowing their generosity, their kindness, and rules to guide them. Yet here you are allowing yourself to be bound and controlled.”

Rising to his feet the Epicanthix stared at the woman with still soft eyes, a look of utter disappointment. So when the force pulled him, Oceiros didn’t fight it, he went with it. The strength of the woman tugged on the Epicanthix’s body drawing him near and at the same time the Jedi summoned his blade to his left hand.

Once more the plasmatic blade came to life, this time it hummed with a purpose, with conviction as Oceiros brought it up to clash with the crimson blade, locking the two weapons together. Staring across the blades that spat sparks, Oceiros met the gaze of the woman full on. “Is this truly what you wish to be? Is this what anyone would’ve wished for you to become? This isn't what you have to become.”

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


The blade of the Jedi had found its mark, the scent of burning flesh, muscle and fat reminiscent of a fresh Bantha steak. Face grimacing, Oceiros caught the diminutive woman with his left arm steadying her. Looking down to the woman, Oceiros simply shook his head, he’d rid her of her fighting arm, the fight was over. Or at least Oceiros thought it was.

A jolt of electricity went from the crown of Oceiros’ skull down to his feet, the jedi’s body beginning to move on its own accord. It was too late. An invisible blow slammed into Oceiros’ body with strength enough to shatter stone and bend metal. The concussive force lifted the Jedi off his feet, flinging him up and back into a statue within the academy’s courtyard.

Mouth agape the Epicanthix felt the air flee his lungs from the impact. The duracrete statue giving way and crumbling down with the Jedi atop it. Laying upon the now pile of rubble Oceiros’ entire body ached. A stream of crimson retreated down the right side of the Jedi’s head, and his right arm lay limp along the ground. Looking over to the misshapen appendage the padawan willed it to move, only for nothing to happen.

Sapphire eyes turning to focus back on the acolyte, Oceiros could do nothing but watch as what could’ve once been an innocent turned into an abyss. All light in the area seemed to blot out, even the lumas of the street had gone dark. The epicanthix could even see his breath as he looked at the thing before him. No longer could the acolyte be seen as some simple Sith, or some meager acolyte, she was an all consuming darkness now, lost to the force.

Her scream chilled the Epicanthix’s blood, the Jedi stuck in his position, frozen to the spot and simply watching, sensing as those he’d just fought alongside were consumed. The sight brought back memories, memories of when Aeris had come to Brentaal, of staring into the heart of the Netherworld. This was how the descent started, how one became corrupted and gave themselves over.

Searching for his saber Oceiros saw the silver hilt on the ground between him and the Sith. “In the search for power, in your fear of defeat you’ve allowed yourself to be consumed, assimilated. The Sith accuse the Jedi of being weak, of allowing their generosity, their kindness, and rules to guide them. Yet here you are allowing yourself to be bound and controlled.”

Rising to his feet the Epicanthix stared at the woman with still soft eyes, a look of utter disappointment. So when the force pulled him, Oceiros didn’t fight it, he went with it. The strength of the woman tugged on the Epicanthix’s body drawing him near and at the same time the Jedi summoned his blade to his left hand.

Once more the plasmatic blade came to life, this time it hummed with a purpose, with conviction as Oceiros brought it up to clash with the crimson blade, locking the two weapons together. Staring across the blades that spat sparks, Oceiros met the gaze of the woman full on. “Is this truly what you wish to be? Is this what anyone would’ve wished for you to become? This isn't what you have to become.”

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider


“Is this truly what you wish to be? Is this what anyone would’ve wished for you to become? This isn't what you have to become.”

She recoiled, his words once again ringing as crazy to child that only new one reality. "And what would you have me be?" She exclaimed, kicking him backwards and gaining them both space. "Ensalved again, or just dead? I am free." Passion fueled her tone, the old scars of restraints puckered and white against her neck and wrists. He spoke of her bounding herself here.

She didn't see it.

For the first time in her life, she owned her body. Her actions were hers to chose, what about any of this took her control away? Their perspectives clashed, his points missing their mark. She found her a voice, a thrill running through her as she told the larger man off.

"You can't stop me. You don't own me," she taunted, reaching out her hand towards the statue behind him. The metal crunched as her fingers bent, her knuckles going white as she explored the new power for the first time. The force responded with surprising ease; the task of rending the metal to her will easier than any lesson before.

She fell still for a breath and stared, engrossed by her own strength. Nothing could stop her like this. The power ran hot her veins, poignant and demanding its release. The fallen statue creaked as it slowly rose into the air, dust and rubble slipping off it. If she had only been able to do this five years ago... She look to Oceiros Sunstrider again, her crimson eyes swirling with a sudden burst of childlike fear.

"I know what real monsters look like." She confessed abruptly, leaning in the sounds of battle rattled her skull.

"They don't have horns. Or fangs, no, that's silly. They have words and they fists- They believe that things are theirs by right. You see these monsters look just like you and me, but unlike me, they come in and they take. They beat and they force themselves upon you-- and it doesn't matter what you say. It doesn't matter what you want. Their believe they are owed, and if you resist-" A loud explosion rocked the block, shaking the ground under their feet and throwing dust into the air. Her expression crumbled, a vulnerable quiver passing over her lips ... before twisting into a snarl.

"This is my home, and I said no." She concluded, her tone simple and matter of fact. She wrenched her hand forward. The statue came flying towards him, trying to crush him where he stood.

"And what would you have me be?"

Oceiros wasn’t given time to answer as a barefoot met his core. Tightening his midsection was the only thing the epicanthix could do to keep the kick from doing damage to his internal organs. Feet skidding across the ground from the strength behind the blow Oceiros now found himself over a meter away from the Sith.

His stomach now ached and he could feel bruising already beginning to rise upon his flesh, his intestines and their lines quivering from the blow. Red coated the Jedi’s lips as his teeth clenched together, a trickle of blood escaping to fall down his chin, droplets falling from his beard to baptize the duracrete.

"Ensalved again, or just dead so you can come take my chit? I am free."

Oceiros didn’t know what the girl had suffered but in these moments she laid herself bare before him, her insecurities and inner thoughts bubbling forth to reveal the frightened, ignorant child that lay beneath the surface. She was blinded to the truth of the galaxy, of what was sought on Bastion, of why Oceiros truly fought. All the girl could see was herself, trapped in the teachings of the Sith, in the end she’d be like the others that infested their order.

"You can't stop me. You don't own me,"

“You’re right I don’t own you, and I can still try to stop you.” Deactivating his saber, Oceiros’ blade retreated into the hilt, the jedi lowering and opening his arms in what could be considered an embrace. The blue orbs that adorned the epicanthix’s skull closed, head bowing. There was no secret, no technique that he held up his sleeve, just acceptance. The force radiated with it, the Jedi’s presence held not a single ounce of hatred, it radiated with nothing but love, for one was to love their enemies. She was blind to the truth and while she may not see it on this day there were many more.

Aware of his surroundings Oceiros stayed as still as the statue had once been, his form unmoving as the acolyte manipulated the structure. The Jedi accepted whatever fate had decided for him, he gave himself over to the currents of the force. Like a dam bursting it filled him, its cool presence filling his muscular form, guiding his muscles and taking control.

“I know what real monsters look like. They don't have horns. Or fangs, no, that's silly. They have words and they have fists- They believe that things are theirs by right. They come in and they take. They beat and they force themselves-- and it doesn't matter what you say. It doesn't matter what you want. Their believe they are owed, and if you resist- You are the monster here. You are not welcome. This is my home, and you can't have it.”

“Despite all your proclamations you’ve become the very thing you despise.” The words left Oceiros with the calm, and sternness of an instructor teaching a lesson. There was no fear at the approaching statue that sought to claim his life. Oceiros himself didn’t even need to move, the force did it for him, his body jumping from the ground legs tucking in. Propelled upwards into a backflip over the statue Oceiros heard the wind whistle as it passed by beneath him. Continuing his flip, the Jedi’s legs kicked out the bottom of his feet meeting the back of the statue. From the soles of his feet the force reverberated outwards concussive force accelerating it towards the person who was pulling it, Aradia.

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Vaylin | Mavia​

“Why the kark would they call it the ‘New Imperial Order’ if they weren’t new?”

Didn’t matter. The fight continued. While the sense of dread grew, a deep resolve gripped his heart. The Sith was unyielding but Dorian refused to let up. There was so much more to do, so much life left to live that he refused to leave. Each moment the pair got faster; Mavia’s defense immaculate, Dorian’s strikes precise and deadly.

But the dread grew and grew, until the moment was upon him.

The Sith threw fire at Mavia’s feet and Dorian saw an opening. He took a step forward and thrust, but the Sith’s body twisted to avoid it. Her hand latched onto the spear and he felt the weapon cool. Normally it was a comfort to hold, a weapon he’d held and fought with for years, but in that moment it was like it no longer wanted him. His grip slacked in his surprise, then-

The boot hit him in the gut. She knocked the wind out of him, stole his weapon, sent him flying.

The dread gripped his heart. Something was wrong. He was about to die, wasn’t he? He was about to leave her.

He didn’t hit the wall. Everything went black. He felt nothing.

Until it wasn’t, and he didn’t.

---

“Dorian. Dorian. Wake up.”

Dorian blinked. The darkness turned to light, and his isolation ended with the tanned man who’d woken him here. It was like looking into a mirror that made him old -- the man resembled Dorian, only his hair was lighter, his skin a shade darker, and he wore the traditional robes of a Jedi instead of the armor of an Imperial Knight. His voice, though, his voice was rich and soothing. If the guy didn’t bother him as often Dorian would’ve listened more.

“I didn’t think you’d get here so soon. That Sith you’re facing is a formidable opponent.”

“How… how are you here? I thought you were just… in my head.”

“Well, you know, I do have other things to do. So no, I'm not just in your head. Here, we're together in the Netherworld.”

“Oh. So I’m… dead, or something.” He didn’t want to be dead. Why didn’t he want to be dead? Aside from, like, the whole bad deal of being dead. There was a reason. Something he was leaving behind. His mind felt fuzzy.

“Not quite. I managed to take you here, protect you -- the Netherworld of the Force would’ve torn your soul apart. Well, I’m calling it a soul, but I never figured out-”

“You’re Voron.” For a moment, Dorian’s head cleared. “And… that woman, at the tournament.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“The Sith tourney, before I became an Imperial Knight, and-” He froze. “Mavia.”

Dorian stepped forward, grabbing the Jedi by the shoulders. “I need to get back. Take me back. You have to.”

The spirit bit his lip and placed his hands on Dorian’s. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how.”

“You have to. Come on, you- you’re the one my mother asked to protect me, right? Come on, you gotta send me back. I’ll do anything.”

He removed the hands from his shoulders. “I would if I could, but I really-”

“You have to. If I’m here, then- something might happen to her. I need to get back.”

“I can’t-”

There was an ominous thunderclap as another arrived in their corner of the Netherworld. A Sith Lord, tall and imposing, his face hidden behind a gleaming metal mask and his body hidden under menacing black robes. “Enough, Jedi! This one is mine.”

The dark tendrils of the Sith Lord’s garb seemed to infect the calm white of their surroundings. This was the Sith that had twisted his mind, trying to bring him closer to the darkness. His voice was impossibly deep.

Voron stepped between Dorian and the Sith. “He makes his own decisions.”

The Sith floated forward. “Oh, please. You should’ve seen him on Mala, squirming so. Though I must admit, his bond with that Mirialan…”

The Sith chuckled. “Quite impressed by their opponent, exploiting it so.”

Voron frowned. The darkness grew. “You just want another vessel.”

“And now that it’s here, all I need to do is take it. After all, I’m the one who can get out of here.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Oh, just like you didn’t let me on Mala? I almost had him, you know.”

“I’ve beat you before, and I can do it again.”

“You are weak. I will have what is mine.”

---

“Look at them, bickering. Is that what you’re like with the kids at school?”

Dorian pouted and folded his arms. “I’m not like that…”

Arantha Sicarrio squeezed her son’s sides, making the little boy squirm in place on her lap. They sat on the couch, watching a holovid. “Does your teacher not tell you not to fight with them?”

“Yes...”

“But you fight anyway?”

Dorian twiddled his thumbs, looking at his toes.

“I’m just trying to keep the other boys from fighting,” he mumbled. “They just do whatever they want. That’s not okay.”

His mother laughed and patted him on the head. “That’s good. Someone needs to make sure everyone’s following the rules!”

Dorian paused, then nodded and looked up at her. “Like you!”

She beamed. “Yes, like me. But I don’t just help keep the rules-”

“You fight bad guys!”

“That I do.”

“I’m gonna do that when I grow up. I’ll be just like you! And when you get old and stuff I’ll protect you!” He hopped off the couch and grabbed some invisible weapon, swinging it around like he was cutting up the whole house.

There was the tiniest hint of pain in her eyes as she spoke again. “I hope you find something worth protecting.”

Pause.

Dorian turned around and looked at his mother. She stood up, now only barely taller than his shoulders.

“Mom.” His gloved hands shook as he raised them, but she was faster -- she wrapped him in a hug; a hug that contained the undying love of a mother to their child. He held her close, realizing he barely remembered the last time he’d embraced his mother.

“You have someplace else to be,” she said, finally releasing him from the hug.

Dorian took a deep breath. He wanted to stay, wanted to talk to his mother -- but he couldn’t. He had someplace else to be. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She smiled. “I’m with you, always, Dorian. Now go, you haven’t any time to waste.”

Dorian nodded. She reached up and planted a kiss on his forehead before he headed towards the front door of the house. In the deepest recesses of his mind he remembered the place he’d called home. Now, though -- he had a different home.

He didn’t look back.

---

“-was doing what I needed to.”

“Oh, that is a load of bantha dung. You could’ve saved them. And don’t even get me started on that time on Korriban-”

“ENOUGH!”

The two spirits fell silent, looking at Dorian. “I need to get out of here. You can argue all you like later, you can influence me and talk to me all you want later. But I need to get back.”

There was a pause before the Jedi folded his arms and looked at the Sith. “You’re the expert with rituals. You do know how to do it, right?”

The Sith glanced between the other two, before nodding. “The Sith Palace on Bastion is dark enough for me to manifest. I might need a little boost to get you there, though.”

“I’ll help you, then.”

“Come here.” He put out his hands for the other two. When they joined, the Sith began to chant. A familiar dread grew, but he could feel his mother’s presence, telling him everything would be alright.

The air grew cold.

BOOM.

---

BOOM.

Dorian emerged from a rip in space. He didn’t take time to check his surroundings; he only focused on the presence of the Mirialan knight who was still locked in combat. Another step and a thunderclap exploded from where he’d stood, signalling his acceleration towards the duel.

He struck like lightning, breaking through the floor’s elevator doors with ease. He didn’t know how, but the Force encased him in a corona of light and spectral fire, protecting him as he shot down in pursuit of the cargo elevator.

Just as with the doors he broke through the elevator’s ceiling. In midair he saw the fight unfolding. Was he too late? No. No, there was still time. His hands wrapped around the saber at his belt; a weapon he’d never used before. Yet in that moment the grip was perfect, the hum of the crystal comforting. Around that saber there were not only one set of hands but four.

His foot hit the floor of the elevator and he turned on a dime, streaking towards the Sith. He swung his saber in a wide arc towards her. He could feel his hands being guided, but it wasn’t them who made the weapon comfortable in his hands.

No more lies. No more facade. No longer was he the false knight. His resolve hardened and his grip tightened. The white saber hummed at his command. His aura flared.

Dorian Sicarrio was an Imperial Knight. He had purpose. He had strength. And he was true with every movement and every word.

“This ends now.”