Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

((PAGE CLAIM! YOU MAGGOTS!))

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Location: Imperial Capital Complex
Temp ally: Quinn Varanin Ellie Mors
Enemies: Kir Dantos Maynard Treicolt
Engaging: New Imperial Military and Loske Treicolt Konrad Bolter
Objective: Loose it.
Equipment: Sith-sword, Armor, Acid-rifle

Not us.

The response was enough to make Kezeroths blood boil over. The government he had put faith into had betrayed him, Just like the sith of old. The only difference was timing. A grudge held against sith that were nothing but corpses now. Hatred held in, built apon and refined for over a millennia. At times it was all the Gen'dai had to carry on to. The hope of revenge kept him going almost indefinitely. It drove him, bound him and in some cases controlled him. But what of now? The present moment in time? Kezeroths grip tightened on the weapons he carried as he eyed the arrival of the female jedi. A blonde that boasted an aura of radiance. It disgusted him to no end. Lowering his head like with a primal nature, The giant began. "I will deal with you later Ash." he paused considering what he heard the other male jedi say " Quinn.." He nodded and smirked. As of now that was all she would get verbally as acknowledgement for her words. Through the force Kezeroth knew she would not attack or turn against him. It was what he believed. A gut feeling. His attention was then focused on the new arrival. Loske. "I want answ-" he stopped.

His eyes grew wide taking the new scene that was changing second by second. Like a camera his irises opened and shut to judge distance, speed and feel the environment. Despite his confusion of the situation the sudden rush towards him by the female caused him to twitch. By the time he slid his foot back she was already apon him. Delicate footwork air born to use his massive form as a stepping stone. To ascend into the air and strike. With both hands occupied, Kezeroth had no other option but to alter his size to a foot taller than he currently appeared. The armor he wore contained his biology to a specific height and breaking free of it made him the taller in stature. He was standing seven feet eleven inches. As the golden blade ignited it sunk deep. Past duraplast, past the duranium layering and the bodysuit. Charring his left shoulder from armpit and dragged behind him down his back. Almost severing his arm completely. It was literally hanging from him. Nothing but thick crimson strings.

The acid rifle his left hand held dropped. The disconnection of muscles, tendons and nerves warranted an immediate release of the weapon. " Gaahh." The giants face shifted with mixed emotions of the coarse of seconds. The pain of the wound being made. His body slumped and he stumbled to the left and stopped. The attack was excellently preformed and maneuvered. Preformed on any other known species and it would of ended in incapacitation. Ataru. This fething jedi. On a microscopic level nature was already responding to the wound. Nerves, muscles, tendons all seemed to fall back together. It was not seen at first by then it began visible. The body stitching itself together at an astonishing rate of speed. Regeneration.

Blaster fire reigned down apon Kezeroth from behind after the wound was made. The squads of New Imperials had waited for their chance to strike. The bolts made impact with him violently. Micro-explosions rattled his armor wearing it down quickly and blackening it. A meteor shower befell him now. His tactical mind was out the window and Force Rage was to blame. Within several seconds his arm was functional to move. Whipping the left arm backwards it extended past what seemed humanly possible. A large crimson hand sought out the feet of the Female Jedi behind him. Only to then attempt to yank her toward him, dragging her against the dirt. A place all jedi belonged. With no bone to structure his arm, Kezeroth whipped the limb intent on giving Loske Treicolt whip-lash before throwing her. His aim was toward a ruined wall but who knew what would really happen.

" INSECT!" The words were forced out of his mouth. The last of his patience with it as well. Blaster fire reigned down on him harder from the side. An explosion of smoke and plasma erupting all over his body. The impact of such blasts suggested laser cannon fire. " Take cover!" A command was barked from his gullet before a single eye fell on Quinn. Each successful shot ravaged his armor, stripping him off protection and nearly knocking the giant on his arse. Grunt and savage roars became him. Twisting and weaving to gain speed his sword fell behind him with the increasing momentum. Soon he was nothing more than a red blur of speed. A crimson phantom set on murder and destruction. It carried him away from the others and toward the source of the twin laser cannons. A new imperial tank. A wide smile grew on his face once more. Crazed and sadistic. Out maneuvering the laser cannons Kezeroth dashed toward the tank. Ramming its side. Stirring up the men inside. Circling around the vehicle again he hurried to attempt the same motion. What he was met with was the main gun.

There was not much to see from the scene. Have you ever witnessed flesh, sinew, tendons or muscle blown off a being and then vaporized? White followed by ash. The blaster fire by the squads now in the distance continued. Charring a crimson figure standing deformed and mutated. Kezeroth still stood. His entire left side of his torso carved away and gone. Gritting his teeth, he pressed down on them till they birthed fissures. If it was not for the Sith-sword he still held then he would of been knocked out and most likely dead. Raising the Sith sword he plunged it into the tank satisfied with screams of the men inside.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider

Spoiler: Post archive for our story

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider
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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: Darth Daiara

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: Darth Daiara



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: Darth Daiara


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: Darth Daiara


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.

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

"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 a teacher 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, towards Aradia.

Aradia's lips parted into a sneer. Exactly which of the two was trying to storm this academy and take it from children? How dare he insinuate she was like her enslavors! How dare he! His brutal words made her yank on the statue that much harder, the fierce desire to shut him up burning through her veins.

Yet consumed by her anger, she had missed the force's warnings. Her eyes only had a moment to widen as he jumped up. In his place was the flying statue, its momentum carrying it out from under him and onto her.

You will live up to your potential or die trying. Her Master's words the day Kaalia Pavanos had freed her rang through her mind, as ominous as the day she had heard them.

The statue crashed into her core, taking her backwards with it. He was left with the blur of red hair and a single, outreached hand. The statue slammed into the brick Academy wall, the structure vibrating in protest. Her body dangled helplessly between it, impaled and crushed by the inhuman force he had propelled it with. A shoe sat between the two. Blood slid down the bare foot that hung against the wall.


She quaked there, gargled gasps of fright catching on her lips. Blue eyes stared in unexpressed terror at the monster across the court yard, holding nothing but the desire to escape him. All she had wanted was for him to leave. He stepped towards her. She startled out of her shock, trying to free herself and face him proper. But the metal didn't budge. ...Her strength had left her. The force had...

No. No-no. Her little fingers clutched at the metal, slick with sweat and blood as she groped pointlessly. Her stomach gaped in an opened wound, waves of red pulsing alround the statue's hand, buried deep in her stomach. She realized slowly that there was no way for her to remove it... Oddly, there was no pain. ...There was no pain. She let out a wild scream, the noise twisting into a cry. Something bubbled in her chest. Warmth overflowed from her mouth, blood oozing down her chin. Her eyes widened in sheer terror as she stared down death.

The jedi no longer mattered. The war no longer mattered.

Her master... no longer mattered.

Anything but this.

The blood didn't cease. Air didn't come. She clawed at herself, drawing furrows of flesh across the collar scars on her throat, but it did nothing as she choked and seized.

Strength drained from her limbs, her hands... falling... limp. The horror followed her through her last dregs of consciousness, her drowning gurgles... slowing... She twitched... and the world... grew...

 

[Meshla Detta]

Location: Datacenter, Capital Complex
Objective: Data retrieval, retribution
Allies: SoM, NIO - in the vicinity of Amon Vizsla
Enemies: TSE
Engaging Nida Perl
Gear: In bio

NEVER BACK DOWN

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

As soon as Meshla was free of the Zeltron from atop her, she quickly rolled over and pushed up onto her feet. Course the floor was slippery due to the fire retardant on it and she nearly took a header back down into the green-gel that looked a lot like jello, but she recovered getting a good glimpse of her opponent

It seemed as though the sharp jab the Detta had thrown had found a pound of flesh, well that is about all Nida had on her too. A small satisfied grin came to the Detta's face that was well hidden behind the intimidating, ice-cold silver Mandalorian T-visor, but maybe not as much as usual with the slime dripping down here and there.

Such a petite little thing this fallen Jedi was, but definitely not to be underestimated. Nida was a capable Force user as evidenced from before. How much of the dark side powers she processed now was still to be learned.

Meshla quickly took a battle-ready stance activating the Dinu'ul on her left gauntlet as her personal shield was now depleted and offline. She reached down with her right hand to draw the holstered slugthrower. Raising it, she was planning to fire it at the wounded Sith, hopefully, to finish the Perl off, but suddenly it seemed as if her muscles didn't want to work. She was like an engine that ceased and couldn't go anywhere; in stasis.

Gods I hate Force users.

Panic started to build within the Mando as Nida began a run at her with a very familiar-looking trench knife as she had one just like it and knew how easily it could filet flesh. Where in the hell did the girl get one?! Only well-tested soldiers or super commandos carried them. The initial fear felt soon turned into pure anger and defiance as Meshla swore the ghost spirits of those beloved to her who had marched on before filled her heart with love giving the young Detta strength to draw upon. She would not join them this day!

Blue eyes narrowed as Mesha concentrated hard on getting herself to move again, even if a little...

As Nida started to bring the offending blade to bear in a slashing manner across her upper body seemingly hoping to slice her throat or even head off, something gave. She was able to turn just a few degrees so that the knife's edge skidded across the beskar chest plate making a noise like fingernails on a chalkboard, then it sliced along the side of her upper arm leaving a deep laceration. The same spot that earlier had taken a blaster bolt when she and Vizsla's 16th charged the Sith Legionaires. It hadn't penetrated fully through the armor weave body glove worn but nonetheless left a blaster burn to a degree and the area weakened to attack.

Meshla howled out in pain but she would not back down. Meshla's finger pulled the trigger and she unloaded the remaining few slugs in the Mandalorian Ripper towards the Zeltron.

Suddenly though, the building began to shake with a loud rumble coming from the server room nearby causing the shots to go array. It was like some rancor had been let loose inside. The structure in their area started to implode on itself and them with it. The Detta did not want to be entombed in the rubble of the Datacenter like she almost was when the Keldabe homestead collapsed on her during the man-made cataclysmic event on Mandalore all those years ago. No, she would not die this day or this way!

The floor began to give way like a sinkhole. Meshla initiated her repulsor pack to keep her from being swallowed up, then gunned it for freedom when an opening appeared in the unstable structure leavivng the Sith to her own demise.

As soon as she was outside, the voice of Amon came over the comm unit, finally. "M-meshla...we-" It sounded strained as he spoke her name over their comm channel, then there was silence. Meshla frantically scanned the embattled grounds of the Captial Complex or what was left of it. In the near distance, she spotted the Vizsla stumbling about. Setting down a few yards away, her booted feet hit the ground at a run. All the pain and weariness of before vanished as she could only think about getting to him.

Coming up on the obviously injured Vizsla, Meshla popped the seal on her buy'ce in mid-run, then clipped the helmet onto her utility belt in a muscle memory way without looking. Her crown of braids atop her head was matted down with sweat and small wisps of dark blonde hair were stuck to her face, but she didn't care. He was alive. They were alive... And she had the data, hopefully what was retrieved would give them the answers they sought.

"Amon!" she exclaimed with both concern and joy as their eyes met, then the Detta quickly snaked her good arm around the man to help hold him up and pressed a desperate kiss to his lips. Nothing like a little mouth to mouth to revive someone and give them reassurance and hope that there is still life ahead.

While the two reunited, there was a message from the Bounty Board that flashed up on the Mando's HUD that went unread for now as there were more important things to attend to...

At Battle's End​

 

[Auteme]

Aerarii Tithe ​

Aerarii Tithe was full of surprises. Maybe not good ones, but Auteme was certainly surprised. He courageously charged into battle, swinging his weapon at the Sith Knight, who sidestepped and drew his saber. It wasn't looking good.

But the momentary distraction allowed Auteme a moment to focus. When she stepped out of the vault she raised her hands towards the Sith. Strands of light erupted from her fingertips, shooting forward and latching onto the knight's arms to entangle him. His surprise turned to frustration as he found the light burned his skin and he was unable to escape. With a tug she pulled him closer, forcing him to stumble before she threw him towards the wall across from her.

Violence was never something she craved, but at times self-defense was necessary. Even so, as she dipped back into the endless wellspring of power that was the Force she found another way wiggling its way into her mind. She stepped forward and raised her left hand, casting a light on the Sith. Disoriented from the throw, he hissed at her. She stayed stoic.

"There's nothing left for you here. Leave, find your own way. The New Imperials won't have any mercy on you, and if you fail to kill us your masters won't have any either."

"Guess I just won't fail," he snarled, raising his saber again. She could see how his arms shook as he was berated by the light.

"And even if you do, what then? There's still time. Escape while you can." She took a step away, extinguishing the light.

The Sith hissed again, but she could tell her words had made a difference. He straightened. Auteme nodded to him, backing away towards Aerarii. When the Sith finally turned and left she breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Let's go," she said, again.

 

[Konrad Bolter]

N O M A D
MAJOR GENERAL WAYLON TREICOLT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
12th ARMORED ASSAULT DIVISION 'MAXIMILIAN VEERS'
CAPITAL COMPLEX
Tank | Armor | Pistol
FOCUS : Grrwunhoooll Agaburry | Loske Treicolt
D O N ' T _ F O L L O W

It was a singular focus. Kezeroth The Hateful. They'd shared separate venues of battle the last time Kezeroth entered the fray on the field clutching the banner of the New Imperial Order. Mygeeto. A frigid, dogged battle of wills in the initial push into the Sith Empire. Being the General he was, his gaze flicked through several reports describing his exploits there and otherwise. It was still an enigma how the Gen'dai had ever placed himself in this precarious position. But now, like the rest of those deemed 'Hostile Designations' in the issuing of Kyber Dark, he had to be eliminated.

It just so happened Waylon and his boys would be there to follow through, at the foot of his dying kin. He'd make right on Maynard, even if it meant shifting the focus away from the Jedi for just a moment. As soon as he barked the command down to begin to fire, it was the first time in his life he had a lapse in confidence of his decision, as if he knew it wouldn't amount to anything in the end.

There was no being more capable of enduring the fires than the Gen'dai.

But the firing of the cannons did nothing to stop the tides of the indomitable will that was Kezeroth the Hateful.

<"General! General he's on-!"> The sword plunged through every composite layer of armor and shielding that fortified the Cataphracht to send the Sith sword scraping through the vessel and into the abdomen of the pilot.

He clutched at the wound, his screams of pain dampened by the combat armored assault armor helmet clasped around his gaze. Wrenching it off he peeled himself away from the seat as he felt the vehicle falter and shake around him.

Waylon went to pull the lever to activate the electric shock pads protecting the vehicle in the hopes of driving the Gen'dai off. The manual override failed, the system was fried.

<"Shit.">

<"Sir!?">

<"Shock cage is fried. We're not going to be able to get him off.">

<"But-."> The gunner sounded out, from the safe confines of the Cataphract, it was always easy to portray that steeled will and confidence but any flex of the hull was a significant emotional event.

Waylon pulled at the lever to release the aft exit, the atmospherically sealed door pulling wide open.

<"Go. Both of you."> He commanded.

<"But sir-.">

<"We all have our last ride, boys...time to make mine count."> Waylon said as he brought his hands to the power supply gauges, forwarding almost everything into the power supply of the main cannon.

<"I-.">

<"Go."> He commanded to his boys one last time. The very crew that was with him through Borosk, Dubrillion and all the campaigns between.

Watching as the power supply was dumped into the supercharged tibanna reserves of the tank, Waylon pulled a thermal imploder from his belt, clutching it against his chest before he activated the charge. Speaking one last time through his unit comms.

<"They put me anywhere, boys...it better be under a Concord sunset once the black and silver is waving over it...till then, Nomad out."> And with that sounded the foreboding ascending beeps of the thermal imploder.

And then a rip of silence at the air before it detonated the tank in a devestating inferno, hopefully catching the Gen'dai in its wake.

 

[Tyrell Paxxus]

// GRAND VIZIER FLAGSHIP: THE SENTINEL //
// COMMAND-DISTANCE FROM THE BATTLE OVER BASTION //
// Madelyn Lowe //
// You've Got Another Thing Coming //

At the opposite end of the table, one of Tyrell's hands rested on the back of the opposing chair, while the other one held his drink at chest-level. A stony expression of apathy sat in a passive silence as the Grand Vizier absorbed the Grand Moff's words. Not once had his lips even contemplated touching his drink. It was a superfluous thing, the pouring of which was merely an echo of custom.

The radiating blue light of the holoprojections cast undulating shadows against the left side of his face. When Lowe's words concluded, Tyrell exhaled through his nose and sat his untouched beverage on the table with a loud tap. Keeping his hand on the chair, he turned over his shoulder to regard the battle for a brief moment before his attention trained back on Madelyn. Slowly, his head began to turn one way and then the other and a rhythmic shake.

"Nothing is new," he declared. "For centuries this cycle has spun on and on, we all know this, you need not preach the futility of Empires to me. Should this Order fall later, it changes nothing in the present. You speak as if impermanence defeats purpose, but were that the case, why would anyone bother to live, Miss Lowe? But, comparing politics to existential philosophy isn't going to get us anywhere. You are correct, all of this has happened before. The fall of the Sith has happened before, and it's happening again."

"Rot, Ruin, Dissipation, nothing lasts forever. With this step upon Bastion, ruin has officially come to The Sith Empire. When the First Order fell, you found yourself amongst the Sith's dark confraternity, yet now when the past repeats itself, you do not jump from that failing ship? You dedicate yourself amongst the echoes even when the rot sets in? Do you believe that you're a slave to how things repeat, or is it something else? Do you fear them, the Sith? Perhaps you have not picked up on the inclination, but you are like me."

Tyrell's hand reached outward, and with a flex of his fingers, Madelyn's empty glass would laboriously pull towards Tyrell. "We share this curse. We understand more than most what they're capable of, and what little separates us from them. Your sense of loyalty, and your dependability, it's all commendable, but I know you are no fool. I believe it is fear that keeps you chained to the Eye of Soloman. You may deny it as you wish, but it's a fear I know all too well. Look around you, look at the projections, they are not infallible, they are not invincible. We will never destroy them all, not even this purge could ever hope to rid them from our Galaxy. But into the dust of scarcity and obscurity, we will grind them, one by one."

The Grand Vizier once again picked up the device that had activated the shutters and the projectors and clicked down on a large, orange switch. "Send it in," he ordered into one end of the cylindrical device. "I don't need to tell you how little they care. How expendable you are to them, and always have been. You know, we all knew, but perhaps a little visualization is in order-" At that very moment, the turbolift doors fizzed open behind Madelyn. Two New-Imperial marines manhandling a restrained Sith entered the chamber, tugging the dark acolyte along easily despite his struggle.

"This is not an apostate you lay your eyes on, Moff Lowe. I wouldn't let one of their kind onto this ship if the Imperator himself demanded it. No, this is one of yours, a loyalist." Tyrell moved to stand flush with the captive. "He was here for you, of course. Ostensibly for me, but he was detected in our brig ventilation. But he comes with no ship, no transport, no escape. He did not come to rescue you, Madelyn. Prefsbelt is in our hands now, and you are a liability. He was here to kill you."

"That's not true!" The Sith shouted defiantly. "I was here to extract the Grand Moff from your filthy Apostate hands." The Near-human Sith was sweating, his brownish hairs drenched and strewn chaotically over his face. His firey golden eyes drifted from his ally to his enemy several times as he struggled. Tyrell shook his head and reached for the revolving slugthrower that was holstered on his hip. He glanced at the Sith with expressionless regard as he pointed the barrel towards its head. "You may kill me, but the Sith are eternal!"

Tyrell smirked maliciously. "You are correct," he retorted just as his index moved into over the trigger. Suddenly, he hesitated, looking over to Madelyn with a squint. Tyrell marched a few steps to where the Grand Moff sat and seized her by the bicep as he tugged forwards and upwards to bring her out of the seat. "Perhaps you just need a little push," he began as he manhandled her into the standing position he demanded. He placed the slugthrower into her hand, keeping his hand over hers to restrain any attempts of misdirection. His other hand harshly gripped her shoulder to square her up with the Sith.

He brought their hands up to point the slugthrower directly between the eyes of the Sith. His thumb absconded momentarily to pull the hammer back until it locked into a prime position. "Go on, you do it."

 

[Atlas Kane]

Operation: Kyber Dark

​

Thanks to my writing partners for putting up with my nonsense, bless your kind and gentle souls.

"Allies": the New Imperial Order;
Enemies: The Sith Empire;
Secure the Datacluster, take the info
Unnamed Sith Datacluster
Actors: Hunter Blackburn , Lambert Vasari
Again


The pistol's barrel pointed directly at him. A pulse of blue light lit up deep down, near the end of its length, followed a microsecond later by a loud, wailing sound that was eerily artificial.

He gasped. The air he took in felt cold. It was an odd sensation caused by an even more odd reaction. He blinked. Then again, and let his gaze drop. His eyes went along the floor, streaked with crimson armour and fluids alike, down to the black robes which shrouded his body, and finally to the brass plate protecting his torso.

The metal bent inward, a whole chunk of it torn away. There was a fist-sized hole slightly left of centre in the armour. The guard's aim had been true.

Atlas pulled one of his hands up to the breach in his armour, prodding at it with his fingers in slight disbelief. When he pulled his hand away again, he found the gloved digits stained with a dark liquid that glinted the slightest bit of red in the low light of the Empire's Datacluster. He blinked again and turned his gaze up to the Senate Guard. His body was suddenly heavy and sluggish to respond.

Anger flared inside him into a blazing inferno long before realization began to seep in. The senate guard had shot him. Him. Decades of carefully laid plans, thousands of hours of work and all it took was one lumbering imbecile with a sonic pistol. Rage bubbled forth, even as his veins gained an icy staleness from the lack a movement inside their walls.

The senate guard's shot was well aimed. It went straight through the heart. Atlas figured the damage to the organ was too extensive for a quick bacta shot to fix. He certainly felt the lack of blood circulating through his body. The sluggishness in the way his hand had responded earlier, and the delay which now plagued his thoughts as they were summoned through mists in his mind. Both signs hinted at the imminent catastrophic failure that slowly crept through his body.

Yet there was neither shock nor surprise in his mind. He had known this fate would befall him, though he learned of it mere moments before the blow had actually been struck. Somehow even that short timespan seemed to have done a tremendous amount to prepare him for what came next. Not even a missed heartbeat passed since the shot had torn apart the most vital organ in his body, and he felt more alive than he had at any time during the last five years. The fires of hatred were no longer merely glowing within him like hot embers at the conclusion of a fire. No, for the first time in five years, he felt it again. Hatred. Genuine, focused hatred. He stared at the senate guard with a renewed glow in his eyes, hidden beneath the impassive mask of red and black that stared out with barely any menace towards the world. The guard would pay for this betrayal first, he decided, the others would come later.

From the well of power he commanded, he summoned the strength he needed, hungrily devouring his reserves like a famished beast. He forced the energy into his body, in a wave through every muscle and vein. His blood surged awkwardly. Then he did it again, and again, and again. The power he held soon proved to be insufficient, however, so he turned his attention outward, to anything that still lived, and seized it, then pulled, ripping free whatever life essence he could and devoured it too. Eagerly, desperately he began to drink in the newfound wellsprings he gathered. There were several legionnaires still alive around them, spread out sporadically behind layers of permacrete, then there was the guard himself, and an unknown presence just behind him. They would all bend to serve his will, for he was Sith, he was supreme among them.

The world sought to rid itself of him? Then he would take it with him into the fires of chaos. They would all suffer, just as he had.

His body felt alive again, renewed and restored as malevolent energies pulsed through it. Reinvigorated, he lifted himself to his feet, slowly, but purposefully.

"You," he rumbled, "you seek to destroy ... me."

His gaze locked on Crius, dark side corrupted eyes burning with a frightening intensity even beneath the blackened glasteel of the mask.

"You are not worthy," he continued, snapping an arm back to slap away the white blade of the knight errant who'd come to ambush him from behind. The brass armour was stained red, which shone beneath the bright blade, even as Atlas' robes swallowed the light.

"No, you," he pointed a finger accusingly at Crius, "you are no godkillers," his anger flared as he spat the words at the two assassins.

His arms extended, Force flaring as he reached out towards both of his opponents. Invisible tendrils swirled and coiled around their forms, pressing down on them from all sides with preternatural strength. His arms raised slightly upward, and both of them were lifted from the ground. Their limbs pressed firmly against their bodies. He was putting so much power into his telekinetic grip that they had no choice but to do as he commanded. The armour of the senate guard's red helmet began to dent, and the black visor slowly splintered. A piece broke away, revealing the steely blue gaze beneath. Atlas shot a glance at the imperial knight behind him, who faired very similarly to his accomplice. The Sith tensed his muscles, clenching his fists with an uncharacteristic renewed vigour.

Armour began to bend and crack. Audible snaps filled the corridor. Atlas' reach was extending beyond just the two, towards everything around him. The rage swelled inside his body and radiated outwards in all directions, uncontrolled. It was as though the planet's gravity increased tenfold. The corridor's walls bent. The corpses that lay on the floor began to push away from the epicentre of the radiating power, twisting as they did. Their crimson plate raked against the durasteel with a horrible screech, which fought against the creaking metal all around them in volume.

No, to be crushed would be a death too merciful for heretics such as these.

The horrible noise vanished, along with all the pressure. The metal still groaned, quietly, almost reverently as it breathed a reprieve, basking in the mercy of its lord. The two men dropped onto the floors unceremoniously, their armours thoroughly bent and damaged. The corpses, however, rose from the floor and were carried, gingerly, through the air towards the Sith at the corridor's centre.

Atlas let the half-dozen corpses, several bearing deep wounds from the senate guards' sword, drop before him. He began to incant words, standing tall above the dead. His voice echoed unnaturally, as though his voice was at once many at the same time. Crimson stained the floor before him, not just the legionnaire's armour, blood painted the brass of his boots and legs. His power reached out towards all of it as he continued to voice the ancient words spoken in the long-dead language of ur-Kittât.

The blood stirred and began to move, draining off his armour and out from the soldiers in long swirling strands which gathered onto Atlas' hands. The blood seemed to harden, seemingly turning solid around his fingers like stained-glass claws, but it continued to move and dance under a crystalline surface. It looked almost like a crimson glove, mad of slightly translucent material. His gauntleted fingers appeared like black bones underneath.

He continued with the ur-Kittât, but this time each word he uttered scratched markings into the blood's surface. Each syllable marred onto the blood-crystal gloves dripped with contempt. Each word was filled with the hatred he bore for all that existed and lived. They were condemnations, all of them. Sentences for crimes that had long gone unpunished. Decades' worth of them.

The runic scratches covered the entirety of Atlas' bloody gloves by the time his head snapped back towards the recovering Crius. The senate guard was suddenly assaulted again by that same invisible Force and lifted off his feet, then flung towards his companion. Atlas took a step towards them, leaning heavily on his forward foot. He extended his hands and pointed them towards the two men before him. Golden lightning gathered beneath the red surface of the crystal, trapped by it. More and more of it gathered until his hands glowed in the darkened corridor and illuminated it like two suns.

"Unworthy!" Atlas roared with boundless conviction, and the entire room lit up.

Golden lightning arced through the air, seeking its prey. The lightning was suffused with malevolent energies. Ancient Sith magicks had imbued it with far more than just his hatred, and each tendril burned with a hidden venom. This was a final judgement Atlas cast upon the two assassins. For daring to cross him. For even entertaining the thought of killing a god.

He brought upon them the weight of the world. Every profane crime would see its punishment carried out upon their bodies and psyches. He had put every drip of anger and resentment he ever felt into the incantations that now fueled the expression of his power. Decades of being used, mistreated, abused, and annihilated at the hands of powerful, cruel individuals. All that suffering channelled into this single display of fearsome ability. He was no longer powerless, the one to fall under someone else's will. Now it was his will to impose on them. Who were they to think that they could kill him? He had become a god. None had stood successfully against him thus far, and these two recreants would be no different. Their deaths would be the first stones to pave his road of revenge, now that his anger burned with renewed fuel.

"Unworthy!" He cried again.

The lightning continued to crackle and burn everything that it sought and touched. It flared in its intensity every few moments, dominating Atlas' vision. The golden arcs illuminated the entire corridor, glaring brightly in the dark, so brilliantly that they became the only thing that existed.

"Un- ... worthy."

The crackling arcs began to fade in their intensity. Though their shine still dominated the corridor, it became weaker. Darkness crept in.

"Un- ... un- ... worthy."

Darkness returned as the last arcs died down and Atlas fell to one knee, a wiry collection of skin and bones. Crimson coated the brazen armour beneath his chest where his robes were stained with a wet sheen now. He thrust his hands out again, in the direction of the two assassins. The momentum of the motion carried him forward, and he fell onto his side.

A laboured breath rasped into his lungs. Blood slowly pooled beneath his robes.

"It's ... all so ... dark," he whispered. His thoughts returned to someplace he'd been, long ago. He thought he could feel the wind, moving blades of grass around him. Sea-salt filled the air that left his lungs. The man lying on the floor seemed little more than a shivering, wiry boy.

"Don't ... go," he breathed the words weakly, his hand reaching out to grasp something beyond sight. It didn't find what it sought and returned to his chest. Both arms wrapped around his chest as he slowly pulled his legs tighter to his body. His movements stilled.

He continued to lay there, unmoving, succumbed to the wound dealt by mortal hands.

 

[Oceiros Sunstrider]

Objective: Secure the Academy
Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Allies: NIO | GA
Enemies: Darth Daiara
Betrayal

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 courtyard, 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: Darth Daiara

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: Darth Daiara



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: Darth Daiara


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: Darth Daiara


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: Darth Daiara


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.

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

"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 a teacher 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, towards Aradia.

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Dueling: Oceiros Sunstrider


Aradia's lips parted into a sneer. Exactly which of the two was trying to storm this academy and take it from children? How dare he insinuate she was like her enslavors! How dare he! His brutal words made her yank on the statue that much harder, the fierce desire to shut him up burning through her veins.

Yet consumed by her anger, she had missed the force's warnings. Her eyes only had a moment to widen as he jumped up. In his place was the flying statue, its momentum carrying it out from under him and onto her.

You will live up to your potential or die trying. Her Master's words the day Kaalia Pavanos had freed her rang through her mind, as ominous as the day she had heard them.

The statue crashed into her core, taking her backwards with it. He was left with the blur of red hair and a single, outreached hand. The statue slammed into the brick Academy wall, the structure vibrating in protest. Her body dangled helplessly between it, impaled and crushed by the inhuman force he had propelled it with. A shoe sat between the two. Blood slid down the bare foot that hung against the wall.


She quaked there, gargled gasps of fright catching on her lips. Blue eyes stared in unexpressed terror at the monster across the court yard, holding nothing but the desire to escape him. All she had wanted was for him to leave. He stepped towards her. She startled out of her shock, trying to free herself and face him proper. But the metal didn't budge. ...Her strength had left her. The force had...

No. No-no. Her little fingers clutched at the metal, slick with sweat and blood as she groped pointlessly. Her stomach gaped in an opened wound, waves of red pulsing alround the statue's hand, buried deep in her stomach. She realized slowly that there was no way for her to remove it... Oddly, there was no pain. ...There was no pain. She let out a wild scream, the noise twisting into a cry. Something bubbled in her chest. Warmth overflowed from her mouth, blood oozing down her chin. Her eyes widened in sheer terror as stared down death.

The jedi no longer mattered. The war no longer mattered.

Her master... no longer mattered.

Anything but this.

The blood didn't cease. Air didn't come. She clawed at herself, drawing furrows of flesh across the collar scars on her throat, but it did nothing.

Strength drained from her limbs, her gurgles growing slower... As she twitched... and the world... grew...

It took a few seconds for Oceiros to process what had happened, looking across the courtyard at the impaled woman, the Jedi found his senses and body returning to himself. The flow and currents of the force interrupted by the shock and horror of what he’d played a part in. “No, no no, fuck!” Oceiros started as he rushed to the acolyte. This was not what he sought, he’d wanted to end the conflict without death. Perhaps it was the selfish desire to remain pure, to uphold the Sunstrider legacy, or perhaps it was out of naivety, either way Oceiros wouldn’t simply let her die.

From the before the fight even began Oceiros had given her the opportunity to turn away. To avoid a terrible fate and yet till the bitter end the acolyte had remained dedicated to the Sith. “Why did you fight?! Why did you not accept the truth!” the warrior shouted as he reached up with his left arm attempting to tug at the statue, his right arm still nowhere near its full capability. Roaring Oceiros pulled harder, relying on muscles and the strength granted to him by the force to free the statue's hand from the acolyte’s midsection.

The epicanthix watched as the near lifeless body collapsed to the floor unmoving, more of the crimson ichor beginning to pool beneath her. The sight of the blood, the sight of those blue eyes barely open and staring upwards, void of emotion haunted the Jedi. His legs grew weak as he collapsed to the ground kneeling before her, his head leaning over her body, his left hand pressing into the wound.

“A monster wouldn’t care, a monster wouldn’t save you, they wouldn’t throw you to the wolves, they would leave you to suffer. Thats what Sith do, not the Jedi!” Oceiros knew his words were pointless that she’d probably never hear them. They were moreso for him at this point as he tried to steady himself and push the energy from himself into the wound. Tears fell freely, the man making no attempt to hold them back.

“Just give me the strength to do this, just give me the strength to save one person in this damn galaxy!” Oceiros shouted as he poured more of his being into the acolyte. Even then the wound was barely making any progress, the bleeding having slowed but not stopped.

‘You don’t need the strength from anyone else, you’ve always had it.’ Oceiros heard the faint voice of his cousin Arcanus and felt a gentle weight press on his shoulder guiding him. ‘Center yourself, to give in to sorrow is the way of the dark. You can’t use those to heal, as you said earlier you must love your enemy.’

Inhaling deeply Oceiros took all the fear, and all the pain in. While Aradia may not have felt it he did, he pulled on her being feeling the sensations of her past, and with that his own presence intermingled, one of warmth that cocooned her. Within that shelter provided true compassion poured through, her wound beginning to close, color returning to her flesh.

When the Jedi opened his eyes he stared down at the unconscious body of the acolyte. Stripping himself of his shirt he draped it around the smaller body shrouding what bits of dignity he could.

The sound of booted feet approached as the New Imperial troopers closed in their rifles raised and pointed not at Oceiros but passed him to the unconscious girl. “Step away from her!” The one bearing the mark of a lieutenant shouted towards the epicanthix.

“She’s unconscious, she’s no harm to anyone right now. I’m taking her into custody under the G-”

“There is no custody for the Sith… You’re starting to sound like one of them too.” The Lieutenant said shifting his aim to the Jedi his companions doing the same.

“I will not allow you to harm her!”

“We have a Sith sympathizer! Blast him!” A barrage of blaster fire rained down upon Oceiros, the Jedi bringing his blade to life in his one good hand did what he could. He wasn’t only fighting for the Sith’s survival but his own. The cobalt blade danced through the air, batting blaster bolts aside, some down into the duracrete, others into the nearby building. Dust and debris filled the air as he continued to dance back and forth till there was nothing more than a cloud that shrouded him and the acolyte from vision. The sound of humming stopped, the light from within the cloud having vanished.

When the cloud finally dispersed all that was left where the Sith and Jedi had been was a hole leading into the sewers.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

BASTION // IMPERIAL CAPITAL COMPLEX //
JEDI STRIKE TEAM PLATFORM ARMOUR
ENEMIES//SITH: Grrwunhoooll Agaburry // Quinn Varanin // Ellie Mors
ALLIES//JEDI: Maynard Treicolt // Ryv // Kir Dantos ​

A triumphant grin clicked the corners of her mouth upward, and she hop-skipped to the right while the giant floundered to the left. The sinews of the Gen’dai exposed, at first they acted as they would with any other body. Limp, dead. It wasn’t until the regeneration began that a numbing realization dawned on the Knight. This enemy wouldn’t be bested with her weapon. It would have to be something metaphysical, on an atomic level to prevent any ––––––––

The thought was lost, interrupted by the cackle of her commlink.

The intrusion started in her ears, testing the responsive immersion of her senses. All she had to do was hear the ghost of voices and accept it was real. If the audio tricked her, the Sith Apprentice could expand her influence.

<Captian.>
<Captain, the prisoner, Allyson Locke.>
<The prisoner didn't make it, Captain. She lost too much blood,-->

The would-be clone’s mind had never been a fortress. From the premiere of her creation, she’d had inherited memories sewn into her psyche. Kiskla Grayson, Marcello Matteo, Isar Kislo, Cedric Grayson, Ryv Karis, Maynard Treicolt, and Allyson Locke all shared a bond of sorts with the girl. The three direct family links had accessed her through programmatic impressions. The others through her heart.

Only one before had intercepted it belligerently, searching through the mess. Today was the second malicious attack on her psyche. And it did not search. It cut. And it infected, spreading so slowly it was undetectable as a falsity.

I'm sorry, none of this was your fault. Thank you - for not giving up on me.

The Corellian accent whispered notes of struggling reassurance. Moving as though she were inebriated, Loske tapped her comm to respond, her movements shocked and distracted. No sound came from her lips, maybe only meager vibrations from her throat but they never formed the shape of words.

The radio cackled back, distant and loud at the same time <Who is this? Keep chatter off the comms. This is an active war zone.>

Sounds of struggle distracted her from pressing the confusion further. Either her gaze snapped in Ryv’s direction at the right time, or he appeared right in front of her. Just in time for her to, once again, be too slow to save him. Somewhere in the junction between reality and her mind’s torture chamber, she thought she shrieked.

"Loske, r-run."

Loske’s incorporeal self moved to lunge to him, to hold him, deny the urgency of his warning to get away. She’d pour her lifeforce into him if need be, just to wipe the blood from his mouth and restore his vigor. The nearness between him and Maynard’s corpse made her immobile, as if her blood had congealed and changed to duracrete.

This wasn’t real. It was moving too fast. Too slow. It was too horrible to be true. No scream could be heard from her throat, only a hoarse gasp.

Kir’s expression of helpless terror sent her reeling. Four. She’d transgressed failure against four of her closest companions this day, in an unrealistic stretch of minutes. Her failure cut through her with more accuracy than any blade.

How had she not been able to move? To help anything? What was this? Was this a hallucination? A Force vision? Was this the future? Is this what would happen if she couldn’t free herself from the dark miasma that stretched over Bastion, thick with death?

The undulations revealed the misstep of time. Words she could barely hear, but realized they didn’t belong infiltrated the monologues, distorting the realities.

For someone who knew next to nothing about any of the Jedi present, the Sithling managed to create a personal hell for Loske. Trying to tear at the seams of this dreamworld, Loske was distracted by the accuracy of a funeral procession.

Their names. How were their names here? Printed, and spelled together in neat letters. A disembodied voice reached out to her, cooing reassurance and condolences. And his name.

"He died a hero. There was nothing we could have done more for him. There's no need to be sad. His sacrifice will be remembered. We might have lost the battle, but we won't lose the war - their deaths will not be in vain."

"You can go rest. Maynard, would have wanted that."

Hearing his name with that web of words made her mouth dry, and put a hollowness behind her eyes with a pulse thrumming with more fervour than her heartbeat. Panic gripped her chest, tightening and hardening its grasp on her lungs and she kicked her heels into the ground, scraping at the earth and crawling backward and away before rotating. She crunched forward on her knees, forehead to the ground, and lacing her fingers against the back of her head. Her face contorted with a sequence of no-no-no-no-no’s of varying pitches, all anguished, filling the space around her. Her eyes were screwed together so tightly, the pressure forced tears, staining her face with more grief.

The hand that reached to squeeze her shoulder dropped to her….ankles? Suddenly, the silver metal structure of the hanger turned into a blur, evaporating and intermingling with the chaotic rain of fire and edificial stone of the Fortress. A shrill bark of surprise forced its way through her throat while she was yanked backward at an acceleration that was typical to a swoopbike speedometer. The dirt raked and tore at her suit, the pressure searing through the fabric to the skin beneath before she was snapped up against her will, and rapidly whipped back and forth, like the crack of a whip. Her neck jerked before she was released and airborne. The hangar of her dead friends’ corpses was entirely gone now, replaced by blinking blackness and a shockwave of pain that tore through her skull and back on impact of the rubble-torn wall.

Unceremoniously, she dropped, feeling the deafening nothingness aftereffects of the collision. Heaving unproductively, Loske clasped at the ground, slouched and gasping for air. It prickled the inside of her cheeks and the sides of her windpipe, waging a war between the coughing and desperate inhales.

Blackness clouded her peripherals, and she focused intensely on the fascinating collection of grime at her hands. Swaying, and dizzy, air finally found harmony with her pharynx and lungs and she blinked to focus. Stickily, the fears that had manifested in her mind lingered in the distance, the silhouettes of real people moving and providing reassurance that her reality had not shattered. For good measure, she reached up to touch her head. It was still on, but as she drew her hand away, her gloves were stained with red. Fresh blood mixed in with the grime and crimson of Maynard’s wound.

It’s okay. She reassured herself. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. Auteme had probably told her that once. After Harnaidan, she thought, when comparing the outcomes of electrocution to bleeding and how her brain would — woah woah woah. Loske was getting lost in moments between now and then and what she’d just seen could be.

Her head was pounding, her shoulders ached, and there was a burning sensation stretching up her legs that started at her shins and blazed on her knees. Bruises were starting on her hips.

Fingers twitching, she tightened her grip on her lightsaber. Amazed that through it all she had t dropped it. It truly was an extension.

The scene was chaotic. She’d been torn from the nucleus of it, scorched earth and smoulder marked where she’d been. Where she’d attacked the Gen’demon and the silk-dressed Sith had brought Loske to her knees.

Azure gaze snapped left-right in a panic, drawing herself to stand and move. She had to move, get back in this. The salvos from the 12th armoured assault were a powerful deterrence for the Sith assailing the Jedi. Attention was demanded from the tanks and the roars and the… she ran. Pushing through the pain and numbing sensations that permeated, she rounded the edge of the wall she’d hit moments earlier to the terrible stretch of tanks.

White and ash blossomed. The creature incinerated and eviscerated and yet..withstood. Misery saluted her, and realization pulled her cheeks and clenched her teeth. Her suit generated the helmet, concealing her face. With her full self encased in a heat-repellant suit, the roar from Waylon’s sacrificial inferno flooded the area, crashing around her in an orchestra of shrapnel, bone, blood and even some Gen’dai sinew.

The thought that had been broken earlier resurfaced. The regenerative nature of the Gen’dai was a cycle that couldn’t be broken with typical weapons. Waylon’s sacrifice was… not in vain. She could do this. She had to do this. Somehow. Not for the honour of The Imperial’s order against Sith. Honouring Treicolt.

It was bittersweet now, how readily Art of the Small came to her. After using it on herself, Maynard, the toxin for the Bryn’adûl, Ryv, Allyson and Maynard again, it was a power she’d grown familiar and comfortable with. Although this was an alternate application. A thin space flickered around her, a thin barrier where oxygen couldn’t catch a flame. The molecules were inflammable.

Flames rolled off her as she leaped, taking the opportunity The General had delivered. The window was small, but small was the name of the game.

Whatever shape of Kezeroth the Hateful existed in the eruption, the HUD detected and Loske latched on to. The fingertips of her gloves rescinding to give her the chance to touch him, feel the anatomy and chemistry of the species. He was already beginning to rebuild, and she soundlessly concentrated to intercept. The burden of protection from the fire transferred to the suit, all her focus on disintegrating the opportunity of regeneration and stunting, disrupting and reversing the ability to regrow. The cells that tried to multiply splintered and cracked, spoiling themselves, and cursed to rot quicker than they could replenish.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

O U T R I D E R
THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE
JEDI KNIGHT GENERAL
Armor | Blade of Ruusan
G U T S

​

He pulled to will himself to his feet again, only to collapse once more against the floor beneath, a hand snapping up to grasp at the gaping wound in his chest that had corroded past his armor once more as the darkness enveloped his vision once more.

Just as he felt the dying of the light, the fading of his life force again as he ignorant to those clammoring to his side, the voice of Loske Treicolt and Kir Dantos feeling like all but a fading dream as he limply grasped at his wound in futility.

He'd felt the coldness again. This time in a wave of far greater intensity. A cooling wave of the frigid embrace of death. But...he was never ready for this. His mind wanted to writhe and fight but his body was withered, weakened by the blow and it showed as his lifeblood trickled out in droves from the wound in his chest.

But in those last moments of the light, his gaze peered over the vision before him. A presence only eerily familiar.

Vyrin Karis.

With the touch of the Jedi's spirit, he'd begun to feel warmth again all the while the full illusion, a machination of his mind settled over him.

He was here.

Concord Dawn. But not as it was beneath the boot of Sith Imperial rule. At the very moment it was struck by the blade of betrayal. He could see faded beyond the closeness of his vision, the remains of his mother and the men who'd put his home unto ruin. His hands were bloodied, his eyes drenched with the tear fall and sorrowful emptiness of the loss he'd felt that day. He'd never been more alone, a fading light in the empty vantablack of space.

"Hey there, kid. You got a minute?"​

In reply, his gaze locked with Vyrin's...afraid. Afraid of the end. Afraid that he might go alone, at least...until he felt a presence wash over him. In no particularly negative or positive manner he felt...he felt death. But not one of his own, one of someone so close to him in his kin, Waylon Treicolt. He'd felt the presence ripped from realm around him but in no way that matched the violent means by which the valiant General had left. He was at peace. That feeling only drove more of the tears down his cheeks as he'd lost his last tangible kin, one of the best friends he'd ever had.

It was then though, that he remembered the words he uttered to him in the midsts of the fires at Borosk, the shameful defeat of Waylon's order to which he fought in service of. As the two were waywardly exiled from Concord Dawn, they'd each found their place of belonging. With Maynard it was with the New Jedi Order and the Alliance where as Waylon had his men, his soldiers who looked to him like an older brother, a father.

Just as he did.

"Seeing you as you are now? That tells me all I needed to know. That you got that spirit, that intangible. You put your mind to it, you can conquer it. I just know it. I love you, Maynard. And...and you're most of what I got left. This is gonna be tough but I'll be damned if I don't get you back to her. Because you deserve her and she damn well deserves you. That's a promise."

He had to make good on that promise, he couldn't leave them behind.

"Master Vyrin...I'm scared, I don't wanna die." Maynard spoke, his voice half reflecting the ethereal form he seemed to occupy in this illusion in near-death.

 

[Jaeger Harrsk]

C O M P N O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
3rd Assault-CF Volunteer Combat Group "Wilhuff Tarkin"
x
Storm Commando Task Force "Dark Raider"
R I S E _ O F _ E V I L
ALLIES: NIO // Kolson Vrask
ENEMIES: TSE // Lily Kuhn

​

"Well, I'll be damned, it is Lily Kuhn." Jaeger whistled, a grotesque smirk forming over his scarred face. Once the ruler of his people, the Tetans, now she lay lifeless before him, scorching holes dotting her body. A day he'd never believed to witness firsthand. Harrsk's career had been marred, nearly destroyed and the life of his own and his family threatened due to his anti-Sith sentiments back home. He had survived, fought back tooth and nail and decades later he felt as if he had prevailed over evil.

He wanted to spit, to kick the body, to cut it to pieces and burn it as witches deserve. He did none of it, he kept control. Adjusting his sunglasses, the Commissar ordered his men to take a DNA sample just in case this would turn out to be a double. He doubted it. Somewhere deep in his heart and soul he knew this was her.

"How the mighty have fallen." he stated to himself and then turned to Lieutenant Berik. "Lieutenant, turn the place upside down for anything. Kill anyone you find. Armed or unarmed."

Jaeger gave one last long glare at the dead body of the Tetan monarch and the smirk grew uglier. He took a drag of his cigarette before he flicked it next to the corpse and left.

 

[Vaulkhar]

Joycelyn Zambrano | Irveric Tavlar | Tyrell Paxxus | Darth Prazutis

“At times because of one man’s evil, ten thousand people suffer. So you kill that one man to let the tens of thousands live. Here, truly, the blade that deals death becomes the sword that saves lives.”​

- Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure​

Perhaps, the Sovereign-Imperator's great betrayal warned Vaulkhar of what was to come. His hope for something brighter for his family fell on deaf ears. He knew that would happen. Joycelyn was the greatest of the Dark Lord's children. She fought through every bloody battlefield their father set his sights on. They called her so many different things; heir apparent, Darth Vornskr II, Sith Lord, Ember of Vahl... they all culminated into one foul, poisonous word.

Evil.

Joycelyn Zambrano, just like her father, and her uncle, was an evil soul. Glory came from slaughter in the name of Empire. Her men looked to her for her ferocity, strategic excellence, and unparalleled skill on the battlefield. Vaulkhar's hope would not matter in the face of one so thoroughly dark. But it wasn't supposed to. The Executor did not come to Bastion to gain his sister's favor or his father's love. Defeating Kaine Zambrano would bring momentary peace, up until another rose in his place. The Sith were a power as ingrained into the galaxy as the Jedi Order, or the Force itself. Such thinking was folly, left behind when Vaulkhar Zambrano took up the golden skull. The madly grinning smile did more than mask his face alongside the New Imperial's finest. It locked away the truth of what the fallen Jedi had become.

The Sovereign-Imperator's shadow was feared throughout the New Empire's provinces. Tavlar's first and most trusted ally, the Lord Executor, could only be described as a myth by the common man. The Sith-Imperial regime knew differently. As did the men and women who served beneath the New Imperial banner. His single-minded drive to destroy his father brought him to every battlefield between him and Bastion. Many perished beneath his malignant, crimson visage. Always the Sith, their cultists, their soldiers. Ever another enemy poised to waste his time. Such things grew old. That burning desire to see his father dead faded away, once a discordant inferno, now fading embers, no more than dying kindling atop a mound of shortcomings.

Vaulkhar didn't move as Joycelyn struck. There was no shock or surprise, no scream or yelp. The crimson saber sliced cleanly through his unarmored thigh, muscle obliterated by the superheated weapon. He dropped to a knee, eyes growing bloodshot as the pain raged through his now broken form. It didn't even occur to attempt to stand up in defiance to his sister's deceit. The Lord Executor simply bowed his head, the Force's final warning to him whispering sweetly in the back of his mind, directing him vaguely to the sniper nested somewhere nearby. It didn't matter. Vaulkhar closed his eyes, head bowed as he drew his final breath.

"Find peace, sister," the Bastard muttered. "Before it is too late for you."

The sniper pulled the trigger. A crimson bolt leaped from the weapon's barrel, screeching to life as it whipped across the clearing. The round punched through the fallen Jedi's chest like it were no more substantial than paper. His long gray cloak blew back from the intense momentum carried behind the shot. It revealed a lack of armor one would expect to see adorned on the battlefield. His body followed the bolt's extreme velocity, slamming into the earth with a loud thud. Crimson faded from Vaulkhar's gaze as a soft blue color settled in its place. Plumes of smoke polluted the skies. Explosions rocked his sightline, the battle still raging all across Ravelin.

A smile settled on the dead man's thin lips—a mocking farewell as his body faded away.

​

To be all places, in all times, in one moment, felt infinitely freeing. The universe was at his fingertips. Bastion, though a horrendous and awful event, proved the worst the galaxy had to offer. Elsewhere, moments of great beauty balanced out the sheer ruin brought onto the Sith-Imperial's capital.

Mother's and father's welcomed crying children into their world for the first time. Lovers became soulmates, bound together through oaths of love, honesty, and integrity. The galaxy teemed with a near-infinite number of living creatures. Some were thinking, well-meaning beings. Others were darker in thought, conspiring to bring only pain into existence. Beasts fluttered about, insects crawling through planets that didn't take notice of their passing. Even smaller creatures, microscopic in nature, squirmed in celebration of the greater whole they unknowingly supported.

He smiled, mesmerized by the beauty. Soon it would welcome him home, but not yet. He hadn't said his goodbyes.

​

Stepping into being upon some inconsequential observation deck, Vaulkhar allowed his gaze to wander throughout. It was a pointless gesture. His mind had transcended the prison-like state of mortal living. He could navigate the space with closed eyes if he required them to see. Still fresh to what he once believed to be impossible power, it felt normal to continue through the customary motions carried out in life. His head turned, the gleaming body following it along as he stepped towards the table occupied by one Grand Moff and one Grand Vizier. Vaulkhar did not interrupt Tyrell as he spoke. He waited, unseen by both, listening to the almost-nihilistic philosophy. Had the fallen Jedi not known the Vizier, he may have believed the dribble he spouted to his prisoner. But much like the Sovereign-Imperator, Paxxus was a man true to the Order's ideals.

Once the Grand Vizier revealed his intentions for the Moff, Vaulkhar tilted his head to the side. He shook his head as he materialized to the tired man. A smile played at the Lord Executor's lips. A knowing grin, one that spoke of a hidden joke, shared only by friends. He reached down to squeeze Tyrell's shoulder.

"We didn't start this fight to become them," Vaulkhar offered. "We started this fight to prove ourselves their betters," he stepped back, hand raised into a practiced salute, and vanished.

"Remember."

​

Another scene led to another battle.

Vaulkhar's hands clasped together behind his back, a motion he grew accustomed to in life. It was how he approached his son, Errant when he disobeyed his mother or caused trouble for their family. The Executor lacked the telltale disappointment he wore when facing his legacy. Instead, his attention moved to a ruined Knight, engaged with an eldritch being of immense power. No moment in history could better define the truth of the New Imperial Order's war on the Sith-Imperial Regime. He felt what were once shoulders bounce in almost gleeful laughter. It couldn't have been any better. This battle of Law versus Chaos, Man versus God, exemplified the inherent truth of their struggle.

Rurik, a mortal man, stood unbroken before the power of Braxus Zambrano, a being who would be a god.

The Knight-Commander's telekinetic power saw the horror lifted from his oversized feet and thrown away in a display of raw tenacity. But the beast was not done. No, Darth Prazutis, Lord of Lies, saw fit to strike out at the Imperial Knight as he recovered from his attack. A missile zipped through space, whistling as it sliced through the air, sailing downward to explode at the Ironclad's feet. Vaulkhar could not be sure whether Rurik would survive of his own merit. It would do the fallen Jedi no good to see such a stubborn man beaten and battered on the day of their righteous victory. He appeared between Rurik and the point of eruption, a hand extended before him.

The concussive force slammed against Vaulkhar's outstretched limb, flame rolled past the Lord Executor in waves of overwhelming heat. They didn't interest him. Rurik Fel did.

Vaulkhar looked back at the Knight-Commander. "Thank you, Commander," he spoke softly, the weight behind each word telling of the fallen's emotion. "I have no right to ask this of you, Rurik, but I'm afraid I must," the flames fell away around them, rubble blasted about in every which way, though the Fel-descendant stood entirely unharmed. "Please take care of Errant. He deserves a far better father than I could ever be."

Slowly, the hand fell away, and Vaulkhar blinked out of sight.

​

A glorious victory awaited Vaulkhar at the foot of Fortress Carnifex. It was the moment he and Irveric Tavlar dreamed of for so many years. Though two separate men who walked wildly different paths, they stood as kindred spirits. Ripped from quiet lives, conscripted to a war they could not believe in, they carved out some semblance of meaning from what amounted to be an awful deal at the start of some cursed game.

Tavlar fought for those below him. Men who believed in his leadership, vision, or purpose. Irveric Tavlar stood as a paragon of the downtrodden man. The Sith laid claim to his life. They took everything from him: his home, his family, his peace, and it still somehow failed to beat the fight from this dog. His lips remained permanently curled back, bared in a violent snarl at the corrupted creatures atop the proverbial pyramid. The Eye of Solomon, perhaps a symbol of strength to the Zambrano lineage, could not meet the one-eyed gaze of the Sovereign-Imperator. It bore the intensity of billions of Imperial Men and Women. Solomon paled in comparison.

No better proof could be found than what awaited the marching Stormtroopers.

Irveric Tavlar stood over the fallen form of a Sith Lord. Kor Vexen sat unmoving amidst the rubble, ruined from the Imperator's brutal nature. The old dog still had it in him to bear his fangs and howl in triumph, a roar so full of emotion, it felt palpable. Others took up the cry as the New Imperial Standard rose higher into the sky. It flapped about in the violent winds, a loud noise, one that could not be unheard.

They had done it.

The common Imperial had set foot upon the Sith Brotherhood's most recent home. With Irveric Tavlar at its head. As Vaulkhar always envisioned.

He pushed through the crowd with a broad smile. Had he still had it in him to cry, the Bastard might've shed a few tears in the face of undeniable victory. Even if the Sith's legionnaires managed to turn them away, fight them off, and reclaim Bastion, it didn't matter. The attack itself was victory enough. The Sith Empire was not untouchable, and they had fallen to their unchecked hubris.

Vaulkhar's hand found its way to the Imperator's shoulder as tears carved through ash and grime. He turned the once-warlord about, pulling him into a tight embrace meant to convey all the things neither of them had ever said to one another. It felt right.

"We did it, brother," Vaulkhar nearly shouted his enjoyment, one hand patting vigorously at Irveric's back. "We did it."

And with that, Vaulkhar faded away.

A shadow once again.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

V A N D A L _ A C T U A L
STORM COMMANDO TASK FORCE "DARK RIDER"
HIGH VALUE TARGET ELIMINATION | Lily Kuhn
VANDAL // 2/12
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Grenades
S E G A _ S U N S E T

Missions were flying up unto Vandal's display faster than they could register and execute them. Ravelin was a hive. A hive of chaos, death, destruction, all the fine machinations of human tragedy and suffering. So deemed the next target, Lily Kuhn. A former monarch of Empress Teta, this hit was granted the explicit interest of Jaeger Harrsk and after picking up the COMPNOR chief before delving back into the shattered streets of Ravelin.

Silently, Vandal stacked up along the wall leading up to the entrance of Lily's domicile.

Berik stepped off to the opposite side of where his unit was stacked up hugging the wall leading to the entrance. Letting off his rifle with his opposite hand, his main hand remained fixed around the pistol grip of the rifle, still ready to fire at the notice of a fast twitch reaction. He held up his hand, splaying each finger out before curling them into his palm one at a time.

Five...

Four...​

​

Three...​

​

Two...​

​

One...​

The door breaking charge detonated with enough force only able to knock the blast door from its sliding course. The point man of the unit was the first one through, his body taking up the door way before he fired in the direction of Lily Kuhn before a crimson blade struck him down. Then the next two as they flooded into the main room of her domicile.

His stomach turned when the blaze from her amulet lit up the room and cooked some of the finest soldiers he'd ever served with. They were the New Imperial Order's best and they were dead in the blink of an eye.

His face froze over in a pale shock before he was next through the breach.

Berik was next up and through focused eyes and let loose a pulse of his particle beam rifle alongside the others before she was shot dead.

Among her corpse pristine was the charred and blackened remains of what was easily over a dozen of his own, ten of his commandos and then a hand full of the Stormtroopers attached for escort to the unit.

They were just numbers and body bags now.

<"Clear...its clear."> There was no indicating anywhere Lily had hidden her children...and by now, Berik didn't care.

<"Standing by for confirmation and then we're back on the move."> Vandal-Actual sounded out, wearing that false visage of stoic confidence as he stood above the charred remains among the ruins.

Protocol be damned, he lowered himself down to a crouch, passing over each one he began to scrounch and collect the ID tags of each of his comrades, facing down with frigid eyes the names and designation of each man and women he'd lost in moments.

Then Jaeger Harrsk entered, to posture over the slain nemesis, an old Tetan grudge.

"Well, I'll be damned, it is Lily Kuhn."

"How the mighty have fallen."

"Lieutenant, turn the place upside down for anything. Kill anyone you find. Armed or unarmed."

<"It's been swept, sir."> He said, his voice beginning to falter. Even if there was a Sith hiding in ever nook and corner of this place, he didn't care. He couldn't stomach the feeling of this place any longer.

It was time to go.

 

[Aerith Krayt]

Location: Fortress Carnifax
Enemy: Lirka Ka
Gear: Armor/ Rest in Bio.

The target moved too fast, practically danced out of the way of her strike and laced a scar deep into the armor of her suit. The blow staggered Aerith, knocking her off balance as she nearly fell onto her side. Taking the momentum given to her, she spun herself around, facing her challenger as the entity continued to taunt her. A sensible warrior might have taken time to reassess the situation before delving back in, try to evaluate their options, then strike when the opening presented itself. Unfortunately, she was far beyond sense at the current moment. Sounds blared in her ears, orders from a distant command drummed within her helmet, but they would be unable to reach the cyborg. She had committed to a fight like this once before, on Borosk, and she was going to see it through to the end.

This freak wanted to dance? Aerith was going to give it one. Struck with only one arm, Aerith changed her posture, taking the axe in a reverse grip and moving towards this annoying challenger before her. The bulk of her armor would make this maneuver difficult, but she would just have to add more strain onto her implants to pull through. She tumbled through the air, launching herself forward and moving to drop her back right heel towards her enemy, then lashing upwards with her axe as she hoped to exploit an opening in her foes defense. Pushing off her back foot, she would continue to swing at her adversary, her limbs straining to keep up with the additional pressure exerted on them, as Aerith's frenzied assault sought to match her foe for as long as she could; unfortunately her equipment wasn't suited for such an attempt.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

// Legion Commander // 307th Red Riders //
// Armor / Hand Of God / Rifle / Pistol / Saber(s) / Grenade //
// Fortress Carnifex // Flanking // Surrounding City Sector
// Focus Avernus Lucien Dooku Jain Irveric Tavlar

M y N a m e​

---

---

Lyra raised a gauntlet high as the tank fired on the lone Sith Lord, the foot fall of troopers surrounded her as the security force swept up the block. The woman who she had brushed paths with forgotten for now, the lesser evil. Each sound reverberated and she felt exposed now without the helmet-It was difficult to track by eye alone in the smoke but Lyra felt the pull of the Force. The percussion rippled and she felt the punch deafened by the explosion. She turned her head just before impact-in a split second something..no someone else had come and she knew the presence. Lucien-fucking-Dooku.

Words and orders, rage-the better part a tangled mess of confusion died on her tongue just as the avenue was engulfed by a vision of crimson and Lyra flinched. Chunks of cement and debris unearthed in a single shot, bathing the city block. The dust filtering down through the air from the explosion, covering the soldiers. The heat of the shot rippled and a smoking ruin was carved out in place of the city road when she opened her eyes back up- there had been a wisp and distortion just before. Her eyes did not deceive her and dread crept in the back of her mind.

“Arroyo! Rally the men and join up with the five o' first.”

They-no she was on the cusp of absolution but Avernus would not make it easy and knew the damage he would gladly inflict if the Spacer, if any more of them interrupted. Over her dead fucking body. Within the cloud of cover the blaster fire flashed wildly and Lyra jerked as a bolt sung past her. Desperation and blasters were the poorest of combinations.

“Fuck..” Lyra hissed, even if she had bitten off more than she could chew..A gentle knock caught her shoulder as she glanced back, finding the visor of the Zabrak who nodded to her. He was a stubborn one but there was only forward. There was no room for doubt as she felt the rush of energy, a swarth cut through the men alike and Lyra's head snapped from side to side-following the presence. Disgust trailed down her as she waded in to the blaster fire and smoke, death tainted the air and Lyra’s servo brushed her saber. Her mind reeling as she tried to track the Sith. He had promised her so long ago, wroth and pride wounded; if she raised her hand it best be to kill. It was time to make good on that.

"Where are you.." she growled.

In a split second she pushed the Lieutenant back as the Sith swooped in, closing in on her; fingers clamping around her throat. Her hand catching his wrist, strength wavering as she jerked her arm fighting his grip. Lyra had been deceived but she knew better the strength behind his hand as he squeezed-she couldn’t breath she-She expected the painful kiss of the pavement behind her as his weight came crashing down on her, every ounce of her will steered her from panic.

Blood and spit gargled in the back of her throat as she trashed under Avernus’ hand. Anticipation warned her and all perception was torn and Lyra’s senses waived as the city block disappeared. The void lay here and Lyra was lost in confusion and something weighed so heavily on her chest as he tore them away with a whisk of the Force. She fought it for the sheer mania of the nothingness they soared through.

Wrenched back, Lyra seized, bent under the will of the Sith. Where had he taken them? It was like breaking the surface as the power washed away. Stone scraped her armor and pain radiated through her spine and Lyra felt a breeze gently brush over her. It was not the face of the pure-blood that had loomed over but the eyes, the eyes hadn’t changed.

Her servo flexed without grip to reach out, her gauntlet reaching out-scraping at his arm trying to tear him down. When he lifted his hand from her throat, a gasp tore through her as she inhaled greedily. The grip on her arm pulled further and pain radiated along the joint, the bright skies stolen when he plunged his thumb in her eye and Lyra screamed and choked.

She the wet pop and squelch within her skull, the pain alone driving her to the edge of consciousness as he dug through her mind. Mortality crossed her concerns and she felt like she was holding on to a slipping sheet. The faces of two babes flickered across her mind and she knew-Hearing the names of her boys on his wormy little lips. The singular act ignited the hollow little pit that had been carved out by his hand; tormentor and guide.

“Don’t you fucking utter their names-” Lyra roared, struggling between one breath. Adrenaline came crashing down around her, her lip curling back as her face melded and withering from the pain. “-stop!”

​

"If you wish to learn, you must kneel. Kneel before me and pledge yourself to me as your master, and declare yourself my apprentice. I will teach you everything you could ever possibly wish to know about the dark side, and more. You have the potential for great power, and I can help you realize that potential."

The ugly violation of her memory, and the further he dipped, pilfering through each carelessly. She was tired of kneeling, of this submission-Lyra grasped at the sharp pain as she drew on the dark side inside and thrusted it back unto him. Wielding it like a pick, the physical battle melted into the back as she pushed past the mental front unto him mind. She had learned well from the Inquisitor Kascalion Giedfield , just how to dig. Irveric-

“You’re fucking obsessed with him! If you hadn’t meddled with him, maybe just maybe we wouldn’t be here. Who is Kenth...the man's his..and Tyrell? Oh no no no-”

There was noise trapped between both ears and her face burned from the touch alone as he spoke, black spots dancing across her waning vision. She was an enemy of the state if this alone marked her wrong-

"- vessel of justice...retribution. You're pure, your intent...its as righteous as any. And people rely on you...just as they rely on me to undo what has wronged them. We can not continue to hurt each other, like this. Or else...they've won already and we'd have done right by no one."

She wasn’t pure, the very thought caused a choked laugh to squeeze it’s way out from her lips. It was sweet she supposed but it made nothing right. Avernus was correct in some retrospect but she didn't care, she had nothing to hide before and nothing now. Even if the rage was of the same coin and the powers that hung in her hands-Irveric had given one sliver to trust in. Almost sluggishly she trickled through her tools mentally one by one, every twitch of her body and the pain grew; nerves on fire. She just needed to get him-Lyra’s form heaved and threatened to buckle back, the thrusters of her boots igniting as she heaved one leg out from her locked form. Lyra swung her boot up as she kicked Avernus’ face back, an ugly crack resounding as she jolted him; his grip faltering.

“-mark my words Master. Your manipulations ended a long time ago-whatever you planned. Well it’s a shame you never inspired such loyalty, my men-” Lyra coughed, her sole eye seeking his out as she bore into his.

Lyra’s hand slammed out, ripping his hand from her visage- a sickening sound as she extracted his hand fro-her stomach threatened to spew as she pushed herself aside. Acting on instinct alone as she rolled on to her knees, inhaling deeply. Her shoulder barely gave and Lyra tested the limb as she rose up to her feet. Hot blood gushed from the raw flesh. He had finished what war and battle had failed to do the day she joined the fray. It was only a matter of time..Her gauntlet ghosted over the gore as the high rise doubled around her, vision-her own balance skewed as she stumbled away. He had taken them far, and she only faintly regarded their surroundings atop the walls of the Palace. I

“-Irveric, Dooku, Agrippa and plenty others well above you...I’m not like you that’s why I am not dead. They’re why..I’m not beholden to you, to your Sith Code-I’m not beholden to anything but my children...I’m not one of you..” Lyra seethed, words threatening to slur. She was doubled over at the waist as she gripped the tenebrae and cradled her sundered eye; blood leaking from between her fingers. She was scared, if she did not make it out- Lyra swallowed thickly, her bloody hand dropped to the pistol on her hip, unholstering the Durin. No more.

She didn't want to hear another word from him, the lies he spewed endlessly to snare. Lyra had been complacent for too long and for to many. Her hands shaking as she leveled the blaster, her servo dropping on her saber as she yanked it from her belt. The crimson blade hummed steadily in hand, the curve of the hilt reassuring under her grip. Lyra pressed forward with a heavy step across the wall, steadily unloading the clip. Golden plasma eating up the space as she fired on him, recoil hammering through her wrist. She looked to the Sith Lord through the Force, her eyee feathering-falling shut. His stench unmistakable but her aim wayward.

“I am not one of you. I see my path beyond this war. I told you a long time ago. I. Am. A. Soldier. but I will see any bastard like you I come across to the fucking grave. I promise you that,” Lyra wheezed out over the blaster fire, turning the blade in hand as she brought it guard; readying herself.

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Bastion: Fortress Carnifex

Spoiler

Lightsabre pike, Zaudraka, Jin’wodasir x2, Imperator’s Raiment, SIF-7 Minos, Dwomotchwûq

Joycelyn Zambrano had not known exactly what to expect, but she never expected quite what happened.

The strike coordinated with her sniper was supposed to be the opening act of her triumph against Vaulkhar , a threat to her throne, to her power, to all she had planned to accomplish. Instead, now she felt cheated. She looked down at his body as he fell, smiling, chest smouldering, eyes turning away from the darkness to blue.

He asked her to find peace.

He spoke like the Jedi he used to be, to one who hated Jedi from the bottom of her heart.

“Peace is a lie, brother, there is only ambition.”

She sought to put her foot on his chest, to crush him down and deliver the final blow, but when her foot touched his clothing, it flattened out against the ground, and her lightsabre remained hoisted up over her head, poised for that final blow.

All around her, hell broke loose again as the Varanin Legion broke the silent truce and fired upon the New Imperial troops in a new and coordinated push against Vaulkhar’s forces.

Joycelyn stared down at the empty clothes, her heart beating fast, her breath bouncing in and out of her chest without rest. Her arms lowered to her sides, the lightsabre burning furious and red in her hand.

It was their fault, the traitors.

They had robbed her of her victory, her glory, her banner of a brother flayed flying high like kites flown back on Panatha.

How dare he insinuate that she cared? Father, mother, uncle, aunt, brothers and sisters alike, they were all stones for her to step on, corpses to build her path forward. She could keep Evaelyn safe, could keep her soldiers safe, she could reign over all as the Force dictated that she should, and for that goal she would step over any corpse in her path.

Yet, why was her vision so blurry? What was this wetness at the corner of her eye? Something must have gotten inside her helmet. She closed her eyes, pressing it away and digging deep into the anger, the darkness.

It was their fault. They cheated her.

Let them burn, let the fire cleanse it all away.

“Mother Vahl-”

Her eyes opened to fire, deep blue and ravenous. The warmth of the goddess stroked her shoulders with comfort the deeper she went. She hated them, she wanted them all to die in pain. She hated him, him more than anyone. He cared about them, so she would crush them.

All of them.

“Accept these souls as my sacrifice.”

The fire spread like the tide, burning metal, stone, flesh and bone.

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Location: Datacenter
Opposition: NIO | Amon Vizsla | Tulan Kor
Allies: TSE | Nida Perl
Post #6

​

Fury reigned. Her fury, unfettered and given control. It burned the guilt she'd faced in secret, dissolving the blame and hopelessness which had corroded her soul. Chains of the past were broken, her want for revenge intensified by the darkness bestowing her strength.

"No more…" she whispered through her broken visor, "You and any who see fit to call you allies will be no more."

After the Mandalorian disappeared from sight Cara lashed out against those who also bore the marks of barbaric devotion. Cables struck from the ground below, following the snaking motions her steel hands commanded them. Cries of alarm sounded from those ensnared by the metal cords. While Cara's fingers curled inward the screams were followed by gurgling lungs or dry snaps of bone. Armored bodies suspended by taught cable became a web filled with those who tried to defy reality. But the truth, Cara knew, was that they were naught but the locusts of the galaxy. How could she have ever questioned her hatred for them? Any who suffered them to live were merely part of the problem, one she then set about to correct.

While turning to focus on the squads left in the datacenter the familiar rumble of a repulsorpack echoed from the small chasm it had fallen into. The Mandalorian surged upward, blasting the ceiling above and sending duracrete to crash into any below. Cara’s eye widened as she turned to run, not forgetting to dip her hands to the floor to grab Aidee's burnt hull.

Sliding to a stop Cara trailed a blazing eye along the path their assailant had gone. The debris from the fallen ceiling crushed both trooper and legionnaire alike, the Mandalorian's escape damning any that wasn't itself.

"Typic--" The din of battle didn't cover the sound of the rocket's propulsion. With a wavering step Cara rose as the rocket's internals were accessed and a mental schematic dissected. Each piece told her its purpose in unison, a split-second congress assembled to converse on function and design.
Stretching out her arm a single finger of her hand pointed upward then down as if to trip a switch. The rocket flew into the room and crashed against the debris with a high-pitched plink then rolled onto the floor.

Cara exhaled a smoky breath, the forge of her anger beginning to lose flame as the effects of her injuries manifested. Slowly, the engineer resumed a less burning appearance as the darkside settled around her. The plates of her cybernetics ceased their agitated warping to smooth out. The scrapes and dents of the Bronzium "dorn" on her fist were nonexistent, the marks of its past wiped away with the previously roiling surface. Her eye's amber light dimmed to become a yellow ring around her pupil.

She had exerted the power of the darkside far beyond what she'd set as acceptable. To what she had limited herself to. A treatise made to a past ideal, a spectre that didn't exist anymore.

That power was what she had been missing.

It was the key to forging a progress unbreakable by the hands of ignorance and contentment. With it she could help cast the galaxy into a new mold and toss away the slag: the Mandalorians, the traitors, and all who wished to stay stagnant. That is what she told herself. The logic was sound in her "new" mind.

The bolts which had landed on her greaves had sunk to the legs, scorching flesh and plasteel. At first the pain had been blocked but then overwhelmed her attempts. She leaned against a fallen slab of ceiling, clenching her teeth as she slipped down to stretch out the bolt-pierced legs.

Gently, Cara laid Aidee's hull upon her lap. All but one manipulator was missing and as she prod she found the appendage's joints had been melted together. His main camera and one adjacent to it were blown, some of the green glass embedded into the grooves of the blackened chassis.

Cara removed her broken helmet and scooped up the little ID10 with a respectful hand, depositing him into the helmet as he had liked to roost. Their recordings. The data she'd gathered to find what she'd lost. It had been his to carry. The whisper that she had been a fool to bring him almost slipped through her lips but she remembered the truth, her truth.

It wasn't her fault.

And it never would be.

The tell-tale scuff of a limping gait crossed the mess of ground. She looked up to see a legionnaire looking down at her. He held out his hand to help her up.

"Mandalorians are in full retreat. Their buddies might be doing the same soon enough, but we'll get 'em if they don't. You pulled some scary chit, Doctor. Got a medic we can spare for you."

The legionnaire who delivered her orders. Through all the hell that had been wrought he had survived. Unlike her he seemed to have remained the same. Armor was little worse from wear, limp agitated, but the individual was the same. Legionnaires were never easily broken.

"I will take the offer, soldier. Good to see you."

She grasped his offered hand then pulled herself up.

"Likewise," he lent her his shoulder, "Together I'm pretty sure we can make it."

Cara adjusted her helmet under one arm and helped support the legionnaire with the other. She set her gaze forward as they started their trek.

"Together I believe we can."

 

[Vaylin]

Equipment: Armour | Sith Lightsaber + Shoto | Dwomutchwûq
Allies: TSE - Kascalion Giedfield (Elsewhere)
Enemies: NIO - Dorian Sicarrio (Engaging) | Mavia (Engaging)

The disappearance and seemingly loss of Dorian had sparked something buried within the Mirialan, attacking the Sith Lord with an aggression not seen earlier. It had Vaylin grinning beneath her mask, meeting the woman’s saber with her own. With the spear user now out of the picture, she could properly focus on dealing with her remaining opponent. The woman was fierce with her blade, still managing to push the Zabrak further towards the elevator.

Eventually the doors opened, allowing for Vaylin to leap backwards into the elevator. It was sizable, enough for cargo to be transported down into the tower’s depths. She barely got her feet planted again, before Mavia came practically skidding into the elevator. Her lightsaber swinging upwards in an arc, carving through the floor slightly as it tried to do the same to the Sith.

“That’s it, use that emotion, let your inner ruthlessness be unleashed!” Vaylin blocked the incoming attack, entering into a saber lock. She reached out with her free hand, the Force wrapping around a nearby crate and sent it flying towards her opponent. It forced Mavia back, slicing the object in two as it nearly collided with her.

With another wave of the Force, Vaylin activated the elevator and it started to descend.

The fighting continued as the two battled, going back and forth with the aggression. Without a second opponent at her neck, Vaylin was able to let loose as she fought Mavia. Meeting the Mirialan’s ruthlessness with her own strength. Where she had emotion fueling her, Vaylin did not. Devoid of them now after the Emperor’s ritual, instead she used the pain ever coursing through her veins to fuel her power.

But there was something else in the air, which at first Vaylin suspected it might’ve been Dorian finding his way back to the realm of the living. She had sent him into the Netherworld mainly to keep him away, not necessary to outright kill him. The intent was there yes, but she suspected the man was strong enough to not just simply fall prey to it. But no, there was something foul brewing, against who? Vaylin didn’t know. But what she did know, was that the Force was reacting, anticipating something.

There was a resounding boom above them. Small bits of debris began to hit the elevator roof, as a result of Dorian’s smashing of the doors above. Vaylin raised an eyebrow behind her mask, sensing the familiar presence of her opponent. So he managed to get back after all, and so quickly too? Oh, she was impressed. Very much so. With Dorian’s loud entrance, crashing down through the elevator’s ceiling, Vaylin was able to anticipate and jumped away as he swung his lightsaber at her along a wide arc.

“Bravo young little Knight, you actually managed to return. I’m impressed, truely.” Standing atop a stack of large crates, she looked down at Dorian, giving him a small mocking clap of her hands. “And just in time too!” Vaylin was showboating, not realizing just how true her words would be.

Moments later the Force around them seemed to still, like the air had just been sucked out of the room. Something was happening, all across Bastion where the fighting was fierce. The Imperials were given new orders, ones that were not shared with the Sith allied to them. ‘Commence Operation Kyber Dark’ went out across the New Imperial ranks, ordering them to turn against their dark allies. Vaylin didn’t know what had happened exactly, but the Dark Side of the Force was practically singing in response. The betrayal tasted sweet, as the heightened emotions became filtered through the Force, empowering those immersed in the Dark. She looked at Dorian and Mavia, noticing the two were similarly stunned. Whether they knew of what had transpired, it mattered not. Vaylin saw an opening and took it.

The Zabrak jumped down from her perch and sped towards Mavia. Her opponent seemed to snap to attention, bringing her lightsaber up to defend. Vaylin moved beneath it though, slipping into Mavia’s defences. She called her shoto blade, the hilt snapping into her hand in an instant. Vaylin brought it up, igniting the shorter blade. It pierced through a weaker part of Mavia’s armour, sinking into the flesh within.

“I don’t know what’s happening out there,” she began, looking over at Dorian as she drew her lightsaber out of Mavia’s side. “But the Dark Side is relishing it.”

 

[Bastard]

Into the void...

Vella Forte

"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​

Passionate pleading fell on deaf ears.

Errant saw no recognition within the Ember's kindled gaze. Rage fissured her eyes' whites, taking form in thin red lines, swelling up as the boiling blood dilated within them. Vella lost herself in the all-consuming anger promised by her great goddess. Nothing he said reached what remained of her consciousness as if Vahl trapped her follower's mind behind some impenetrable door and threw away the key. The Imperial Knight felt a fury all his own, but it lacked the unbearable heat radiating from Vella at that moment.

His rage, centered within his chest, chilled him to the bone. It chased away the pain of burning flesh as it seared wrist and knee alike. He could still smell cooked meat as it permeated the air around them, cutting through the smoke's acrid stench. Ash lazily drifted from the tips of dancing flame, coating his snow-white hair in a layer of gray. The green of the garden blackened around them. What lay beyond Vella's firestorm's reach welcomed the steady fall of gray, unable to beat back the descending ash. Nearby bodies sparked, now alight in hues of red, orange, and yellow. Only the small ring stood safe, Errant's last remaining haven in Pellaeon's growing inferno. Yet, there was a distinct absence of pain.

Where a hot streak of agony should've screamed for the Knight's attention, he felt only cold. It spread further through his veins, sleet-like as it crawled throughout.

"Vella, say something," Errant's thumbs finally found the tattoo-covered scarring he hungrily desired not long ago. The tip of each digit caressed her flesh. They hovered over her scars, eagerly searching for an answer within the Ember's gruesome trophies. She said nothing. "There is still time," he fought on. "This needn't end in death," again he tried, and again, she uttered not one word.

Ready to pull away, Errant froze as her fingers closed around each wrist. Steam rose from his armor, the metal slowly taking on a bright shade of orange. The chilling sensation returned as her flame's licked further up his arm, threatening to spread to his neck and face. It wasn't fear that jumped to the forefront of his mind. Even as he peered into burning pits of torment and flame, mirrored passages to the pits of Hell themselves. The Knight believed this struggle could be won without bloodshed. With enough time, he'd find the right thing to say. Something would inevitably translate to peace between them. But there wasn't enough time. A forlorn voice at the back of his head nagged at him. It reminded him of this truth. There would never be enough time, Vella, the Sith he'd come to love, would forever be out of reach.

Another tear fell. Snuffed away in an instant.

"I will."

She spoke with certainty, each word shadowed by an intensity Errant couldn't grasp. Vella was lost to more than just the power coursing through her. Fanatical worship entrapped her, while self-inflicted purpose threatened to consume her in the same flame she conjured. It cut worse than any physical pain she could inflict. Watching her in that state, drunk with power, overflown by joy delivered through a great evil, disturbed him. Errant couldn't stomach it any longer. He closed his eyes. He struggled to breathe as the flames sapped the oxygen from the air. Each passing second decreased his chance of survival. The threat of immolation, suffocation, decapitation, and perhaps a dozen other awful deaths awaited the Albino if he could not find the courage to pull away from her.

"Errant."

A familiar voice cut through the chaos. It called to the young Knight, beckoning for his attention beyond the woman before him. Errant followed the call, searching for the source, hoping for the impossible.

And there it stood. In the distance, a smiling warrior greeted the Albino. Pale, pink eyes locked on the soft, blue gaze of his father. He was too far to reach, even if Vella hadn't locked her fingers around his slender wrists. Errant just stared forward, eyes wide in shock, mouth hanging agape, his surroundings forgotten, no longer significant in the face of Vyn's sudden appearance.

"You will forgive yourself, my son," Vyn spoke. Standing so far away, Errant could barely make out the movement of his father's lips. Yet somehow, he heard him clearly, as if whispered softly into his son's ear. "Do not blame yourself for what is to come. Simply move forward. March towards a brighter horizon, one that helps you forget the shadows of yesterday."

Errant nodded once. A tendril of the flickering circle passed between father and son, blocking the Albino's vision long enough for Vyn to disappear. More tears joined the first, cascading down his cheeks as if the floodgates finally fell away. The pain returned in one overpowering wave. It threatened to pull Errant down into blackness, promising a final reprieve from the horrors raging all around him. No longer could he fend off the life-ending flames Vella now commanded. At his wrists and knee, flesh cracked, blackened from prolonged exposure. A layer of unbearable heat settled on the entirety of his battle armor. As he expected, it began the slow, painful process of cooking the Knight alive. With one final look at the glowing angel before him, he leaned inward.

And kissed her.

Errant's thin lips blistered as he pressed them against Vella's.

Still, his tears rolled down his cheeks.

Cold as ice, they fell, pooling with the smoldering Ember's. Hers too grew frigid. That freezing presence spread from their point of contact, crawling over every inch of Vella's body. He could not pull away from her. His eyes remained squeezed shut in fear of them catching aflame in such close proximity to her flesh. Both of his hands remained at her face, thumbs still stroking her red-inked tattoos greedily. He did not break away until the flames around them finally sputtered out, replaced by a wintry chill that soothed the pain from Errant's scorched body.

When next he opened his eyes, the Knight was met with Vella's face, forever locked in a moment of pristine beauty. Tears stole away from his pale gaze. He pressed his forehead against hers, the biting chill uncomfortable against the sensitive burns covering him almost head to toe.

Slowly, he sunk down to her feet, arms hanging around her waist in a final embrace. He wept openly, howling in pain as the woman he loved faded into memory.

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

Location: Imperial Capital Complex
Enemies: Loske Treicolt , Konrad Bolter
Allies: Quinn Varanin Ellie Mors
Objective: ...

A crimson off hand plunged into the vehicle in front of him. Muscle and nerve pressed against durasteel tearing it apart. The material screamed and twisted aside with relative ease. Further and further apart till the voices inside could be recognized. Waylon? The mans voice was there without a shadow of a doubt. Deep within the Gen'dai, somewhere he may of felt differently about his actions. This was a man he fought beside and helped from occasion. One of the many troopers Kezeroth got to know while having his own fun as a stormtrooper himself. He continued his actions, to tear the tank open like a can.

Those days were long ago now. So much a had changed within the time frame of a few hours. It was unexcused and unforgivable. They all deserved to perish.

A thermal Imploder! White engulfed the two. Both sith lord and vehicle in a fiery embrace. The heat alone from the explosion could of proved harmful to those unprotected. Spat out by the shock wave produced by the last stand by New Imperial hands, A Sith-sword chained to the Gen'dai's right arm was shot several feet back. Piercing rubble it halted in place and with it the remains of a burnt crimson body. A right arm connected to a neck and head. Kezeroth the Hateful. His eyes shut closed and mind wandering within his own world. He was Unconscious. The body, what was left of it, entering a state of hibernation. Even now the body was beginning regenerate. A process that would, at this stage, take several minutes and yet this process was having difficulty. Completely unaware of the anatomical alterations being made by Loskes hand, Kezeroth waded the inner mind of his own thoughts eager for battle to begin again. It didn't. Stuck in the darkness he grew anxious in waiting. The fears he had mastered and even conquered over his years of living had seemed to follow him with a vengeance. A hunger to be acknowledged in full. Whispers in the dark threatening to tear his mind apart. He knew one plane of existence that was like this. The Netherworld of the Force.

Except he was not there. In confusion he found himself spinning around as if to look for a way out of his own mental. The sounds of battle rang around him teasing his fate and still no picture of what was happening appeared. " You accepted the risks, Kezeroth." A low whisper said. The tone light as a feather. It wafted around him. " Your very own contract of power." It spoke again. A deep realization of wrongness over took him. The shock of knowing what the voice was saying. In a flash the scene of Kezeroth's body falling apart on itself, being reduced to mush was shown to him. Mentally watching himself die. He felt no pain. None at all. The life essence of the once powerful darksider to be released into the very air of bastion and then siphoned in violently. But to where?

Back on Bastion a husk of rotting cells lay in soiled armor. A clasp large and rounded where a arm may of once rested. A crimson arm. Apon the clasp a alchemical chain led in a direction away from such a corpse. Long and hearty it was. Stained in blood and weather by time the chain lead to the source. A Sith-sword. Long, sharp, and fitted for the grip of a larger being. Blade down stuck in rubble and shifted to one side it vibrated softly. Strange pearl like bumps coated the weapon at its core. Hollow on the inside, it vaguely represented a Blister on the flesh.

It was there. That place, within his blade. He watched himself fall apart in his sleep and succumb.