Halketh
Libertas quae sera tamen
The thundering sequence of dropships crashing through the foliage and impacting the lush jungle floor resounded with absolution undying. Steam hissed from ventilation systems, airlocks discharging their seals, and at once doors swung open in sequence, unleashing the swarm of undead upon the jungle. The Perished advanced before their leader, moving with the predatory precision of the eager.
The underbrush rustled violently as they surged forth, commanded by single thought from the Dark Lord, trampling the ground beneath boots thousands strong to catch up to the Silver Jedi and New Imperial forces advancing on the first camp crossing their hitlist. He would not so easily allow it, not here, not there- no, they would have to take the grounds by sheer force, and he had a mind to pin them between the defenses that lay ahead and the swarming wrath of the damned behind them.
He would pinch them between a rock and a hard place and apply pressure until they could do naught but collapse.
The Divine swept forth amongst his white-clad soldiers, extending a hand high above his crown to call upon the sinister charge in the air, exciting each molecule until a whip of crimson lightning arced into the clouds and expanded, blossoming into a flaring lattice he wielded as his own. His malicious blast was brought down, crashing upon the trees and growths so rapidly it seemed the wildfire had started of its own accord. Thunder tolled. Flames surged higher and higher, crackling with virulent light as they devoured the fuel growing in choking thickness around.
"Ati uynsutu, kirazi ri Rokatsa," he spoke with the heavenly hymnal reverberating through his tone.
And with that simple phrase, the legions of undead howled in blood-curdling jeer, rallying together as they charged from the treeline, swarming upon the invaders in a tidal wave of blood and splattering gore. Their weapons ignited in unison, the jungle coming alive further with the deafening thunder of slugthrowers and scatterguns pounding away in sequence, blasting apart any flesh set against them. Limbs were blown from bodies. Holes incomprehensible were punched through entire ranks and between the cracks, The Perished advanced.
Those of them cut down by the quick reactions of their enemies were simply trampled underfoot as the nigh-unstoppable tide swelled and burst through the seams, their frenzy heightened only by the sheer carnage unleashed by other Mawite efforts. The swarms filling the skies. The strafing run of bombs. It was all such beautiful chaos the Dark Lord wished he had more than a fleeting second to relish in it. The armor at the front of the advancing forces however, posed much of a problem.
Charging behind it and using it as cover, it seemed the Silver Jedi had managed to reach the southernmost entrance of the emplacement rising out before them. This would simply not do. Through the Force, the Sith Sorcerer extended his influence, expanding his senses far beyond the physical until he gleaned the silvered icons of arrogance in the grey landscape; the Jedi. Their Knights pressed the assault heavily, able to stand toe-to-toe with the worst tides of his undead soldiers with their expansive repertoire of abilities on hand.
But perhaps it was their idealistic hope within them that blinded them to the very danger in the center of the horde. They were fighting for their lives. Should they fail, not only would they die, but so too would the allies who stood with them in this assault. It brought a sigh from Caelitus's nose to see such desperation so soon. Gilded, clawed gauntlets lurched forth and he latched onto the metaphysical threads flaring within the first two Knights that his Sight could catch.
Mere compressions of his palms saw bodies warp and twist, cracking and splitting apart as bones were contorted and used as splinters to puncture through hide from within. Blood rained upon his soldiers, exciting them further, and the more he wrung from the tortured bodies he held within his grasp, the louder their guttural, feral cries became. He felt them die, the Knights' life essence bled to slip away into the beyond, and through the satisfaction of that alone, he discarded them as the useless playthings they had become.
Onward, to the gate.
The Dark Lord of the Sith bore down through the channel his soldiers had sundered in the confused rank, delighting in the confusion and panic bubbling so freely into the air around him. He could have imbibed it for days, truly, had he not a purpose for his incursion here already. He considered approaching the gate himself, dispatching the foes gathering there at the choke point, but decided his personal intervention was better kept as the ace up his sleeve, should the need for such a card arise.
A jerk of his helmeted head saw an entire swath of his undead forces break off from the greater horde and charge through the blood-soaked clearing, beelining straight for the armor and Silver Jedi gathering their courage to press on.
ALLIES | DakrulThe underbrush rustled violently as they surged forth, commanded by single thought from the Dark Lord, trampling the ground beneath boots thousands strong to catch up to the Silver Jedi and New Imperial forces advancing on the first camp crossing their hitlist. He would not so easily allow it, not here, not there- no, they would have to take the grounds by sheer force, and he had a mind to pin them between the defenses that lay ahead and the swarming wrath of the damned behind them.
He would pinch them between a rock and a hard place and apply pressure until they could do naught but collapse.
The Divine swept forth amongst his white-clad soldiers, extending a hand high above his crown to call upon the sinister charge in the air, exciting each molecule until a whip of crimson lightning arced into the clouds and expanded, blossoming into a flaring lattice he wielded as his own. His malicious blast was brought down, crashing upon the trees and growths so rapidly it seemed the wildfire had started of its own accord. Thunder tolled. Flames surged higher and higher, crackling with virulent light as they devoured the fuel growing in choking thickness around.
"Ati uynsutu, kirazi ri Rokatsa," he spoke with the heavenly hymnal reverberating through his tone.
And with that simple phrase, the legions of undead howled in blood-curdling jeer, rallying together as they charged from the treeline, swarming upon the invaders in a tidal wave of blood and splattering gore. Their weapons ignited in unison, the jungle coming alive further with the deafening thunder of slugthrowers and scatterguns pounding away in sequence, blasting apart any flesh set against them. Limbs were blown from bodies. Holes incomprehensible were punched through entire ranks and between the cracks, The Perished advanced.
Those of them cut down by the quick reactions of their enemies were simply trampled underfoot as the nigh-unstoppable tide swelled and burst through the seams, their frenzy heightened only by the sheer carnage unleashed by other Mawite efforts. The swarms filling the skies. The strafing run of bombs. It was all such beautiful chaos the Dark Lord wished he had more than a fleeting second to relish in it. The armor at the front of the advancing forces however, posed much of a problem.
Charging behind it and using it as cover, it seemed the Silver Jedi had managed to reach the southernmost entrance of the emplacement rising out before them. This would simply not do. Through the Force, the Sith Sorcerer extended his influence, expanding his senses far beyond the physical until he gleaned the silvered icons of arrogance in the grey landscape; the Jedi. Their Knights pressed the assault heavily, able to stand toe-to-toe with the worst tides of his undead soldiers with their expansive repertoire of abilities on hand.
But perhaps it was their idealistic hope within them that blinded them to the very danger in the center of the horde. They were fighting for their lives. Should they fail, not only would they die, but so too would the allies who stood with them in this assault. It brought a sigh from Caelitus's nose to see such desperation so soon. Gilded, clawed gauntlets lurched forth and he latched onto the metaphysical threads flaring within the first two Knights that his Sight could catch.
Mere compressions of his palms saw bodies warp and twist, cracking and splitting apart as bones were contorted and used as splinters to puncture through hide from within. Blood rained upon his soldiers, exciting them further, and the more he wrung from the tortured bodies he held within his grasp, the louder their guttural, feral cries became. He felt them die, the Knights' life essence bled to slip away into the beyond, and through the satisfaction of that alone, he discarded them as the useless playthings they had become.
Onward, to the gate.
The Dark Lord of the Sith bore down through the channel his soldiers had sundered in the confused rank, delighting in the confusion and panic bubbling so freely into the air around him. He could have imbibed it for days, truly, had he not a purpose for his incursion here already. He considered approaching the gate himself, dispatching the foes gathering there at the choke point, but decided his personal intervention was better kept as the ace up his sleeve, should the need for such a card arise.
A jerk of his helmeted head saw an entire swath of his undead forces break off from the greater horde and charge through the blood-soaked clearing, beelining straight for the armor and Silver Jedi gathering their courage to press on.
FOES | SJC | Starlin Rand | OPEN FOR DIRECT OPPOSITION
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