Annihilation Final Eclipse | GA Annihilation of Exegol

[Quintessa]

Location: Kyber Crystal Chamber, Deep Chasm Atrium - Sith Citadel
Objective: Escort the Dark Lord │ Salvage Artifacts
Direct Engagement: Nathan Bloodscrawl

Blinding, burning, and biting.

A scream tore free from Quintessa’s lips as the Light blistered and assailed her flesh. It was all she could do to remain on moving and on her feet, drawing back from her opponent as she scanned for shelter from the blinding assault. She channeled what was left of her Force reservoir into her legs, making to retreat deeper into the Citadel even though she knew that the Jedi might be weakened as well, whether it was from the poison afflicting his flesh or the strain of the duel itself. Regardless, the speedster didn’t want to leave that assumption to chance, so she continued running deeper inside the Labyrinth, before letting out a relieved breath upon seeing the ceiling come down behind her.

The feeling had been mutual, or so it seemed.

Grunting, Quintessa pulled out her energy-restoring potion and pumped it into her thigh, refreshing much of her strength. The Light had inflicted minor burns across much of her flesh, leaving her in poor fighting shape. However, there was still her assigned mission, which she needed to complete before leaving Exegol.

Linking up with her remaining Dark Troopers, Quintessa ran as fast as her legs could carry her towards the Deep Chasm Atrium, the pain from her body howling in protest at the act cycling back to be harnessed as a font of power, in spite of her weakened state. Sprinting past the forms of fallen Sith, Marauders, and slaves, the speedster saw fewer bodies as she pushed deeper inside, drawing closer to the main kyber crystal chamber in the process.

Before long, Quintessa came to a halt within the chamber, her eyes going wide as she did. There before her sat the gigantic, crimson mass of the Great Crystal of Aantonaii, enshrouded by a containment field which had shielded it from the Light, though its strength was already failing. Not long after, the Dark Troopers arrived with the repulsor sled needed to transport the massive, crystalline construction and the heavy equipment required to move it.

“Let’s…hurry…” The speedster hissed. Drawing on her reserves of strength and emotion, Quintessa gritted her teeth as she sought to will the Force into manifestation, attempting to summon an upheaval of telekinetic power. She howled as she did, her eyes glowing like burning orbs of cyan fire in the process And yet, the massive crystal refused to budge, itself seeming to resist and make a mockery of her strength. Her attempt failed, Quintessa collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. However, she knew there was one thing the inert crystal could not hope to resist—the unyielding, iron power of machines.

Accordingly, the Dark Troopers made short work of transferring the crystal and its containment field onto the sled. Nevertheless, as the sled was loaded into the nearby shuttle before the vessel took off, Quintessa silently swore to herself that one day, she would bend the Great Crystal to her will.

Otherwise, she might never be able to prove that her blood was pure—that the Blood of the Exiles raged through her veins.

Final Post.​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Good," called the Dark Lord as He continued to walk away, leaving the Jedi Master behind. "Bring your strongest, and I shall show them the power of the Dark Side."

The citadel was largely deserted, the fighting having all but subsided. The Dark Lord could feel the Wall of Light approaching, and knew that the end was near. He had originally planned to rendezvous with Darth Prazutis and leave together, but all of that changed as He heard His uncle's voice through the Force. He closed His eyes, and braced Himself against the wall in this brief moment of uncertainty. None could witness Him in this moment, for there were none left alive to see. So He allowed the tidal wave of grief to wash over Him, and thus a single tear -- the first shed in many, many years -- rolled down His face unbidden.

Carnifex stared at the tear as it stained the dust at His feet, disbelief etched into His otherwise implacable grimace. Then His brow knit, His eyes hardened, and He began to move again. "This day exacts a heavier toll than I imagined," spoke the Dark Lord to the darkness, only the ghosts that now haunted this ruin capable of witnessing His passage. "But our path is clear, solid and true." He emerged into a large underground chamber, in which rested the starfighter He'd traveled to Exegol in. The other was gone, meaning that Kaahlil had achieved His separate task. That enough was satisfactory, and the Dark Lord pulled Himself up and settled into the cockpit.

The ship rose up into the air, passing through a narrow chamber before emerging into the open air. Thrusters burned hot as He pulled on the yoke, the ground disappearing beneath Him as the sky grew thin and the darkness of Exegol was left behind. Two alliance fighters maneuvered through the upper atmosphere on an interception course, the Dark Lord making little effort to hide His craft from enemy sensors. Their targeting reticles settled on the dark mysterious ship, their fingers preparing to depress the firing triggers.

He reached out with the Force, and crushed the cabins of each starfighter with sheer might. The metal folded in on itself, the ships briefly straying from their paths before both detonated in a fiery bloom. He could have lingered, killed more Alliance pilots to satisfy the dark impulse in His heart, but His mind proved superior. He angled His starfighter away from the planet, and the darkness of space dissolved away into the bright blue tumult of hyperspace.

And He was gone.

Ala Quin | Darth Prazutis​

​

​

 

[Vilu Kopma]

THE EMPIRE | EXEGOL | FORBIDDEN DISTRICT | GATES --> EN ROUTE TO CITADEL
PHASE 4: ANNIHILATION

​

This was a surprise, a calmer and more handsome surprise than anyone could anticipate in a Sith Citadel but a surprise nonetheless.

Beneath the emotionless helmet, Vilu frowned. She did not become any less poised to shoot, despite the apparent surrender of the so-called ISB agent.

It’s not like she could run an identification check on the battlefield. Scrutiny had to be through her eyeballs only.

“Corporal Kopma,” followed by the division she was corporal of. At one point, she’d been sort of proud of that statement. Puffed out her chest even. Now those words had less and less meaning.

Her steps edged her forward, peeking at what he’d been doing. Strange to be working around a panel when there was a honk in’ gemstone nearby. But this was good. Separate missions meant someone higher up hadn’t messed up on paperwork and created a territorial dispute on territory that wasn’t theirs.

“How close're you to getting back to your office.” She asked, nosing the dangerous end of her gun at him in the universal sign for hurry up.

---

ALLIES | THE EMPIRE | ASHLAN CRUSADE | Castian Vero
FOES | THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE | THE NEW JEDI ORDER | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Maximilian Baize

​

 

[Maximilian Baize]

She didn’t put down her gun.

In fact, she kept pointing at him, even after he claimed to be ISB. No request to see identification, nothing. Brows furrowed at her in annoyance. “Soon enough, Corporal, and one good word from me could mean quite a lot even in this crumbling Empire of ours.” Then a pointed look at her carbine.

“Whereas a bad word could mean the nether.”

He glanced back towards the console and began to tap at it once more.

“Intelligence gleaned the Maw was working on a handful of weapons whose prototypes could prove useful in the time to come.” Max informed her over his shoulder. Anything to keep her busy with listening and away from trying to shoot him.

“It won’t stop the collapse of our glorious Empire, but we do the job we have in front of us, no?”

Anything to get through the day.

“You have your objective, Corporal, and I have mine. So unless you want to plan a dinner date, I suggest you better be on your way.”

Vilu Kopma

 

[Vilu Kopma]

THE EMPIRE | EXEGOL | FORBIDDEN DISTRICT | GATES --> EN ROUTE TO CITADEL
PHASE 4: ANNIHILATION

​

“Mighty bold to assume you’re getting any words with your hands all empty like that.” Toothsome and bright, Vilu’s genuine grin stretched ear to ear beneath her helmet.

He had the audacity to assert his ISB-snobbery further, and turn! His! Back! To! Her! Vilu’s cheeky grin slipped away into a scowl, but her brows arched with interest at the idea of prototypes.

“Huh.” She’d faced a few nasty things The Maw worked with — prototypes were likely doubly unseemly.

“Full offense meant here, Agent Logistics: ISB ain’t my type. And they don’t give orders to troopers.” But he would hear the sound of her adjusting the hold of her gun regardless, slinging back over her shoulder and opting for something a little less large and more slinking-through-sketchy-hallways friendly.

“I feel like if you’re tryna tell me what to do, I just wanna do the opposite.” A hand fell to her hip and she shrugged.

“Aaaand your objective sounds a helluva lot more interestin’ than mine.” The rifle was fully secured behind her now. Tallies gave no report back. And Castian had yet to check in, or send an update that he’d reached the objective.

---

ALLIES | THE EMPIRE | ASHLAN CRUSADE | Castian Vero
FOES | THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE | THE NEW JEDI ORDER | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Maximilian Baize

​

 

[Maximilian Baize]

“Darling, if you think an ISB agent needs their hands to do damage, you really gotta get out more.” Over his shoulder and still not deigning himself to look back. This was most likely suicidal, but Max wasn’t overly worried.

The fact that he wasn’t? Ought to make Vilu at least a little bit concerned.

Or maybe the ISB was just a bunch of haughty bastards who thought they were owed the Galaxy and more. Imperial bureaucracy could be a real shutta like that. “It wasn’t an order, by the way, that’s why I added the word ‘suggest’ to it.” Like Vilu was an idiot and truth to be told Max didn’t have a high opinion of bucket heads anyway.

They were often called the ‘elite’ of the army, but really you could get a bucket helmet for the price of half a shag on Kashyyyk.

Baize sighed.

“Well, what is your objective then? Just to make sure we aren’t working towards the same goal while thinking about slapping each other.”

Oh, Baize wasn’t thinking about slapping her.

Vilu Kopma

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Allies: Jand Talo | Dominik Borra
Enemies: Danton | Darth Malum of House Marr

​

A hand wrapped around her arm, tugging Cora upwards and out of the muck. Hazy blue eyes squinted at the Nagai as she slowly regained her bearings, the world still wavering in her addled vision.

Or maybe that was just Exegol.

Cora slumped against Jand, grateful for the momentary reprieve he'd given her. Using the least soiled portion of her cuff that could be found, she wiped the mud from her face with a muted grimace.

"Disgusting," She muttered, the ire in her voice a solid indication that her consciousness hadn't floated too far away. For a moment, the dirt and blood soaked into her robes were of high concern to the noblewoman who'd always made it a priority to look her best. "This will… certainly…stain."

Short, sharp breaths were all she could manage. While not yet fatal, her breathing capacity had been reduced by what she feared was a punctured lung.

Starfall's depraved presence could no longer be felt, a fact that was confirmed by Jand. He'd been closer to the strange portal than she, and had fought Tegan on more equal footing. A noticeable heartbeat lead to a sinking feeling at that thought—she had to be rescued.

"There are…many things… here that… cannot be… explained." Came her dismal, labored murmur. The portal, how the Dark had perverted this plant to its core, how the Jedi were able to produce pure manifestations of Light. Maybe that could all be chalked up to youth and inexperience on her part.

Stability started to return to her mind, and Cora looked to Jand as he honed in on the not-too-distant battle between Dominik and Malum. Dried blood beneath his nose and on his chin stood out starkly against unnaturally pale skin, and the gash at his shoulder still seeped slowly.

"I'm glad to see you al-"

The hairs at the back of her neck stood, prickling unpleasantly. Cora moved without thinking, lurching forward with her free hand to bat at the projectile as it sped towards Jand's back.

The knuckles of her fingers hit the hilt of the knife, disrupting its trajectory and sending it spinning upwards. It too, landed in the muck.

A yelp of pain tore from Cora's throat as soon as contact had been made. She was left cradling her hand, sharp pain blooming along her unmoving digits.

Normally she would've found some sort of mirthful appreciation in the Sith stranger's decorum, condescending though he may be. Instead she glared.

"You cretin! Look what you've done; you've broken my fingers!"

Her red face, smeared with mud, crinkled up at the helmeted man with a certain type of aristocratic disgust. She’d found the breath to berate him, after all. Still, she winced as the red lightsaber screeched to life.

"Do you not know how rude it is to ask for someone's name…”

The haughty blonde paused to muffle a strained coughing fit into her sleeve.

“…without giving your own first?"

Honestly, these Sith? No manners, the lot of them.

 

[Vilu Kopma]

THE EMPIRE | EXEGOL | FORBIDDEN DISTRICT | GATES --> EN ROUTE TO CITADEL
PHASE 4: ANNIHILATION

​

One hand on her hip, the other wrapped around a blaster, Vilu rolled her eyes. It was nice, in a way, to be able to be this kind of disgruntled on a battlefield. Else it was all just pew, pew, stab, stab and survival mode.

“Can’t tell if you’re flirting or trying to pick more of a fight.” Vilu murmured, and shrugged. “Kinda like it.”

Her gun wrist rolled lazily and she dared another peek at the panel that had so-called-Agent Baize’s interest.

“Eh, recover some ancient crystal of souls chit.”

And still no communication from Castian. They’d talked about their routes, and he was confident he’d be here first. So shouldn’t she have heard from him?

Without warning, the ceiling above them rumbled. A deep, rolling groan creaked through the atrium’s perimeter and Vilu’s lackadaisical balance shifted to brace herself. A hand went up to her helmet, adjusting the schematics of her display to assess the structural integrity of her surroundings. A tightness wound through her stomach. Where was Castian?

---

ALLIES | THE EMPIRE | ASHLAN CRUSADE | Castian Vero
FOES | THE GALACTIC ALLIANCE | THE NEW JEDI ORDER | THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Maximilian Baize

​

 

[Tallara]

Jaqu'n Boiv | Alicio Organa Damian Du Couteau
​

The guard froze, as though subconsciously recognizing the authority manifested by the Dark Operator. Tallara clicked her tongue, and not-so-subtly murmured, "Yeah, he a freak."

There was a brief, yet almost unbearable silence, before the guards stepped back. "Well, go on. They told us these prisoners are, what, high priority- I don't give a shit."

"Aye. We all wish we were out there killin' instead of here, ha!" She bounced on the balls on her feet. "Okay, come on then."

The doors slid open, and Tallara waltzed inside. Once they were a little further, she switched to internal comms too.

"They're going to be a few floors up. I'll administer first aid if necessary, you'll guard. Our extraction point -- I don't think we go back down. We blast a hole in the wall near the top of the tower and call in the shuttle right there. It'll be dangerous, but better than landing at the base of the spire, I think."

They made it to the end of the hall, past a number of cells whose inhabitants were either dead or sleeping. One was strung up, bloodied, by spiked chains on the wall. The whole place smelled of rot, death, and shit.

The stairs were narrow, a small spiral staircase. Blood was here, too; prisoners had been dragged up the steps on their way to the upper floors of cells. They passed one, two, three floors- "Should be here," she said, motioning silently.

Up ahead, two guards -- more Bloodsworn -- stood outside one of the cells, laughing. As the pair passed, they saw why; inside, another pair of guards were beating an old Rodian. Tallara stiffened, but didn't do anything. All they got were a few glances from the guards, but no resistance.

They took a left at the end of the hall, and were immediately faced by two opened cell doors, and two capeless, injured young men. Tallara stepped quickly around the corner and out of sight of the other guards, before raising her hands. "Senators- we're here to get you out. Stay quiet."

She took her Maw war mask off, and found herself raising an eyebrow. "Did you two...?" She gestured at the open doors.

 

[Jaqu'n Boiv]

​

MAW UNTO UMBRAL DAWN

Operative "Sable"
Special Intelligence Agency
Location: Exogel
Assignment: Hostage Rescue
Tags: Tallara | Alicio Organa | Damian Du Couteau

True to his nature, the Dark Operator continued on through the blast doors without another word uttered. He'd admit later that it was a surprise that worked, but a welcome one at that. Knowing full well there would be more guards further within, he didn't ease up at all as he kept that bearing that, quite somehow, got them further than he expected. Past the cells with both cadavers of senseless beatings and survivors of the horrid torture that took place in these damned halls, his visor trained forwards to the spiral staircase. ​

< < { Check. } > >

There had been no disagreement to that plan. Fighting through was a lot more difficult if they were being funneled in. One route meant they would be stuck for longer than necessary fighting their way out what could be a company's worth of men until they got really lucky or really dead. That was what he would have to reason with the awaiting shuttle craft with armed escort with the adjustments to their part to play. Dangerous and quick was the name of the game, and Jaqu'n knew this one well. Normally speed and violence of action would be the call, but when it came to highly guarded locations that only came after reaching the HVI in question. Right now it would only have to wait through the guise of deception and luck. So far it's worked out well for the pair.

Meanwhile throughout the alternate communications traffic, he hardly held any regard for the brutalists lost in their old revelry of past-time beatings. The poor Rodian probably wouldn't last another hour if barely any longer if this kept up. He could be set free amidst the confusion of any ensuing firefight to break out, or he would have no strength left to see him escape this certain death. Because if they weren't going out on him now, well. He'd likely be a pile of indistinguishable meat if he had seen that right in one of the cells.

This held no moral conscious on the Dark Operator. Growing up in the trashy undercities of Coruscant did well to make you feel senseless to the ugly nature the galaxy hid in every dark crevice. The horrors that don't get to see everyday at a constant rate. Perhaps that was one of the few things Jaqu'n hadn't noticed changed in this new state of the galaxy. The conflict between protector and tormentor was truly an eternal one.

< < { Blackhorse One's on standby at their hold position. Once we've secured our Aich-Vee-Ayes, and get to work on our exit point we'll have them close in fast. } > >

Sable followed Tallara into the left hand turn into the next corridor, and took notice of the two cells. No doubt his bucket registered them faster than his eyes could visually identify. Perhaps he'd give the two men some props for their dastardly escape thus far, but seeing the guard detail and their positioning all the way to this point they probably might have a chance. Bloodsworn, sure, from what he saw they were pretty careless in guard duty. However, that doesn't mean they weren't ruthless. For these two men's sake, they ought to be lucky the rescue team came in as they have.

{ They have. }

The Dark Operator quipped in that deep spectral-like timbre, his vocalizer lowering the volume of his monotone statement to be between the four of them. Unlike his compatriot, who undone her mask and didn't seem too outwardly Maw, he was the opposite. No hand rose to pull of his bucket, whether for the reason of secrecy, impending firefight, or the fact he wasn't too sociable. Of course, he still donned colors similar to the Maw, but otherwise he was different. Nothing of which seen before, but considering they weren't dusted right then and there or weren't running from an alarm was a good sign. Perhaps he wasn't Maw, and for Sable the two Senators double-guessing themselves would do wonders in staying out of publicity... Mostly.

Amid what conversation would come at this point, he shifted himself to turn his visual attention back towards the corner they came around, rifle tucked into his shoulder and held at the low-ready. If any guard came through, they'd only the quick second to realize what was going on before they were dying on the floor plating. Although while focused on the security of this moment, he still had enough room to lend an ear to the discussion and perhaps even provide some input into the discussion.​

 

[Alicio Organa]

ORBITAL PRISON STATION, EXEGOL
OBJECTIVE: ESCAPE
- Damian Du Couteau - Tallara - Jaqu'n Boiv -
​

Before they had much chance to gather their wits, Alicio suddenly turned, hands up defensively as if he intended to box the air. Instead, he looked on confused as two soldiers rounded the corner, one of them pulling off their helmet. The Count's bloodshot eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who could blame him?

Finally, Alicio lowered his hands (he had pretty good form, for a bloodied career politician), and let a bit of his weakness show, leaning an elbow against the wall.

"Did you two...?"

{ They have. }

Alicio let his shoulders bob, his lips puckered as if to let loose a cheeky 'maybe'. Instead, he grew deathly serious, passing a hand through his matted hair, and trying to regain his composure. "We can't stay here long," the Count augured, speaking the words as if they were a bygone fact. "There's a patrol coming. Four."

They had yet to enter Sable's line of sight. How a senator was able to speak with such certainty was anyone's guess.

 

[Amani Serys]

Surea | Strike Team Windu​

Amani's grip around the Sith's throat tightened. She hissed angrily between her teeth, as the feral, instinctual drive to survive kicked in. The drive to eliminate the threat. To finish it. Surea had driven her to wit's end time and time again. Every leniency, every second chance, it all just led to more deaths. More despicable, irredeemable behavior. She couldn't be saved. She had to be killed. The greater good demanded it. Jedi had done it time and time again throughout history. Why was it always so hard for her?

"It's.. Everything!"

The Sith struck her with the only arm she could still use. It certainly wasn't decisive, but it was enough to push Amani off of her, and rattle some sense into the Jedi's mind. She looked down at the rotted earth between her fingers, and gasped. Now wasn't the time to lose control. It never was. Amani welled up with sadness, frustration, even disappointment. She never wanted to be that person again. But here she was, on the verge of letting her anger dictate her actions. There was only one presence that gave her comfort here.

The Light.

She relished in it. Let the radiance wash over her. Cleanse her. Amani stumbled to her feet, and looked down at Surea, "No. It's nothing now," Exegol was being purged. Along with every dark, accursed entity on it. "I tried…" She clenched her fist, "I tried to help you! I wanted to help you! Over and over again! But you could never see past your own selfish gains! You never wanted to!" The mirialan choked up, wiping a hand over the mess of blood, sweat, tears, and dirt that now stained her face, "And now it's nothing." Lives lost for her own twisted desires.

Amani raised her fist to Surea, now channeling a Light of her own. Faint rays broke through the creases between her fingers, but she didn't yet release its full power on the Sith. She couldn't just bring herself to do it like this. Even if Surea deserved it. And so, she gave her a final chance to speak. Perhaps some part of her still hoped Surea would redeem her spirit, before the darkness condemned her forever.

 

[Maijan Paisea]

___________________________________________________________________
THE LIBERATED TRICKSTER
EXEGOL || MONASTERY OF SLAUGHTER
_____________________________________________________________
​

Maijan frowned and scrunched her face together to concentrate. Mercy's words kept getting in. The story about the SIA was an irritating one, enough that she still felt something antagonistic about it. And that split her focus.

"We'll talk about it all on the beach." She murmured, her voice tight. One finger pointed at Mercy, pulling itself from the weaving motions to indicate that the topic was too sensitive for her to continue chatting about while trying to cloak one massive station, and replicate the illusion of another simultaneously.

It was just the description of the blue bathing light that resettled her to something calmer. Her smile returned, and she went back to the weaving motions uninterrupted.

They'd probably never move it this far again once it was out of Exegol, but for now, it's sheer size was strenuous to take in just by arching the neck to get it all in one look, and to move it? It was a good thing they started the heist early on in the battle.

"Ooh, that doesn't feel good." It didn't feel bad just because the sensation was unmistakably form the dark side, but because it was mixing with the light. Angrily. Brutally. Dangerously. Her brows poked together. She could feel the scathing light, and all its ripples coursing through the current, but now there was an opposite pull. Something that felt cold and apocalyptic.

"Scoot, scoot, scoot." She encouraged, as if her little whispers could will the undocking procedures and subsequently the engines to be just a little bit faster.

____________________________________________________________
ALLIES | SITH PROBABLY | Mercy
FOES | GA | NJO | BROTHEROOD OF THE MAW
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Riordan Catlow]

Damsy Callat

A head tilt there as he curiously studied the sensory mapping being done in the background of their mission.

"I do not tap out, Damsy, we have an accord." He'd respond softly. "You assisted me, I assist you. What sort of authority figure would I be if I did not hold myself to the agreements I make?" The sort that was often the case when a Sith grasped some measure of power. But Rio took debts very seriously.

Yes, this was just Rio fulfilling a debt to Damsy, but that did not mean it couldn't be an efficient mission at the same time. The way the atmosphere was responding to the Darkside build up was fascinating. Absolutely interesting. The fact that Rio could feel a counter-force slowly growing? This was something that was left unsaid.

He did not wish to know what would happen if that counter-force washed over them.

Nothing good, he reckoned.

When Damsy made them pause Rio froze up in kind. The Sith Lord's senses were far better attuned to this sort of work. He trusted her... up to a point. The cultists were slow and it frustrated Rio. So, he did the only thing that made sense to him. He gently touched Damsy's shoulder... and wrapped both of them into a cloak fabricated from the Force and his continued presence.

Not a Master by any stretch of the imagination Rio couldn't make a perfect illusion.

But to fool two low-level cultists being excited for bloodshed outside? Yes, Rio could swing it.

Then he crept forward, his hand curling into Damsy's, pulling her along with him carefully. Since he was the one who was crafting the illusion it was best if he took point. Which Rio did. Past the cultists and then for good measure several corridors over, until Rio couldn't quite feel anyone around them. No one sentient anyway.

Only then did Rio drop the cloak.

At the same time the floor shook ominously. It almost caused him to fall on his face.

"Well, that does not sound ideal." Rio would mention as he peered down to the ground. "Do you sense that? I believe we might be just above the menagerie. If we can find a path between it and the hangars, we could drive your mission objective towards it, into a waiting ship."

 

[Darth Temerant]

TAGS: Escape Jara Sofiel
​

He wasn't sure what he was doing: that much was apparent. He'd... simply allowed his emotions to take hold. His confusion. His anger. His refusal to let this happen, held only by the iron in his will. He'd cursed that of the Force. Demanded it helped him fix this. And to his surprise... It had answered.

It was not unlike following a scent with his nose, like running after the tracks of prey, something nudging his instincts forth. Except this time, he wasn't sure what he was hunting for. He was supposed to hurt others, not... heal.

And yet as this impossible power surged forth, he could not help but wander at it was accomplishing. At what he was accomplishing. His life force flowed like a stream to repair what he had broken, the Force opening his mind's eye in a way it never had before as he delved into her anatomy, as it revealed secrets it had kept from him... Or had he been keeping himself from them? The Force had always been a subject under his yoke. Another tool in his arsenal, powerful as it was. But this... It was different. It wanted to work with him, not for him. To aid him... but it had demands of its own. A partnership could never be so without trust. And the price was steep.

The more tissue he healed, the more he reconstructed, the more it asked that he gave up everything he'd worked so hard to build. That he willingly tore down what was left of his walls, and gave her his all. That... That he could do. He was willing. But this required complete trust. Trust in something he'd been taught to hold contempt for. Trust in something he feared. It asked that he let go of his wrath and his own pain, and that was something he did not know how to do, the path becoming obscured.

His progress began to falter. There was too much conflict inside him, too many wounds that still needed healing. Wounds that perhaps, would never truly mend.

It was then he felt Cybelle. A jolt ran through his body, even as he knew she could feel him. The very notion terrified him... But bravery, someone had once told him, was not the absence of fear. It was the conquering of it. He could not remember who had told him, but her voice, so foreign yet so familiar, resonated inside his mind, soft and encouraging. Proud.

He tried to remain focused. He could not give up now, but he knew he could not do this alone, the pair arguing without words. Eventually, she begged him to let go. He soundly refused. Giving up was not the way of the warrior. It was not his... And it certainly wasn't hers. He was doing his part; but he couldn't go all the way without her.

Finally, she complied. He was only vaguely aware of the massive force unleashed on the planet, the Sith rather preoccupied as he let loose his very essence that she might finish the job. Memories that were not his own flashed forth as he slowly unraveled, emotions that did not belong in a man such as himself accompanying them. It was too much all at once, the man barely registering them as he was drained further and further, allowing everything he had to flow, hers for the taking.

"That's enough..."

Yes. Yes it was.

His body slumped as he welcomed the darkness.

ONE FORCE VISION LATER
​

The freighter's alarms blared as he came to with a gasp, red lights clouding his vision in flashes.

"WARNING. SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED. ATTENTION ALL CREW MEMBERS. HEAD TOWARDS THE ESCAPE PODS IMMEDIATELY. WARNING..."

He groaned, not unlike a man dismissive of his alarm in the morning, hugging himself tighter into the ball he'd curled into. For all the chaos around him, it paled in comparison to that within.

He remembered. After all the torture and conditioning. All the training and indoctrination. All the things that they'd tried to take away from him, hidden deep within his psyche in an act of self-preservation had come flushing back. The Force had showed him... His home. His pack. Who he really was. Who he could have been.

Everything he had lost.

And it was destroying him.

Tears began to well up in his eyes as he laid on the ground as guilt began its gruesome assault. The memories it had shown him... they were not entirely bad. And yet, they brought with them the knowledge of what had come after. It had been his fault. If only he'd been stronger, faster. A better warrior. A better hunter. A better brother... A better son.

"Master?! Thank goodness you're there! What the kark happened?!" the droid asked frantically. "Commander Atali and his men were diverted by Maw and Alliance forces, but we are..."

"...Just leave me, X3," the man deigned to answer. "It's not worth it."

You're not worth it.

"...With all due respect, Temerant, WHAT THE FETH ARE YOU ON ABOUT?" the droid screamed at him. The Sith had never heard him call him by name. "This is no bloody time to be feeling sorry for yourself! You need to get the feth out of there, and you need to get out now! It's not just the freighter... There's some kind of energy surge headed your way! Miss Sofiel is with me! She says it's bad. Very bad."

His eyes opened wide at this. "What?!" he snarled. "Sofiel is with you? Why the kark is she here?!" he demanded to know.

Even if he did not know what it was, he could feel what was coming. It was close, this overwhelming wave of light. This paradox, this force of hope... threatening to destroy. To neuter him like a cur who's nature was too inconvenient, or put him down like a rabid dog.

"What, you thought we'd just leave you?" the droid queried. "Now whatever the kark is going on with you, you better nut up, because we're going to be coming in hot!"

They were still coming. With all the risk that entailed, they were still coming for him. But... they had to know. She had to know. Why would she do that? She could not possibly care. She wasn't even human...

Then why did he care so much if she did?

A wind blew across the embers of his being, sparking them back to life. It was tenuous and faint... But that's all he'd ever needed.

He needed to get out.

Still, the freighter counted down, and it was too close now. He'd been out for too long. He struggled to get up. Nothing. He didn't have the energy to even do that.

"X3, listen to me!" he demanded, his voice far weaker than usual. "Do not, I repeat, do not get close until the wave has passed! Keep Sofiel away from it!" he demanded.

"What? But...!" the droid protested.

"LISTEN TO ME!" the man demanded, finding strength where there was none left. "If that thing so much as comes close to her, it'll destroy her! Voice command override, Senth Forn slash Lenth! Protecting her is now your primary directive! Do you copy?!"

"...And what about you?" the droid asked more meekly. "I can't just leave you to die," the droid argued. The fact that he argued with him after an override would have been... troubling as much as intriguing, in any other context. But right now he needed to act, not dwell.

"I'll... I'll karking figure it out. Now hold by outside atmosphere until I give you the clear. I need to think," he demanded. "Temerant out."

He huffed, a herculean effort required to merely sit himself upright. His head was searing with the revelations the Force had brought forth, but he had to quieten them somehow. He needed to find a way to refuel, to get his strength and power back. If only...

The Lignan crystal.

He gruffed, grabbing the lightsaber. It had enough power in him to sustain him with battlemind. But the amount he would need... It would drag him down deeper into the darkness than he'd ever allowed himself to be. If he was hit by the light in that state, there'd be no surviving it. But what choice did he have?

The darkness in the crystal urged him. Demanded he took from it, just as he'd given to Cybelle. That he became one with the Bogan, a vessel for it. The power it promised... It was unlimited. It whispered in the corners of his fractured soul. He'd survive this. He'd be invincible. He'd...

"Don't. Stay alive."

If he'd had any energy left, he'd have used it to jump out of his own skin.

That was Cybelle's voice.

Realization struck him sharply, like a truncheon to the head. He could still feel her, despite the distance. Clear and bright, her light like that of a guiding star. And she could sense him. The thought made his heart sink as understanding weaved its way in. She saw him now... And he would never be able to hide from her.

The man growled. "...Stay out of my head, girl," he voiced gruffly, almost reminiscent of his earlier demands. "This is your fault," he accused, though the remark had little bite behind it. He knew all too well he'd brough this upon himself.

He dropped the saber, almost as if disgusted. The Bogan had tried to tempt and deceive him. Take advantage of him. Like spice calling to an addict. If he'd done it... He would have been doomed.

He felt her still, urging him to get up, to get out.

"Stop coddling me," he grunted in annoyance. "I'm trying. You're not helping," he let her know. He wasn't sure if she could hear him, but he was certain she could at the very least feel his displeasure.

Disturbing as this all was, it wouldn't really matter a whole lot if he didn't make it out of there. She was right, he needed to figure this out... And he needed to do it on his own terms, like he always had. What the feth was all that training for if he couldn't push himself through a couple annihilation events, anyway? He closed his eyes as he brought himself to something vaguely resembling a meditative pose, then took in a deep exhale... and released slowly.

Images flashed through his mind, voices lingering. Laughter and song played in the background. Fear and disappointment carried their tune. And behind it all was a growling maw, a hateful shadow that threatened to swallow it all, leaving him in the dark again. Temerant had faced almost every kind of torture. Been introduced to nearly every kind of pain, the tapestry of scars that covered his body proof. But this... This pain, so old yet so new, was almost unbearable.

Almost.

Spoiler

He concentrated, listening to them all - even those that would see him undone.

The voice of his brother called to him.

"Get up, runt! Father is watching!"

He'd always been so in awe of him. And in many ways, resentful. He was so much better than him at everything. And still, when he fell he was always there, pulling him back up. He reached out to grab his hand...

A claw ripped through him, dragging him back down.

Spoiler

"I do not understand what Father sees in you!" a monstrous voice roared. "Weak little human, you are no hunter! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT PREY! And I shall prove it to him once and for all!"

Temerant tore himself free from the beast, the guttural growls that passed for its speech sadly proving more familiar than his own blood's. And yet... a glimpse of understanding. Was this what he felt? A twisted, sick version of the admiration he'd felt for Dahrek? No, he was a raving animal. One that needed putting down. But first, he needed to survive.

"Run, little human, run... Just like you always do..."

Another voice beckoned him. He darted towards it.

"Do you really think we can reach the stars, big brother? Will you take me with you?"

She had always believed in him, his baby sister. Always asking him to take her to the workshop to show her his projects. Always finding new dreams to make her own... She lifted her arms, wanting to be held. He leaned for her.

The voice hit him like a speeding truck. This one too, was nothing but grunts and snarls, yet deeper. Older. More sinister... trapping him under the weight of its claw.

"You have only one purpose. And that is to serve my will. And my will is you hunt. A predator is ruthless. A predator is relentless. A predator has no use for distractions or attachments. A predator knows only blood, and the thrill of the hunt," its voice slithered into his ear like a snake. "A pack is nothing but a survival mechanism. A ladder to climb. But the most fearsome beasts in the universe know the truth... That only one can stand at the top of the food chain," it stressed. "Anything else is weakness."

Temerant shrunk as the voice of his Master spoke to him, nestling him deeper into the dark, submerging him in it, that he might drown in it. He knew he had a point. He'd always known. These small things he felts, this desire to not be alone. It weakened him. It made him vulnerable. Perhaps he should just...

A boot sank into the dark. He looked up at the mighty figure. So large and imposing, it was more than just his size... It was his presence, bigger than life itself.

Father.

“A hunter is patient! A hunter is disciplined! A hunter is wise! You are none of these things!” his father roared at him. "A hunter thinks first of the pack!"

He had thought him ashamed of him... But his mother had disabused him of that notion. He had been disappointed, yes... but also scared. He hadn't understood then. Nothing could possibly scare him.

But he understood now.

"The pack... is everything!" he grunted, beginning to push. A mantra long lost. Words repeated out of habit... Suddenly gaining newfound meaning.

His father nodded faintly, putting a hand out... but did not lower himself. If Temerant wanted to take hold, he'd have to fight. That was their way. That was his way.

He growled, pushing himself up, though the claw kept weighing down on him.

"Stay down!"

He almost crumbled, but a small hand took a hold of his.

"The pack is everything," she smiled at him. It was a smile so bright that it could've burned through all his ice. What he wouldn't give to see it again. "You can do this. " He pushed harder, slowly gaining height.

"DOWN!" the claw pushed violently, trying to submerge him anew, but a stronger hand came under his pit, keeping him stable.

"Come on, runt! You're going to make me look bad," his brother teased him with a smug grin. How many times he'd wanted to wipe it off... And how glad he was to see it now. "The pack is everything."

Razor sharp nails dug into his back beginning to tear him apart. Desperately trying to bring him back down. But he would not let them, his knees no longer buckling.

"I AM YOUR MASTER! AND YOU ARE MY HOUND!" the voice roared. "YOU WILL OBEY!"

A hand came firmly to his shoulder. He looked up, his father giving him a stern nod. He had never been able to hold his gaze for more than a moment, but now he stood firm, mirroring the gesture.

"You are my son," he stated gravely. "The only Master you need, the only Master you can truly have... is yourself," he let him know. "The pack is everything."

The claw pulled and shredded, but he was immovable now. The pain was there, but he was almost numb to it, a hand coming to his cheek and pulling him towards her visage.

"There he is. My temerary little hunter," she cooed.

"Mother..." he strained. "I'm... So sorry. I failed you. I failed all of you..."

She gave him an unimpressed look, coupled with a slightly smug yet warm smile. A perfect blend of the former two.

"Oh boo fething hoo," she chided. "You were always too serious, cub. I see all these years have done little to assuage all the drama and brooding. Just like your father," the vision teased, Temerant blinking for the fact, yet feeling strangely comforted by it.

"Hrmph," his father huffed, as if that might protect his dignity. A pearl of laughter and a snicker rose from his siblings.

A part of him knew, or at least suspected that these were just constructs in his mind... But in that moment, they might've just as well been flesh and blood. "There was nothing you could have done then, cub," she assured him. "The question is... what will you do now?"

A low rumble coarsed through the Sith. "...I am done hiding," he growled. "It is time I hunt," he declared.

Her nose wrinkled as her smile grew. "Then you know what to do."

He looked to his father, as if asking for permission. It was his right... but the giant of a man merely nodded once more, giving him his blessing.

Slowly, he turned, dislodging the claw from his back. Then inhaled deeply...

He stood a full height now, fists clenched. His eyes opened, a red rim briefly taking a hold around the ghostly blue of his eyes. His lungs had filled up, but what they expelled was not just air: it was a mighty roar that had no place in a man's throat. A Force scream that made the entire freighter rumble as the waves transcended physical space. It was not an involuntary cry but a declaration, a message to those who had taken everything from him.

The hunt was on. And he was coming for them.

He heaved from the mighty exertion, but it had not tapped him out: on the contrary, he'd found renewed strength in the focusing of his anger and his hatred, controlling it, feeding off it, wasting not as he used battlemind to give his body the energy it lacked. He was going to make them pay. He was going to hunt them down and make them regret ever teaching him their ways, ever trying to take away his own. He was...

His nose wrinkled, the fiery rim fading.

"What? No... I'm fine! No! I'm in control! Will you get off my back?!" he pleaded as the nagging at the back of his mind ruined the moment. They were weak, little more than echoes... but more than enough to snap him out of his little inner monologue. "No! Yes well, I'd rather become space dust on my feet than on my knees! At least this way I have a chance to make it!" he argued with thin air. They... weren't exactly words he heard. Not all of the time, anyway. It was a subtle way of communicating, even if he answered out loud. And one that already vexed him to no end. "No, I know what I'm doing! I... Fine! I don't have time for this!" he growled, spotting her cloak in the ground and picking it up nevertheless.

The bickering over, he began to make his way out of the container space. He needed to get up top, the alarms still blaring. He wasn't sure how much longer he had before the freighter self destructed... but one crisis at a time.

He used all the energy he dared to to rush and find an escape pod... But anyone who'd remained in the freighter seemed to have bolted, alongside any means of proper escape. Just his luck. He needed to make it up top... And hope for the best.

He looked at the ceiling, eyes narrowing... He had seen things differently back with Cybelle. As if his eyes had been open for the first time. He knew about this ability... but he thought it was a Force talent, not something one could pick up. What the kark had happened back there? And why couldn't he get rid of her now? His presence was still concealed... But no matter how much he tried to block her out, it just wasn't working.

But... What was working was this new ability. He could see them. The weaknesses in the structure. He didn't even need to apply that much power... Boom. The ceiling burst open, clearing a way. Again. Boom. He could now see the skies above.

"..." he tried not to comment on how bloody cool that was. She might be listening.

With that, he squatted, before using a good portion of his newfound resolve to burst towards the top, landing on the freighter's deck.

"Hrn..." It took him a little effort to stand again. Clearly, he was still weak and out of it, working mostly on adrenaline, anger and sheer stubborness born from his little meditative experience. He squinted, looking forward to the nearly blinding source... "Oh. Oh, shit."

It was so close. A wall of pure, cerullean light, coming towards him like a tidal wave. He could see ships falling from the sky in its wake. It was... beautiful, really. In a very karked up kind of way, considering he was sure this had to be some kind of war crime. He couldn't outrun that thing, even if he jumped, his mind racing to find a way out of this one.

"...What? Are you crazy?" he growled once again at those nagging echoes. "That thing will kill me. Or worse, cut me from the Force," he noted. The thought was... incredibly haunting. He'd taught himself not to rely on the Force. He knew he could live without it. But in the same way a bird could live without its wings. It was not an existence he wanted. "...And why would I ever trust you?" he asked poignantly then. "...No. Yes, I know, I'm not arguing that. You have a point," he admitted, much to his chagrin.

With that, the man pulled her cloak over his shoulders. This was incredibly stupid. But... Perhaps it wasn't the worst way to go. It was very pretty...

He braced. The light washed over him, enveloping him in full. But against all odds, he didn't feel... anything wrong. A hand reached out, the Sith turning it around in disbelief, as if it were a fire that refused to burn him, the phenomenon running right through him. It was almost as if had chosen to leave him unharmed, or perhaps not identified him as a threat, before continuing onwards as the freighter passed through.

"...Kark me," the man muttered as he watched the flood continue on its way to cleanse the planet. "I can't believe that worked..."

"ATTENTION. SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATING IN TEN..."

"Hrn! Right. Fuck!" The man snapped back to it, beginning to run towards the highest point on deck.

"X3!" he called out as he raced. "Now or never!"

No response. And he was too weak to survive a jump at this height... But he had to try.

The countdown sequence continued as he used everything he had left in one final, powerful force jump off the freighter. The vessel exploded into a massive ball of fire, shrapnel melting even as it shot out. The shockwave caught him in full mid-air, propelling him with great force even as it stripped him of consciousness. That was the second time this happened today. He really needed to stop making a habit of it.

But at least this nap wasn't accompanied by visions or haunting dreams, and if he was to splat, it'd be peacefully. One had to appreciate the little things... even if they weren't rightly conscious to do so.

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Tag: Escape Jara

The exchange between the Sith had been interesting, something to file away and parse later, but the key point for Brandyn was the self-destruct initiating. This raised an eyebrow.

Through the visions of Wallgof's attack, Brandyn felt a touch of something that did not seem to have the anarchistic edge of Wallgof. It was no less dark, no less evil...perhaps it was even more so as it tickled at a fancy beyond fear. Visions flickered of planets burning, while he seemed to watch. He turned to see a woman, bathed in shadows but whose smile somehow dripped beyond the shadow's vale. Scenes of the dead at his feet, the woman at his side. The feeling of triumph. Victory. A mission accomplished. Enemies vanquished. Secrets unlocked. Always the shadow cloaked woman at his side, a dangerous, competitive longing bridged between them.

Brandyn shook his head. And blinked a few times to snap out of the split-second's worth of visions. Wallgof was clearly getting a little more wild with his mind games.

The greatest victory Brandyn achieved the day Exegol was bathed in light was not with the blade, nor with his words but against his own doubt. Even as Wallgof attempted to pull apart his words, and undermine Brandyn's self-assurance, the new Knight found himself untouched by the self-doubt that had plagued him in years before. A victory over his own inner voice.

As his mother, precious beyond words to him now, had often said and now he echoed, "The darkness always lies."

Not even mention of his father could bring Brandyn down from his place of confidence. Or was it hubris?

Not even the lies about Cybelle being hurt could sway him.

"You are nothing...Wallgof...but a sad...broken man," Brandyn said, "you have my pity."

Wallgof offered a few words to the other Sith in the room, and ultimately attempted his escape. Brandyn was inclined to chase him down, but the mission had to come first. The insane man had gone in a direction that seemed less likely for him to encounter one of the other two Jedi on board. Planting his feet, Brandyn raised blade before his face...slightly to the right.

The Sith woman intrigued him. But he was wary. Even as she spoke to him. Images of the dark woman in the vision flashed to mind. Wallgof's tricks clearly having an echo effect. Or was it something else?

"And you should stay," Brandyn said calmly, with a hint of a smirk.

She didn't.

Turning from the scene of his victory, full of confidence, Brandyn heard Cybelle's confirmation of her having retrieved Project Jareth. His chest swelled with pride. "Bri...haul ass...we got it...and we gotta go," he said into the communicator as he made his way back to the docking ring. It wasn't a long journey, and he quickly assessed it as free of interlopers.

His heart raced with excitement. The feeling of the wall coming closer. The Maw defeat. The light ascending. Wallgof's lies had been thwarted. He had proven to himself that he had grown. A smile of confidence beamed as he turned back and eyes fell on Cybelle as she rounded the corner. He pushed back from the wall and waved her towards him...but his wave slowed. Eyes narrowed. And the smile faded into despair.

"I bet Cybelle is all alone dying right now because you couldn't defeat me boy."

Wallgof's words rattled in his mind.

His conscious mind had not caught up with instinct, as he found himself already at her side when he thought he should run to her. He looped his arm around her, holding her close and ushered her towards the shuttle. His eyes cast a quick, worried glance over her body. She seemed weak...but not...hurt...?

"What happened?" Brandyn blurted, mind racing for answers...reliving the other visions that he had assumed impossible to come true.

"Are you OK?" He said, hands on her face, eyes searching her for signs of assurance. He pulled her into the shuttle.

Confidence unearned is quickly eroded.

A darkly shadowed feminine smile loomed in the back of his memory.

 

[Damsy Callat]

Oh?

An accord? Damsy turned that word over in her mind for a few moments. She supposed she was something of a governmental representative.

Wow. What a strange development.

Once he had led her to relative safety and his illusion had slipped off of her, she knelt down to brace on the floor as it began to quake.

"Good idea, yeah," she muttered up at him without looking. Instead, her eyes were closed as she pushed clairvoyance down her arm and out of her fingertips into the floor. It reached through, into the menagerie in thin tendrils, like the network of roots underneath a forest. When one, seeking more emotion instead of water, grew into the back of a—

A spark traced a jagged line up Damsy's arm like a spark running a fuse. It went out just above her elbow, as suddenly as it had come on; only then did she have a moment to retract from the floor with a sharp hiss.

She put her opposite hand over a portion of the new wound. Around the puckered lip of the brand, patches of dull grey scales began to morph out of dry skin. "Nothin' 'bout this ideal," she corrected his sentiment through teeth grit against pain. "Someone's cast Qâzoi Kyantuska. Suppress Thought." She had heard about it, but had also had the fortune to never before have encountered it. "This ain't gon' be easy. The Spawn'll be resistant to any sortta suggestion."

She raised a brow, anticipating a response again. "An’ don't you suggest I overcast. ‘Cause I won't."

Riordan Catlow

 

[Sofiel]

"I'm sorry Young Mistress, we cannot approach."

The ship had stopped. For a moment, Sofiel assumed something within the ship had malfunctioned. Their approach turned to an outright standstill, so clearly there had to be a malfunction. And yet, as X3 spoke, it suddenly made more sense as to why they weren't moving. And filled her with anger. Her yellow eyes turned to the droid, the usually cold yellow filled with her unspoken rage. The door beside her cracked and crumbled all at once.

"Explain."

"You are in danger if we approach now. I'm not allowed to put you in danger."

Her eyes only narrowed further. More of the room began to vibrate and twist. Fold in on themselves. Emotion, particularly strong emotion, wasn't something Sofiel had ever experienced before. She didn't like it. The calm part of her mind wasn't a fan in the slightest. But right now, that wasn't the part in control.

"I am not in danger."

"Temerant said you were. He even enacted his clever SF--L program so I would keep you safe. He's too fucking clever for his own good."

What. Her eyes couldn't narrow any further, but the room at least stopped shaking. She couldn't pilot this thing, not without X3. Her flying lessons were.. Subpar, all things considered. The rational part of her mind knew that, right now, she was stuck listening to X3. Stuck waiting. Watching as the ray of light ripped through the station. Her knuckles whitened as she dug her nails into her palms.

Temerant was not allowed to die.

When the light finally passed, Sofiel was no longer in the cockpit. She ran to the back, slammed open the ramp, probably too much so with a flex of the Force.

"X3!" he called out as he raced. "Now or never!"

There he was. Her eyes narrowed as she brought a hand up to cover her face just as the freighter exploded. Bits of metal collided with her, cutting flesh. But it mattered little. Her anger gave her more focus than she expected. Especially as her eyes caught sight of his unconscious body.

"Young Mistress!" She raised her hand. Without a word the black bird on her shoulder took off, searing through the sky to envelop Temerant's body. With a tug of her hand she'd pull them both back onto the ship. And towards her. Not much thought was put into it as Temerant's unconscious body slammed into her own, but she didn't think much on it even as she landed somewhere in the cargo hold and pain shot through her form.

Too much strength.

"He's on! Go, X3!"

Darth Temerant

 

[Surea]

She couldn't feel anything anymore.

She couldn't see.

All her life, the disease she'd been given had consumed her. Pain was a constant. Feeling parts of her body rot off, loosing herself in the arena she'd been forced to fight and kill in until her death. The freedom her Master had brought her through the Sith and the Dark. All of it was gone now. Her arm and leg, cybernetics powered by the Dark, no longer worked. Lumps of metal fused to her flesh. No, they didn't even stay linked. Without the Force, they just fell from her body.

Surea couldn't even sit up, now. Her face stayed towards the sky. For the first time in her life, she felt absolutely nothing.

"And now it's nothing."

"No-"

Her voice cracked. Everything she'd been through. All this suffering. All this pain. It couldn't be for nothing, could it? She reached her hand up, even as it too started to crumble to dust under the warmth of the light. Her body could only stay together as it did through sheer hate and rage alone. Without it, without the pain, she couldn't survive.

"I'm not- I'm not nothin-"

Amani Serys

 

[Cybelle Sal-Soren]

Wearing: Armor
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Maw Freighter
Tag: Darth Temerant | Velda Nar-Donna | Darth Wallgof | Briana Sal-Soren | Brandyn Sal-Soren Escape Jara
___________

Was she lost?

It was impossible. The technology in her robes tracked her path so that she could follow it easily back to her point of origin. She swore she was following it correctly, but, her internal compass was spinning wildly out of control. The young Hapani could feel that something was different. Something had been altered that she had no name for. There was an inexplicable pull on her being that kept pinging in the back of her mind like a soft blue light. She felt a myriad of dystopian emotions that were all...Wrong. They didn't belong to her.

Still very much so in a state of shock, she fell back on her training, old habits, and focused on the ebb and flow of the Force. The rolling balance reminded her of the tide on Naboo. Despite the fact that it was best known for its crystalline lakes, they were so large, that they obeyed the basic principles of gravitational force. That sensation brought her an unrivaled sense of calm.

Through that calm, she could steady the foggy chaos of her mind and be present in the moment.

Cybelle was more than startled to realize that she knew the very moment when Temerant awoke. That she could sense his morose mood, more than she could sense the Wall of Light they were quickly approaching. He was a spot of grey that hadn’t been there before. A roar echoed through the halls that caused the walls to reverberate from the sheer force of it and she stilled for a moment. It was powerful. Not angry…But something. Something, that pulsed with prevailing authority. The alarms that were blaring overhead were making her head ache even more than it already did but topaz eyes followed the seams that glimmered between metal plating along the ceiling to work her way through.

For the first time in her life, she was thankful that bright lights didn’t bother her.

She found herself subconsciously communicating with the Sith Knight, concerned, that he would choose to waste the life that she had been so intent on saving. Every life was precious. Every life. There was a line to be inherently drawn in the sand for a Jedi where they suddenly became executioners versus guardians and peacekeepers. Her internal voice would echo softly, a tiny whisper, lingering in the back of his mind. <<Just listen to me, please. If I wanted you dead you would be.>>

There had been more than two or three opportunities, including but not limited to, when he finally collapsed. The Sith continued to grumble but eventually seemed to accept that she had a point. Were all Sith this stubborn and obstinate or was this feature unique to Temerant? A soft sigh, coupled with a shake of her head, finally led her back toward the hangar. All the doors that she had sealed had somehow been opened so there was nothing to impede her. The rest of the crew was scrambling toward escape pods. It was a complete madhouse.

In all of the noise, panic, and legs that didn’t quite want to hold her—There was a sudden burst of light.

Brandyn.

Cybelle straightened to give the appearance of strength in his eyes. She could feel his mood shift from one of riding the anticipation of the possibility of being victorious and she immediately felt guilty for taking that away from him. The young woman saw his despair and instantly tried to swallow everything else that had happened. Hide it. He pulled her close and she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but hold onto him. He was her person. Her light—Her solace. She could feel her heart clench when he gathered her up and tried in vain to conceal the none-too-small hole in the front of her armor. Her tell-tale green cloak was missing and she was definitely showing some bruises.

He asked her what happened.

“Where’s Briana? Is she here?”, her concern for the third member of their team hadn’t lessened just because the halls of the freighter had almost emptied. They very, very clearly needed to be off this ship before the final protocol was enacted. Her nanites were good…But that? She didn’t know if they could stop or stall such a fixed security measure and she wasn’t sure she had the presence of mind to direct them without making it worse. Brandyn pulled her into the shuttle and Cybelle pressed the small case Project Jareth came in into his hands. “When I found it…It wasn’t alone.”

“There was a fight.”

All she wanted to do was tell him the truth. Exactly, the truth. Cybelle wanted to stay in the protective circle of his arms and remain that way for as long as the fleeting moments between klaxons might allow. The shuttle was already prepped. Just waiting. Heart racing. They still had to make their escape, survive space combat, and get the artifact back to Coruscant. Cybelle hadn’t lied, but the inherent vagueness made her feel a deep sense of contrition while her eyes darted toward the entrance to the hangar again. Where was Briana?

“Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.”

It was a struggle for her shoulders not to crumble beneath this new weight they held. For her not to fold in on herself, just to keep standing, from the knowledge that…

She had died…Even if it was just for a moment. Cybelle could…Barely accept the knowledge of it herself. For a time, she had been allowed to know the relief of actually knowing true peace. Not dreaming of it. Not meditating to find it through the Force—But simply being in a state where that was all there was. She could remember the pain of dying. The agony of her blood boiling.

The screams of anguish that never met the air.

How could she tell Brandyn that? How could she tell anyone?

Cybelle reached out for Brandyn and leaned into him while they waited for Briana. She was a full head smaller than he was and his shoulder seemed to have been made for her to fit just so. Yes. Certainly, she had loved him in another life. She breathed. Her heart was beating. She just…Couldn’t forget what it felt like…

When it stopped.