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Quintessa’s chakrams came back fast, but it was nothing that the Aspiring Sith couldn’t react to, not only through her attunement to the weapons, but also through her Reflex, dilating her perception of time to make the task relatively trivial. However the Jedi’s powerful ability to maintain his focus even through extreme pain, enough for him to surgically redirect chakrams that were not only quiet in the Force (owing to their Taozin inlay), but also been thrown in such a way as to deceive their trajectory was a rising concern in the back of the Asa’nyx’s mind, casting a cold shadow of doubt over her judgment.
The speedster could only imagine how the duel could have played out had she failed to land strikes early on against the Jedi’s flesh—a scenario where he would have been unencumbered by the blood-poison.
Accordingly, Quintessa’s doubt lingered as a foreboding presence behind her actions, even as she sought to draw on Exegol’s inherent Darkness to reinvigorate herself, a frustrated howl leaving her lips as she did. Almost immediately after catching her chakrams, the aspiring Sith pirouetted and threw one of them back towards the Jedi in a straight, powerful arc from 30 meters away, aiming to take off his head in the attempt. However, the chakram was a touch slower than it had been before. While it was still a potential threat, the lack of emphasis behind the throw was palpable, if even obvious.
This Jedi was not nearly as weak-willed as the Marr scion had been. She would need to land far more than mere scratches to defeat him and yet, Quintessa somehow doubted her ability to accomplish even that much, in spite of the fact that she had done so only moments before.
The lift doors closed behind them and Mercy rested her back against the railing.
A musical tune began playing.
Mercy looked up at it and blinked in a perplexed way. "Really? These folks put stairs everywhere, but they think of a elevator jingle?" She shook her head in amusement there. Then her attention shifted to Maijan again. "Mm, but we knew that coming in." A wild grin, caked blood still settled against her lips and cheeks. Whose blood was that? "Whenever I am involved... things get intense, don't they?"
Ching.
The elevator doors opened and something roared into their direction. The floor started to shake as it came their way.
Mercy looked at that.
"Nope."
And punched the button again, the lift doors closing swiftly, and causing whatever had been kept there to roar in disappointment. "Yes, I know, but we ain't here to wrestle with Sithspawn." She sighed in disappointment anyway because that would have been fun. "Can you remember what floor that was on? Once the station is ours... I wanna revisit."
That was the treat Mercy gave herself for being good and restrained right now.
It was the least she could do for herself.
Another ding and this time the hum of machinery welcomed them. The area beyond was dark, but lit up as the engine coils flared in response to shifts in the gravitational pulls outside.
"So, that outlaw tech told ya to put that round disk thing on the engine and then it would do everything else itself?"
His fingers squeezed and a personal shield erupted into existence around him.
Right on time or the fire combined with the velocity would have cooked him alive.
Eyes wide as they watched the blue shield turn yellow, then orange, as the super-heated substance crackled through the shield anyway. Flames licked up through the holes and burned him through the armor. The latter wasn't made perfect against temperatures of the velocity. Luckily it seemed something was slowing the Jedi down as she stumbled backwards.
Castian moved quickly, ignoring the pain his body was already in, and moved to tackle the lithe shape of the Jedi.
Combined with the weight of his personal armor it might be just enough to incapacitate her. As his hands lashed out to grapple with her, he activated the static functionality in his palms.
In the precious seconds the chakrams had been deflected back at her, Nathan had strategically spun his blade tips through the floor at random, leaving deep gouges that would hopefully sabotage her ability to close the distance on him with Force Speed at close ranges.
The chakram came at him again, but he was struggling to power through the agony his body was in. Using the Force as much as his Grandfather's reminders that pain was weakness leaving the body, he didn't quite twist out of the way full, the Chakram biting deep into his shoulder as it passed by. More blood poison. How many doses could he power through? The muscle cramps?
He spun the staff slowly around his body, the tips biting into the floor as he approached again, ready to ward off another throw of her Chakram's.
But this time he tried something new.
Summoning as much focus as he could, he teleported a basketball sized chunk of debris and let it drop, speeding for Quintessa
's skull...
By the time she managed to get Verin down and unstrapped she could just about make out the sounds of engines.
A little shuttle landed nearby the grove.
Perhaps Cordé would have wanted to check it out, except she'd then notice that Verin was no longer conscious. Knocked out cold. Once the field medic realized everything was okay and her body just forced her to get some rest? She'd hear it. His voice. Except... it was more confident now. It was no longer shivering at the seams, but neither was it the cold detached presence she had last heard.
It was concerned, but in control.
"Sweep the area, the ship looks in a rough shape, we don't want to miss people that might have been ripped out mid-landing." Sion still did not feel comfortable commanding people. But his Master had given him a detachment of Nova Troopers, said it would be good if Sion got used to taking responsibility for more people.
Sion wasn't sure about it.
But something on Shihon seemed to have inspired her with more confidence in him.
Fair enough.
"Hello?" Calmly still but louder as Sion brushed past the strange... grove. This... was not supposed to be here, was it? He exchanged a look with the Sergeant. "We are friendlies, authorization code Aleph-Zeta-Thirty-Two. We are responding to an emergency call?" If there had been any doubt still that this was actually her Sion... or perhaps not hers anymore. But Sion regardless. "Get those doors open, they might not be able to respond or get them open themselves."
It didn't take long before they were pulled free and Sion stuck his head through the doorway.
Always first in line of danger. That was him alright.
"Hello, we are here to he-" Then his eyes got used to the darkness and their eyes met. "...Cordé?" Dumbfounded.
Kyrel was a being born of hatred and unbridled rage unlike any other. This had been proven as much as he seemed unable to die. If he did the one thing that constantly kept him going was hatred. Hatred for the galaxy, for the Jedi, and Sith alike, and most of all the Force for permitting him to go on in such a way. As Kyrel would unleash the bomb of darkness with his own body Kyrel would soon land to find himself quickly engulfed by roaring flames. He didn’t have anytime to react, nor counter what was happening and before he knew anything he quickly found the flames to embrace him.
He would let out a tremendous roar that would shake the very room as the flames engulfed him, and one could hear souls within Kyrel melt into a crescendo of screams that made Kyrel an unbearable sight. Even as the flames embraced him it appeared that the Nobles were successful in the trap. Even so one could never underestimate the power of hatred as the corpse literally raged against the burning of the light. There was no silence that came from the inferno only screams that would continue to echo, the smell of burnt necrotic flesh only continued to paint a further unholy sight, and as Kyrel seemed to collapse to the floor surrounded by flames it appeared that both the Nobles had finally conquered the vengeful beast.
Still, this didn’t stop Kyrel if anything it slowed him down, made his rage burn as hot as the flames that melted against both armor and flesh alike. Slowly the hulking behemoth would emerge. Soon the Nobles were beholden to a sight that would be engraved into their memory entirely. The hulking dead man with saber in hand was completely covered head to toe in flames. The black ooze that was his blood formed an eerie black color to the flames as he emerged. The flames had damaged his muscles where now he was slowly moving. Melted footprints etched into the durasteel as Kyrel looked like a dragon out for blood.
“HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WRATH BURNED!” Kyrel would scream out of the endless, oozing opening that was his mouth. His mouth was now covered in flames. His crimson saber clung tightly to his grasp, and Kyrel would approach the two nobles a shambling, burnt mess. Pieces of him were already quickly falling off. Still that didn’t stop him as the burning dead man would dare unleash another offensive. This time with a roar he focused on wide slashing power strikes with his saber. His intention was not merely to cut them down but to divide them while Kyrel unleashed an inhuman roar and soon the black flames that engulfed him would try to redirect itself as Kyrel opened his jaw wide and soon started to unleash the same terrible flame that crippled him against his foes, and even still Kyrel knew this fight couldn’t be fought forever nor was he winning. He could only rage against the burning of the light.
F I N A L -E C L I P S E OBJECTIVE 2 | PHASE 2 | LANDFALL - MEAT GRINDER LOCATION: ADVANCING [ The Forbidden District | Gamma CKPT ] ALLIES: IMPERIAL FORCES FOES: MAWITES - GALACTIC ALLIANCE - NON-IMPERIALS TAGS: Col'dral Renfro [OPEN FOR ANYONE]
3rd Post
[20-Minutes Ago] Some time had passed since Lightning-Squadron conducted actions punishable by Court Martial, the dead in limbo in whichever eternal dark abyss & afterlife they abided by if not none. 312's thoughts were quite blank, he could commit abhorrent evil & sleep without interruptance but 112...It was eating away at him, he had the moral man sickness, one which was void in most of the upper-echelons of Bureaucracy.
"...I didn't join the Military to commit crimes or to be above legality, Felix, I joined because I needed money, not Ideology and nightmares. The regime has become questionable..though of course I still believe they are the piece to Galactic Harmony and therefore I shalln't sway my loyalty yet. I assume these thoughts are mutual, you can't be that blind or hypnotized." 112 said in a surveying manner, most likely attempting to see if 312 would react in a neutral or positive manner before proceeding to speak upon...Some un-imperialistic viewpoints.
"TK-112, please refer to me by Imperial-Identification Bloc; I am either ISB-312 or Agent-312, not Felix. As for my thoughts upon the subject, every entity is corruptible or corrupt, but unlike the Galactic Alliance or Mawites or whoever holds power, the Empire is not a lost cause; from the beginning the Galactic Alliance has been corruption inherent, the Populace & its Democratic alignment allows for rubbish to take Hegemony. The Empire & the civilian populace abide by a Social-Contract which however Totalitarian & Dystopian brings Order, destruction of crime. Absolute Power is a positive." Agent 312 responded in a robotic tone, like a worm he pivoted & dodged away from the comments of war crimes and being above legality, spitting propaganda and power rhetoric without a pause. It was as though 312 wasn't blind to the negative elements of the Empire but purposely embraced it as natural
[PRESENT] "Cipher-8, greetings, I am ISB-312, Field-Agent. This is my comrade TK-112. I'll assume you've made some advances in the battle. So far we've eliminated some infrastructure..As for the Navy, I haven't been keeping up to date with the Space Battle." He stated frankly.
312 had made plans to glory-seek and head hunt promotion instead of clearing objectives at this point though of course this was unknown.
Allies: The Alliance, Strike Team Tano, Aleksandr Stirsea Enemies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Sahar
He wasn’t even sure what the first one had been before it became whatever they had made it. A humanoid of some kind, maybe, but Cale couldn’t even say that for a certainty. All he was sure of was that it and its companions were all monsters, regardless of how many twisted tentacles they did or did not have twisting out of their contorted bodies, and that they did not survive him. Blue light cast itself over him, cutting into the gloomy shadow of the world as the blade cut through armor and flesh with heavy, brutal strikes that took apart the Mawites piece by piece.
The monsters had been the first, but as the citadel grew closer, the fighting became thicker, and he began to fear for his crew with the precious seconds he had to think at all. He wasn’t sure when he’d waded from small scuffles into the depths of war, but nevertheless, it happened. His lightsaber hissed as it batted a blaster bolt back into a Mawite, coming back around in a blur of blue to split a falling axe before it split him instead. He shattered a knee with a kick, took a head with a flourish, backstepped, rolled, then surged forward to run the blade through an enemy’s eye.
It was a strange state to be in, both aware and unaware, cognizant of each oncoming threat yet forgetting them as soon as they were gone. Cale flowed through the war like water in a stream, meeting each bend and turn without resistance, but flowing ever forward. He swept the leg from under a Besalisk, the force granting him the strength to topple the massive being, twisting the bisect one of its allies before slamming it back into the dark sand as it tried to rise with a telekinetic shove. Cale split it open and moved on.
There was someone else, someone amidst the carnage he had found his way into. Fighting, killing, surviving. He recognized the sentiment, but not the presence. It didn’t twist with the same vile darkness of the Mawites, but they were not guarded by light either. Did that make them friend or foe? They were close, closer than he liked for an unknown party, but the battlefield wasn't the place for second thoughts.
The Jedi reached out, and blew a trio of Mawite warriors from his path, slamming them into the ground with the strength of the force, and there she was. He didn't know her, didn't recognize a thing about her, but something was wrong.
"Ignorance is the purview of the Jedi, it has no place in the dark."
The Dark Lord of the Sith exhaled deeply, breath visible amidst the particulates and electrical discharge of Exegol's atmosphere. Beyond a warrior and magician, the Dark Lord was a learned theologian; well-vested in His beliefs and intimately studied in ideology and rhetoric. The words of a Jedi were never going to alter His perception, nor would the words of a fellow Sith; He had long designated the path He would walk, and has walked it faithfully since. In that regard, He shared a portion of the same conviction as His cousin; she who sought to unmake the galaxy.
But did He not wish the same? Unity of purpose, divergent in outcome. She wanted to equalize creation, to rid it of herself and those like her; especially men like Him. He sought to mold creation to suit His vision, to model it after His likeness, and govern it like He governed all that fell beneath His power. The Jedi unknowingly fought to preserve their own power, to secure their own place amidst the ecosystem that favored them. For they, like the Sith, could not fathom, would not even entertain, the potential of a galaxy devoid of their influence, bereft of their guardianship.
"All who gain power are afraid to lose it," murmured the Dark Lord, His voice carried upon the wind. "Such fear drives us both, does it not? Beneath the veneer of righteousness, you and your brethren kill to maintain your station as stewards of the weak. Beneath the veneer of freedom, my brethren kill to maintain the right to subjugate those beneath us. But we both struggle to keep our hold on power. Power is all, Jedi, our shared fundamental truth."
The tower behind the Jedi began to sway, and by her hand it fell. It toppled forward, threatening to bury them both beneath the rubble. The Jedi surrounded herself with a shield, intent on weathering out the storm that came crashing down around her. The Dark Lord watched with perception enhanced by the Dark Side, before reaching out with His left hand. He seized the upper portion of the tower, the rest continuing to fall under the weight of gravity and momentum. Then, with a flex of His fingers, the tower He held in His grasp split apart into large chunks. He scattered those chunks all around them, stabbing them into the ashen earth until they were half-buried.
"My family honors a creed, Jedi, its words are inscribed upon our most hallowed halls. 'The strong do what they will and the weak suffer what they must'." The chunks of stone scattered by the Dark Lord began to rumble and shake, sharp angular lines beginning to chisel themselves onto their surfaces. They were geometric in form, written in an ancient language; long forgotten by the galaxy. When they were finished, a wall of shimmering energy spread from one plinth to another; forming a ring around both the Dark Lord and the Jedi, encasing them in an arena of the Dark Lord's own making. For He had not thrown these chunks of stone haphazardly, but had strategically placed them at regular intervals in a wide circle around the pair.
Before He rushed forward, lightsaber ready to cut the Jedi to ribbons, He spoke one final time.
Lynda gleefully killed as she rampaged through the temple, doing an impromptu break dance after killing a Mawite War Lord which transitioned to her immediately beheading yet another Mawite who rushed her. The ghostly looking woman/Biot felt the Dark Side pressing on her, a nearby Sith desperately attempting to crush her with the Force. Her flesh only shuddered disgustingly, glowing red blood leaking from her eyes and nose, catching fire as it hit the ground, but it didn't do much beyond disorienting her slightly before her rage flared and she flew at him at high speed, blocking his Lightning.
He manipulated the air itself, smacking her with it. She was flung backward, flesh bubbling as it registered the impact.
She snarled, flying at him, this time grabbing a helpless Mawite by the neck just as he had been about to blow away an Alliance Soldier and flung him at the Sith flying over him at high speed and then corkscrewing down ward, cutting him in half just as he tried to use the corpse to fling at her. She did a small break dance after killing him the same way she had with her previous victim.
Her orange bladed Katana, Burning Hatred, was heavy even for her, and she had to preplan her movements somewhat, so she wasn't quite the whirlwind of happy-fun-time-slicey-slicey she normally was. In some sense, this was even worse, because one of Nine Lives's finest creations could display what she was like, when she was actually strategizing.
Lynda's movements, always pre-planned, always executed after analyzing her surroundings and the position, tactics size and estimated weight of her enemies, took on a fiendish precision as she carefully intercepted attacks, flinging away bolts, parrying Lightsabers that her Katana defied in its extreme resilience.
Lynda deflected and parried attacks from two different Sith, her sheer fury and aggression rivaling their best marauders. She cut down the Mawite Sith, giving one of them the Dooku Special (She took his hands, then his head) and fended off Attacks from three separate Mawite martial artists. Number One had his arm and spine broken after she used a claw attack from Eagle martial arts to destroy his throat, number 2 she cut the feth in half and number three had his neck broken by a Chuck Norris grade spinny kick after a short exchange of blows with her relying on Atrisian Aikido at first.
Where her rampage took her in the citadel, GA Soldiers were quick to take advantage, filling in the gaps, almost as terrified of her as they were of Sith. Still, why turn away the help of a psychotic lawnmower, especially when there is so much grass to cut?
The Demon didn't know exactly where she was in the Citadel, and frankly didn't give a chit. Only a few of the Maw tried to flee her now. Most stood their ground, fighting to the gory, blood-splattered ending, as there was NOWHERE-TO-RUUUUNNNNNN-TO-BA-BY.... NOWHERE-TO-HIIIIIDEEE--
Lynda stopped, coming across a great mural. One part depicted the Maw worldship falling to the surface of Rhand, fired on by a strange, squid like starship.
How strange... she managed to think through her blood hazed mind (she casually caught the Mawite sneaking up on her by the neck and crushed her throat without looking at her.).
She destroyed one of their most important locations almost single-handedly...yet her act is immortalized only by her enemies...
Lynda winced, remembering The Parliament's earlier words, about being discarded by the heroes.
Under ordinary circumstances, even Lynda might have been wary of going into this place, with so many Sith. But these dark vambraces she wore, while altering her skin and eye color to an almost undead looking state, greatly protected her from their dark powers, only harming her a little, if at all. The rest had been up to her.
Lynda shed one bloody tear for Laertia, knowing the greatest act of love she could show to the memory of her one time adopted sister was to kill the abomination she had become.
Lynda resumed her rampage, the Kill command setting her brain ablaze with hatred at all these factions which had, directly or otherwise, helped tear apart her family, how their wars and mad struggles infected their very lives with suffering, drawing them in.
Lynda screamed, as much in blood thirst for the death of all Mawites as anguish over knowing she had to kill someone she still loved deeply, her sword cutting into flesh and muscles and bone...
______________________________________________________________ D U L C E T TASK FORCE NULL | EXEGOL | SUBTERRANIAN STATION ______________________________________________________________
Cordé had been looking up at the flowering tear in the hull, about to cry, when Verin lost consciousness.
She cried when she heard the engines and the sound of activity. Like an involuntary release.
Her bloodstained sleeve smeared her tears away when she heard his voice and that kark ‘em turned into a kark me.
Red eyed, covered in blood, and supporting the only other team member that had survived, Cordé said nothing when he said her name. Up until that point, she could have reasoned that it might have been a modulator, or she was hearing things or— but when his mangled face was staring right at her, and knowing who she was in an instant, all her denial crumbled.
The last time she’d heard him say it, there was a clinical venom to her two syllables and she’d been so afraid. She didn’t realise how badly she’d wanted to hear it again; any other way.
She was afraid now too, of course, and the complex tangles of all the boundaries and boxes she’d created to compartmentalise everything karked up today threatened to undo.
To keep herself together, she retraced every thing he’d said before her name. Aleph-Zeta-Thirty-Two…sweep..the area…
They’d come so soon. That meant the atmosphere could already be triggering the program…
A flicker of dread trilled through her. Piece by piece the grim reality of impending doom put itself together, and Cordé felt the pressure more keenly. She looked past Sion to the sergeant at his side, who was ready to come in and take Verin and at least figure out Cordé’s condition.
“Here, take her. She’s the only other survivor here. I’ve confirmed her vitals are stable." Cordé tried to assert the information that they'd be looking for to stop them from jabbing Verin and finding out she was part plant. For now, her secret was safe with Sabo. "She’s got some external damage on her left leg, and probably some bruising elsewhere but stable.” Cordé hoisted Verin to adjust the way she held her across her shoulders and transfer her to the Sergeant to come with open hands to collect the obviously limp silhouette of the SIA agent.
“You got here..so quickly..” Her heart and head were pounding,
“That’s not good.” She moved to push past Sion and step out of the ship for the first time. She wasn’t even confident they’d met their designation, or how far —
— relief. When she checked the micro navicomp from Sheb, it read she was only metres away at most. She just had to go down, deeper into the earth.
“If The Alliance is already in Exegol’s atmosphere, I don’t have time to help you with the bodies. And you should probably get out of here — I've got to get down...” she pointed in the direction the digital compass insisted "there. Now."
___________________________________________________________________ THE FREE TRICKSTER EXEGOL || MONASTERY OF SLAUGHTER _____________________________________________________________
“Mhmm.” She sing-songed. Of course Maijan would remember a detail like a glowing button next to the four. She’d be a pretty chitty illusionist without a photographic memory. Shame that recently, the green-bubblin’ drug had recently made her recollection a little hazier than when she’d been a natural aficionado. Prices paid, prices paid.
“Prrroud of you, Em.” Maijan purred at Mercy as the door closed over the face of the ever-eager Sithspawn. She reached up, up, up, to reassuringly pinch the goliath’s chin when the disappointed shimmer crossed her rose-gold skin.
The door opened, and nothing roared. Mercy, unsurprisingly, elected to lead the way. Maijan followed, and looked around the extremely ornate control room. Gold and white curled together in archways over the main centre, ruby-red filled the gaps between. It was beautiful and she was excited to recreate it.
It was nice that there was nothing here to ambush them. She was still sorta quaking from the almost-being stabbed in the spleen situation downstairs.
“Mhmmm. Just gotta find wherree..” She pat her hip, where the little disk lived, and stalked around the room. Bending, stretching, looking and looking until the most obvious console in the centre of the room spat out a little shelf with a conveniently disk-sized hole in it. “Ah, duh.”
The station groaned. From up here, they could see the light fight outside again. They’d made it into the hangar easily enough, and into Exegol, but this leviathan of a ship didn’t have the mobility or speed Mercy’s ship did.
She set the disk in, but didn’t close the shelf. “When you’rre ready.” Maijan said, and slipped into the centre of the room, and wiped at it with a few careless flicks of The Force to make the sure the floor was clean. She wasn’t about to sit in filth for an extended period of time.
“Just gimme a minute though.”
Quiet and focused, the illusionist crossed her legs and sat perched on her knees with her legs tucked beneath her. She didn’t move for a few seconds, only breathed, and frowned. One eye creaked open and she sighed.
"Aaahh kark. I’ll take that top up first." The beast-thing, the invisibility, the being a bro, getting them into the Monastery, had drained her more than she woulda liked to admit.
____________________________________________________________ ALLIES|SITH PROBABLY|Mercy FOES |GA|NJO|BROTHEROOD OF THE MAW ____________________________________________________________
"Very well. It's unfortunate you've made the decision you have." The shadowy form dissipated amongst the burning bridge as Onrai's avatar aboard one of the warships bombarding the Ragnarok watched the stubbornness of the captain in question. She had doomed thousands of lives to a horrendous death, and Onrai hoped that perhaps such would inspire a weakening of resistance from remaining Eternal attackers.
The fleet continued to mercilessly bombard the dreadnought with everything it could muster, prepared for any incoming hostile vessels.
Location: Exegol | Forbidden District Target:Caedyn Arenais
Their cries for mercy could never compare to his own dilemma. His pain would be stronger, because he decided it so. His purpose must blot out the imminence of others, their wishes and desires snuffed out and sent down far where Xiveros' past promises already lie. These fragments meant more than any living thing ever could, and they would endure with him. He was becoming reckless, rabid with devotion as each strike from his weapon left more poor souls deformed and broken, twisting their bodies beyond recognition.
Hot sanguine embraced him, his breathing felt deep and full. In his wake he would leave none alive, he finally saw a golden thread and was determined beyond any mortal being to chase after it, blind to all else that came secondary. Even the very hands that allowed for him to enact brutality slowly began to wither in his mind, their grasp loosening as true sentience had been recognized by the spawn of the Nether.
In his feverish slaughter, Xiveros felt his body shift forward - a slight stinging sensation spreading through his nerves, along with a deep pocket burned into his armor, scorching the flesh beneath.
Turning in place, his gaze became fixated to a man descending upon him - a searing pain roared through his core, a deep laceration had been sustained and broke clean through the demon's plate. Xiveros stumbled back, looking down at his own body momentarily before attempting to walk forward, struggling as his muscles spasmed and tensed. "No..."
His voice shook, anger and refusal lacing his tone. "You can't have it."
Looking up and directly at what he now recognized as a Jedi, Xiveros' head tilted forward slightly. He threw his shield from his left arm, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his mace, he lunged forward with an inhumane strength and speed, attempting to shoulder check the Jedi; unaided by that of the Force, but rather entirely by his origins and purpose.
Guarded from the Force, yet bound to its progression. A mere machination of its greater, inevitable expanse.
And in this moment, he would truly attempt to bring balance.
While Maijan was 'taking a minute' Mercy sat down in the nearest chair.
Heedless of any filth or grime. No, her attention was through the viewports towards the navy battle raging over Exegol. This time she had a better view than from their little ship. For one, these viewports seemed to be able to magnify the distance and bringing it closer. Whereas before Mercy couldn't see anything besides reactor meltdowns and the bursting of lasers, now... now Mercy saw everything.
Soldiers being sucked into the vacuum of space as hull ruptures drew them out. Ships being torn in half by torpedo swarms causing whole decks to evaporate in brilliant novas.
It was...
It was something to behold.
"Hm?" A glance over to Maijan. "Aw, sorry darling, was a bit occupied." She sauntered on over to her friend, crouching down near her. "Mm, you been working hard, haven't ya?" Her big meaty hand cupping her jaw oh so gentle before leaning in to press a kiss against Maijan's brow. "I am proud of ya, you know."
Drawled lazily as Mercy drew back to study Maijan with those amber flamed eyes.
"When I met ya... ya were stealing table credits from drunk posers. Now look at ya. Back to where ya belong... fierce an' proud an' greedy." There was pride gleaming in those burning eyes. Pride and smugness for being the one unlocking it in Maijan once more.
Her other arm pulled out another capsule.
It had been Maijan's idea. Ever since she started it, she had a better idea on her limits and duration. Instead of one big karking bottle, they produced them in little capsules per Maijan's specifications now. It was easier to haul around and less chance of an overdose happening. Mercy hadn't been worried about overdosing problems, but Paisea knew better.
"Make me proud, darrrrrling. Once this is all over... I will treat ya to something nice, yeah?"
A grin there before rising up again and walking on over to the disk and the control panel.
"Kark me, you dun' see this chit every day." Referring to the navy battle, of course.
Sergeant had her and after a brief assessment with the Force she seemed... more or less okay. A strange sensation came over him though. This woman wasn't a stranger to the Force either. That much was clear. If the grove and her emerald-ran skin didn't confirm it externally. The sergeant took the girl away and Sion stepped towards Cordé.
Didn't get too close however, but close enough to listen.
The last time they met... Sion only had to close his eyes to remember her stricken face, tearful and in agony. It was like from a different life or a nightmare forced on him.
He wished he could take it back.
Until Sion remembered what prompted it. Then he knew he'd do it all over again... or perhaps he wouldn't have trusted Cordé to begin with.
"You are alone." Sion pointed out in a neutral voice. Then a glance to the pod. "You had a small squad with you. All of them are gone or currently being treated. If this mission required a squad you won't be able to do it alone." He rationalized it to himself that this was an important mission to the Galactic Alliance.
More important than ferrying around the battlefield in search for personnel needing evacuation.
The Nova Troopers could do it alone.
"I will come with you. As a Jedi I am sworn to assist the Galactic Alliance in any way I can." Was Jedi pronounced with more pointedness? Perhaps, but it was difficult to gauge with how much neutrality and detachment he kept in his voice.
Without waiting for her agreement Sion joined her into the direction she had pointed at. He was somewhat familiar with the territory. The briefings of the Jedi Shadows had filtered through to him by the way of his Master. Somewhere around these parts was an underground facility that was part of a network with the purpose of destroying the planet.
"She is okay." He said all of a sudden and out of nowhere. "She gets to see her parents every week or more over the Holocall. I made sure of that. They still refuse to leave Dantooine, but once the collapse has stabilized I have arranged for her to be brought back to them."
Defensive? Perhaps a little bit. It was not hard to figure out who the 'she' was here.
The galaxy was a dangerous place, full of brutal and dangerous beings - bounty hunters and assassins, death squads and alien horrors, Jedi and Sith. But the Pontifical Palatini stood out in the crowded ranks of infamy. Though they were not true Sith, they had been trained by the dark mastermind who had shaken galactic civilization to its foundations - the man behind the destruction of Csilla, the sackings of Courscant and Nirauan, and the near unraveling of realspace itself at Tython. They had faced down the most elite agents of the Empire, and held their own against Jedi more than once.
An ordinary warrior would have no chance against three of them working together. But Mercy was no ordinary warrior. She had been trained by the deadliest of the Maw's twisted soldiers, the marauder who rose to become its most influential warlord by sheer violence and force of will. She had MANIAC in her mind, providing her with data that gave her strikes and reactions perfect computerized precision. And she had spirits to help her, the disembodied souls of others to give her their strength and take some of her pain. The battle was not as one-sided as it might first appear.
Still, it was the Palatini who scored first blood. Mercy skillfully fended off two lightsaber strikes at once, a feat that few could have managed without the aid of the Force, but the third burned into her side. Had she been unarmored, it would almost certainly have killed her. As it was, she dropped to her knees, a cry wrenching itself from her throat. The Palatini advanced on her emotionlessly, their featureless masks making them appear cold, inhuman. As one they raised their lightsabers, ready to hack her apart and finish their mission. But then, a ripple in the Force. They hesitated.
The telepathic blasts hit the two warriors on Mercy's flanks like runaway trains, slamming into their minds with unrelenting force. They stumbled back several steps, trying to get their feet under them, as if they had lost their balance at the top of a hill. Then they crumpled, dazed, against the dark walls of the underground labyrinth. Beneath their masks, their eyes rolled back in their heads. They were not dead, but the powerful attack had certainly taken them out of the fight; they could not rise, could not make their muscles respond. Their thoughts had been thrown into disarray.
In the chamber beyond, Tu'teggacha sensed the attack, and a watery gasp wrenched itself from his tentacled mouth. "What?! How?! Can it be..." His glossy black eyes flicked over to the twins, held in the arms of the caretaker droid. They still looked like ordinary babies, wiggling and making ordinary baby sounds, reaching out their tiny hands in no particular direction. But this time the Taskmaster could not deny it - there was something within those little bodies, minds and souls more developed than they ought to have been. His prizes were even more special than he had realized.
Oh, the weapons he could make them become... if only he could escape with them.
Out in the hall, the third of the Palatini - suddenly alone - tried to press the attack. Mercy was still on her knees, still wounded; perhaps he could finish her even without his allies. But inside the sanctuary, the unnatural gate to Otherspace - that hole in spacetime itself - suddenly stabilized. Tu'teggacha gazed into the coldness beyond, the dark and twisted environs he had so despised when his patron had brought him there. The place he most dreaded had become the only place he could find refuge. He was not going to enjoy this, but he would do whatever it took to escape with his life.
"Quickly," the Ebruchi burbled, "into the portal!" His Ebruchized advisors streamed through first, ensuring that the area was safe - or as safe as a nightmare dimension of inverted stars could be. When they had lingered there a moment without being killed, Tu'teggacha stepped up to the mouth of the makeshift Otherspace Gate. Steeling himself for the transition, he stepped through, the caretaker droid beside him. He felt the cold, the emptiness, the utter alienness of this awful place. But he would master those feelings. He would make this land his refuge. He would outlive the Maw.
Behind him, the gate remained open - a chance to chase him beyond the galaxy itself.
Kallan felt himself caught between worlds, between awarenesses. When he looked through his own spiritual eyes, he was in the arbor with Keilara, this peaceful place just for the two of them. Flowers surrounded them, and soft pillows. She was warm beside him, pressed against him, wearing his shirt. Her gentle touch and gentle words soothed him, replenished him, took away the fear and exhaustion. This was a beautiful place, a beautiful collection of memories spliced together into a paradise.
But Kallan also saw through Mercy's eyes as he lent her his strength. He saw the shadows of this horrible underground labyrinth, a shadowed prison where experiments of utmost evil had taken place for years. He saw the brutal Palatini closing in on Mercy, combat drugs pumping in their veins, their crimson lightsabers seeming to promise to shed the blood they resembled. Three against one. What hope did they have against such odds, when the three were among the most brutal warriors in Known Space?
Then the lightsaber strike burned into Mercy's side - not a fatal blow, but the pain of it was still almost overwhelming, the awful feeling of flesh burning as the weapon tried to force its way through Mercy's armor. Kallan steeled himself, and then he opened his spirit to that pain. He soaked it up like a sponge, letting it fill him, drawing it out of Mercy's consciousness and into himself. He couldn't heal the wound, but he could help her ignore it, fight past it. He could help her keep going even though she was hurt.
On the arbor bed, he gritted his teeth, held Keilara's hand tight.
~ A... sundae... sounds... great... ~ he forced out, focusing on that thought, on his reassuring wife.
Despair threatened to overwhelm him as a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He could hold back the pain of this strike, but it was still three on one. What about the next blow, and the next? He couldn't take it all for her, couldn't keep repeated lightsaber strikes from laying her low. But he wouldn't have to. Sitting beside him, watching him suffer, the twins intervened. Still so young, and yet so grown on the inside, their souls forced to undergo trials they should never have faced, they intervened to save their mother.
Kallan sighed - a peaceful sound, proud but sad - as they sent out their telepathic attack.
The Palatini stumbled back. Mercy had her reprieve, her chance to survive.
With a final twist of their technopathic powers, The Manifold smashed through the door's defenses. The massive security shield clanked as its final locks released, and it slid open, revealing Tu'teggacha's sanctum. An empty sanctum, save for a strange sight - a flickering, unnatural gate in the middle of the chamber, a wound in Realspace. The Manifold could sense what lay beyond it - a twisted inverse realm, the kind of dimensional anomaly that Omni would have erased when It brought order to the galaxy.
Tu'teggacha had fled through that gate. It was still open in his wake, but closing fast.
Turning their attention to the remaining Palatini - for two of them were already slumped against the walls - The Manifold reached out once more with their Omni-given power. They focused their might on the lightsaber held in the dark bodyguard's hand, a saber still raised to deal the killing blow. With a surge of technopathic strength, they overloaded the power cell within the crimson weapon. Boom. The lightsaber exploded like a grenade, taking the Palatini's hand with it. The man crumpled without a sound.
Not dead, but unconscious, driven into darkness by the shock of the sudden and terrible pain.
Looking down at Mercy, slumped on her knees after taking the saber wound, The Manifold offered her a hand. It was a strange gesture - their massive gauntlet was the size of her entire torso, and her entire hand could not have wrapped fully around one of their fingers. The Omni-Drone did not even know why they had done it, why they had offered to help this organic up, to steady and support her. Perhaps they were truly changing. With Omni gone, the emotions of the organic souls that fueled them were rising up.
Despair. Vengefulness. And now, sympathy. The Manifold was no longer just a cold, unfeeling machine.
What did that mean for them, for their future? They did not know.
"Taskmaster: Fled," the drone reported. "Portal: Still Open. Pursuit: Still Possible." They reached out with their other gauntlet, interfacing with the mangled hyperdrive that was generating the Otherspace Gate. "We: Hold Gate Open," they said, directing all of their technopathic power into the device. Stabilizing this engine of chaos was not an easy task, and they could not do it forever - they were a being of order, and this hole in reality was utter anarchy, a violation of cosmic law. "You: Pursue Taskmaster."
It was their last chance to catch Tu'teggacha, before he disappeared into a nightmare dimension...
... before he got away with the twins. They must not let that happen.
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr | Mercy | Freedom Mongrel's Shadow and his widow; Matriarch of the Scar Hounds Tribe; Guardian of Mongrel's armour and sword
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Location: Sith Citadel Objective: Escort the Dark Lord │ Salvage Artifacts Direct Engagement: Nathan Bloodscrawl What he could hit, she could catch. Quintessa’s chakrams came back fast, but it was nothing that the Aspiring Sith couldn’t react to, not only through her attunement to the weapons...
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~ Mercy ~
And I could claim not only these, not only NIO and Asher's training existed, but there was also Nite's, Shadow Company's and Frost Company's training, which were just as tough as the others. And yes, there was Kallan and the twins. Nevertheless, unfortunately, my speed had its limit. As I knelt and tried to get up despite the pain, I felt the pain go away. There could be only one reason for this. Because I wasn't able to turn off my pain-sensing nerves and neither was MANIAC. Someone took the pain away. And it wasn't Keilara, because I completely refused her to do anything like that.
~ Don't take too much, Kallan! Of the two of us, I can bear his pain better! ~ I told him angrily.
I was sure he was trying to take my pain away. He had already broken it once when Asher was born. But Tu'teggacha tortured us in vain, even Ziare laughed at the pain, and I was stronger than Ziare. He quickly broke, if he killed himself with this now or suffered more damage, Keilara would not survive that and I would not forgive myself either. I didn't save him and I didn't make that fething ring so that he would stupidly kill himself the same way Asher did.
~ If you want to help, you better deactivate the pain centre of our mind, at least until this fight is over! Invent something with Keilara! That would help you the most, I don't want to be distracted by even worrying about you! ~ I snarled at him in my mind's eye.
At least this wasn't a task where Kallan could get himself killed. I know I will suffer physically from it later, but it was all worth it. The mental pain won't go away, but it's more than nothing. First, the fighters on either side collapsed as the twins helped, then Manifold did his own thing after opening the door. I looked at Manifold's hand in surprise as he held it out to help me up. Involuntarily, it reminded me of the movement on that island when Asher helped me off the biker for our last walk holding hands until we arrived at the place where he died.
I accepted the help, in the meantime I took out a wound astringent spray and a bacta patch from the pocket on my belt, as well as a pain-relieving injection that did not affect my thinking. I deactivated the two swords and made them disappear in the pocket dimension hilt.
"Stay alive!" I told Manifold
I could still feel the pain, but not nearly as much as it should have because of Kallan. as I hurriedly ran towards the gate, sprayed the wound with the spray and injected the painkiller through the crack in my damaged armour into the wound, and even put the bacta patch on it. I was hoping it would help not only me but Kallan as well. I finally arrived at the gate. The feeling I felt… it wasn't like what I remembered from the Netherworld, it was something else. Something I haven't felt before.
~ MANIAC, if you can, try to narrow down where Taskmaster's companions are right now. If not, when we arrived in that area. I want exact targets! ~ I ordered him.
I set the assault rifle to traditional shots and then activated my personal shield. I raised the weapon in front of me and stepped through the portal. I didn't know what would be waiting for me over there, so I prepared for the worst. Also, that Taskmaster will launch a telepathic attack on me. So for the time being, I entrusted the capture of the targets to MANIAC, and I will immediately try to take cover and roll despite the pain. If I have the time and opportunity, I will try to shoot Tu'teggacha's companions one shot at a time. Depending on how well I can see them, on the head, or on the chest/back where they give me the most clear target.
I don't intend to attack Tu'teggacha for now, simply shooting him would have been too easy death for him...
~ Keilara ~
I tried in vain to maintain the peaceful moment, with the most calm and peaceful conditions, it was difficult, as Kallan was watching and focused in both directions. On the one hand, to be here with me, where I try to calm and encourage him, on the other hand, he was trying to help Mercy. Which now did not mean a mental attack, or something like last time, but the acceptance of pain. Even I felt it when the lightsaber cut into Mercy's side. The heat and the pain. We've had enough pain and suffering in our lives, I think this was the worst of them all.
I knew how badly Kallan was taking this and now he was just trying to take over the pain. We have already survived the pain of childbirth and much more. However, Kallan soon broke when the Maw captured him. Although he was stronger now than then, I still feared the end result. When he held my hand tightly and he was visibly in pain, I hugged him even tighter, tried to caress him and ease his pain. To accept his pain that he is less tormented by all this. I heard Mercy's words, even I, and I was grateful for her. I was glad she tried to protect Kallan. I know it's not because of me, but it was still a pleasant feeling.
~ Please share the pain with me. Give it to me. ~ I begged my husband gently. ~ Of the two of us, I can tolerate physical pain better. ~
He was tortured only once, when he was captured, but I was tortured for almost fifteen years. They hurt me when I was a baby, and later they tortured me methodically. That is, it was not me, Ziare, but she merged with me at such a level that I remembered all the tortures when she was hurt, with fire, caustic substance, or just a knife, maybe just a fist, or the Force. We learned to suppress it, to suppress it, we had to survive. Now this experience would help a lot. I took Kallan's face in my hands, gently wiped the sweat from his forehead and planted another kiss on it, then rested mine on his forehead.
~ Listen to me and share the pain with me, if you open to me too, then we can ease your pain and maybe we can even do what Mercy asked us to do. ~ I asked him again.
While I was doing this, I noticed that the children were missing. I was scared for a moment, but I tried not to transfer my fright to Kallan. I didn't know what had happened, it had never happened before. Even if they just fell asleep, they were still here. I also had to look, as I used Mercy's senses, I saw the portal, and then I understood. Another dimension. Even though we had such a close relationship with the children, if they are in another dimension, they cannot be in the mind palace. But as soon as I thought about that, Mercy stepped into the portal and the twins started to appear again. I can't tell you how relieved I am by that. If I had a heart, it would have been beating violently and adrenaline would have been racing through my veins.
In the meantime, if Kallan opened up to me, I really tried to take away the pain from him. It hurt, but my pain threshold was higher, so I could bear it. I was hoping it would be easier for him.
~ Take as much energy from me as you need, I'll help so that at least we don't have to worry about the pain. ~ I promised him, my voice was a little hoarse and slower from the pain, but I would survive, I had to.
Even with all the flame around him, consuming his dead and rotting body, he moved. It wasn't necromancy anymore. The burning tyrant came, and this time Kahlil was the first to meet him. He brought his blade up and met the onslaught. Red met green in flashes of light as he tried to give Valery the room she needed to keep the flame swirling, keep him burning. No matter how much rage he had, if his body didn't exist, he'd stop being able to fight, right?
Then the flame turned into a weapon against them.
His eyes widened before he moved, between Kyrel and Valery as the wicked black flame ripped out. He raised his hands, his lightsaber extinguished, and pulled. To pull Valery from it's path, and pull the Force to build his own barrier. He gritted his teeth as the flame burned around him. Even his barrier couldn't keep the flame from reaching him. Pain rippled through his mind as his skin charred under it's heat, but he didn't let the barrier down.
No, instead he focused further in. His palm relight with the rune from before as he narrowed his eyes in focus. He reached through the pain, even as he felt the heat continue up his arm. He reached through the hate, through the pure rage, and pulled. Not for Kyrel.
To finally pull the souls he'd consumed from him. Even as the flame burned up and over his face, even as his vision darkened as if one of his eyes closed. He wouldn't let them suffer any longer.
Nathan Bloodscrawl
