Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Junction [GA/SO] Caldera Crisis — The Alliance Strikes Back | GA/SO Junction of Barkhesh and Kiffu

Xeykard's blade slammed into the barrier, unable to break through on the first blow. The blast that came next knocked him back, but he wrapped himself in the Force, landing only a couple meters from his opponent.

"Mm. This one would expect a healer to understand strength in numbers," he said. The other Sith walked off -- at once he thought them cowards and clever. He'd done the same, of course, though how they'd figured out he'd been waiting to steal their glory was a mystery to him. It didn't matter now.

Normally he'd retreat now. Serys had shaken his attacks without any trouble, to the point Xeykard was not even sure if he had the upper hand in physical strength he normally had in every fight. There was nothing to be lost by leaving now. He wouldn't even lose face with any Sith. Fogg was basically a non-factor in the grander scope of Sith politics.

He'd stood his ground against stronger opponents, but there was a difference between that and winning the duel. But if he was to gain, he'd need to risk. If he was to grow, he'd need to push himself... to an extent.

He put a hand to his ear and snarled something in Sith battle-speak. He tapped his belt, setting a timer for himself, and then tossed a small metal disc on the ground at his feet.

"The cowards are gone. This one will show you the meaning of strength." He raised his saber and charged in once more. In their clash he focused on keeping Serys in an exact range of his saber. Their reach were about equal, the long blade of his lightclub matching the Jedi's pike, but he forced himself closer to use the full length of his blade and force her to block, wear down her guard.
 

THE CHAOS PACT
Proclaim this among the nations: Prepare for war! Rouse the Warriors! Let all the fighting men draw near and attack.
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Objective II — Mirial

Allies:
Marcus Dinn Marcus Dinn | Sith Order Forces
Enemies: Gress D'ran Gress D'ran , Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania , Konrad Montrose | GADF Forces
Engaging: Gress D'ran Gress D'ran | Open

Objective: Plug the gap​


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It was hell, but the marines would regroup at Checkpoint Satan.

Daimesh Phine was the last survivor. The rest of his squad had been slaughtered several minutes ago when they had run into an Alliance fireteam. It had been a brutal melee on both sides. Their blades and axes couldn't pierce their armor so they had been forced to pin down the enemy soldiers using the weight of their corpses before slowing and agonizingly tearing them limb from limb.

He clutched his captured blaster pistol tighter as he rounded a corner. He only had one working hand left. The other had been blown off by an Alliance trooper. Phine had been forced to stab said trooper to death using the exposed bone protruding from his stump. By the Warmaster, these were truly worthy foes.

If this was but a vanguard, a single battalion, then Phine knew that the Pact had to adapt or die. He would die here. But through his sacrifice, the Pact would adapt.

The next trench line was empty, of the living at least. A hundred fresh corpses laid a fleshy carpet of gore over the trench flore. Bodies, both of Pact Pioneers and of Alliance Marines laid all twisted and wrapped under and over each other in an orgasmic celebration of feral murder. Smoke plumes drifted Pact tunics where morsels of napalm still burned. Fountains of blood had splashed up the wall and firestep in some places.

He took a single step forward, the duckboards sank and bright pools of blood seeped up through the gaps. He took another step forward, but there was nowhere except bodies to step on. Corpses groaned and sighed, burped and farted as he put his weight on them, squeezing lungs and guts. It was hard balancing on the dead.

"I'll be with you soon, my brothers and sisters," he muttered, "Just one more thing I must do before I join Khaos beside his throne."

Outside this trench, he could hear the sound of walkers and blasters raging. The sound of slugthrowers and the sucking roar of flamethrowers were being drowned out. The Pioneers had done their task and pinned down the infantry. It hadn't been perfect and if they had been given any other objective this would be considered an abject failure. But through their deaths, they had provided vital combat info for high command.

Adapt or die.

Phine arrived at the doorway of an underground dugout in the trench wall. Every last iota of his strength was spent trying not to tip over. The walls turned from wood to freshly laid ferrocrete, still wet in some places. After what seemed like forever he reached the bottom. Around him on, laid neatly on pallets and shelves was a collection of heavy artillery shells, power cells, and powder bags. This had been supposed to be merely a temporary munitions depot where they would be cataloged before being distributed down the line. Too bad for the Alliance troops fighting above him that the Pact had been interrupted in their process. Several tons of exposed explosives now sat in the middle of the battle zone where Pioneers and Marines were still locked in a brutal melee.

He reached into his coat jacket and drew out a thermal detonator. He set the timer to zero. His finger hovered over the trigger.

"LONG LIVE THE WARMAS-"



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36 turbolaser rounds soared overhead towards the remains of the old warehouse. If they couldn't figure out the exact location of the enemy fire, they'd simply reduce the general area to dust, and shut off whatever was in there with massive ion bursts.

It was inelegant, but it was a solution. Raven droids hovered above, just out of range of the ion bursts, scanning the area with LIDAR and heat detection. Whatever that area held, it would be found.

Wildcats slowly pushed in, using their low signatures to watch the area. They had acted as the forward spearhead, now they acted as the defensive line against whatever had hit them.

"Back up! Back up!" Kill-Team Captain Phen Asmodon shouted into his comms as the tracks of his tank began to churn once more. The moment the last plasma blast left their barrels his driver hit the reverse gear and slew them out of the ruined factory position that had been their hunting nest. The turbine engines roared, breaking their silence to inject torque into their transmission. Not only were the Sagittarius Tank Hunters stealthy, they were mobile and fast.

Still, the fact the entire world around them was disappearing in a whirlwind of fire and earth made the job harder than expected. The enemy's response was much faster than Asmodon had anticipated. Their artillery reaction time was impeccable.

They were almost out of the zone of fire, weaving between disintegrating ruins and bounding across craters when a turbo laser struck too close to one of their tank hunters. Its left track was torn clean off. Before the driver of the doomed Sagittarius could engage back-up propulsion another turbo laser struck in dead on and cracked it open like an egg. Asmodon swore, there was no chance that the crew survived that. The ruptured reactor belched massive amounts of radiation that in time would utterly poison the landscape.

"Stat update!" Asmodon ordered the moment the sky had stopped raining turbo-lasers, receiving affirmatives from the other eight survivors. Various states of damage but none detrimental to the mission.

"Captain, I'm spotting movement on the scanners ahead. Picking up several heavy and medium armor heading our way. Looks like they're screening for the walkers under repair."

"Then we'll have to clear them if we want to get another shot at those walkers-"

"Incoming aerial observation droids. Picking up pulsed lasers and possible thermal imaging."

"That's going to make any ambush impossible. Call in the Hawk battery. The General may not like me dipping my fingers in his reserves but he's the one that told us to take down those walkers at any cost."

Moments later the Hawks came racing forward through the ruins. They were anti-air modifications of the ever-versatile Loculus APC, equipped with an AG-2G quad laser cannon and four Anti-Air concussion missile launchers. Thanks to their chassis they were well armored and nimble enough. Their gunners locked onto the Raven Droids and began to fire long stitching lines of lasers into the air, prioritizing volume over accuracy. These droids may be swift and agile but there was only so much space they got dodge when their world turned into a whirlwind of fire and missiles. Once the Hawks were done firing a burst they quickly shifted positions, now cognizant of the artillery threat.

Still, the Hawks were going to be a juicy target for the advancing Wildcats. Asmodon was counting on that. The nine remaining Sagittarius Tank Hunters split up into three groups of three, taking ambush positions that would overlook any approach that the Wildcats could take to engage the Hawks in the ruined urban area. Asmodon's team nestled comfortably under a thick overpass that he hoped would protect from the swift artillery response of the Hellstompers fast enough to evac out. They activated their camo-nets again, dulling their metallic signature to match the burnt-out wrecks of speeders around them.

The other two teams took positions further back. One sheltered within the ferrocrete craters of a plaza and the other on the second floor the hollowed remains of a mall. They made sure that their fire angles would hit the weaker side or even the rear armor of the Wildcats.

"Single-shot at maximum power. I want those tanks to be molten wrecks." Asmodon ordered, "One team fires and then retreats, and the other wraps up any survivors. The third covers for us while we recharge our power cells. Let's give this city another graveyard."

Whether it would be the Pact Forces or the Hellstompers would be another question entirely.



"Is that so? Surrender?" Gress's cool demeanor shined through as he took a drag of his cigar. "Don't do that here, sorry. As for the size of your troops, can't say I'm impressed. You could throw your whole planet at us and I don't think my men would flinch. How 'bout this? You keep talking, and maybe I'll consider it."

Ennenhim-General Neraddur shut off the transmission. "Did you get a lock?"

"Yessir, we've triangulated that signal to that Superheavy walker," his assistant pointed to one of the massive machines of war currently finishing off the remnants of Archcommanderim Sidrel's force. It was a true behemoth of Impervium and Durasteel. The Pact had similar titans at their disposal but none had been assigned to his theater. They hadn't expected such a heavy counter-attack from the defenders. An underestimation that had so far cost him thousands of lives. He wouldn't be surprised if that number would climb to the tens of thousands by the time this battle was done.

The Pact had blood to bleed but this was an unacceptable kill-loss ratio. But thanks to the sacrifice of the 80th Tank Regiment, Pact forces in retreat had suffered relatively little damage and began to quickly regroup. Now they had begun to dig in within a ruined urban sprawl at the backlines of the trench. Neraddur hoped that the urban terrain would slow the Alliance troopers long enough for his flanking counter-attacks to begin to mass. Until then, he had to use everything he had to slow them down.

"Status on the heavy guns?"

"Sir, Fragor Battery Fifty-Six have finished relocation but their ammo has not. They report only enough ammunition for three salvos."

"I want a fire mission on those crippled walkers at once. Everything we have."

"Sir, we still have infantry close by. At least a hundred."

"They're dead anyway. The Warmaster shall know their names."

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A hundred kilometers away, ten barrels ascended.

The Fragor 406mm L/60 Mobile Howitzers were truly mammoths of artillery guns. They had been built as a siege weapon during Herodor's seven-hundred-year civil war to shatter the massive mountain fortifications that the Warmaster's foes cowered under in the final years of the conflict. Now its devastation was no longer bound to Herodor.

The monsters roared like great fire-breathing dragons. Barrels spat great flames. The light flashes were painful and immense like grounded stars being switched on and off in the night. Crews had to shelter beneath gun-shields and bafflements lest they be turned to red paste by the shockwaves. Even dozens of kilometers away, windows shattered.

Breeches opened, ejecting out superheated smoke, before the Fragor's autoloader screeched as it loaded in another multi-ton shell. Powder charges were rammed in quick succession. Five seconds after the first shot, the second salvo began. This continued until the five-round clip on the ten Fragors was exhausted.

Hypersonic superheavy shells, each containing a ton of pure baradium-impregnated detonite began to whoop all around the crippled walkers.





-An ammo depot is blown right in the middle of the trench network in a dying effort of Pact Pioneers to take some Alliance Marines and walkers with them
-The Tank Destroyer Kill team withdraws out of the artillery kill box in fairly good order due to their high mobility.
-AA is called up to destroy the Raven driods.
-Tank Destroyer Kill Team sets up to ambush any Alliance tanks coming to destroy the AA
-Heavy Artillery is called on the crippled walkers
 

Ianswiën

Agent of the Tenevi Order
An attempt of diplomacy and negotiations did not seem like a good approach with this large man... if he was even a man, with eyes glowing, skin hanging from his bones, much like a corpse and radiating with darkness. If it was up to him, Ianswien would have struck first. "Pops - I don't think -" Ianswien protested, only for him to bite down on his words as the creature's head jerked unnaturally, causing him to take a step back and his grip to tighten on his weapon - a large axe with a blade of light. Ugh.

Oh he can talk. Unsurprisingly, the answer was no.

"He is pissed." Ianswien snorted humorously. Why would his Vulpesen think that negotiating with such a creature was a good idea - or if such a creature could even be reasoned with.

The Grandson of the valde of veradune was force sensitive, but his abilities paled in comparison to the elder. He could sense the force shield around himself, but it would not suffice. Instead Ianswien swiftly manouvered behind Vulpesen's, leaning against his own shielded form as a barrier to the wave thrown in their direction. Still, the wave was strong enough to push them back.

Now it was their turn. What ever wisdom the old chap had shed on him on self-control, it would fall on the younger's literally deaf ears. With a few steps, he launched himself at the skeleton of a man with a force jump, raising his axe and swung wide.

Vulpesen Vulpesen Darth Immortuos Darth Immortuos
 
Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania

A maniacal grin, bloody red and crimson, escaped her as the pain laced itself through her nerves.

"You don't know half of it, sugar." Pleasant enough words if they weren't rasped with the intensity of a chain smoker. Low, growling, more animal than human. That was Mercy when she was in the thralls of battle. She actively had to fight her own instincts not to lose herself in the melee. To keep thinking, keep scheming.

It was hard.

She chewed and howled in pain as the lightsaber kept burning through her meat. It was a struggle to keep Corazona in place. Maybe next Mercy would bite a chunk off of her- It was probably for the best that that thought wasn't finished.

"What the kark are you doing? Are you caressing me-"

A vooom as Mercy was launched back by both the intensity and strength of Cora's kick, but also from the Force. She felt her face burn. For a brief oscillating moment there were two Mercy's. Not here physically, but within the metaphysical domain of possibilities. Cora could see both versions of her foe overlapping one another.

In one image Mercy was at the apex of her power. A Sith Lord. Face painted in the ash of her enemies with burning eyes and a casually cruel expression. Fully in control. How terrifying it must be to see a hulking menace like her... calm and focused instead of a mass of terror.

In the other image was a slightly more awkward Mercy. In a dress of all things. Still muscular, still towering, but clearly unhappy. Except... her presence was radiant pure and peaceful. An oak at rest instead of a boulder crushing anything in its path.

Mercy was slammed into the rockwall behind her and growled. The two images disappeared and back was Mercy... with fury. And a lightsaber still stuck in her body, Corazona's lightsaber, before Mercy pulled it out.

"If you want this back, you will have to come for it, you piece of haughty noble garbage." The smoking hole where Cora's lightsaber had been lodged was painful... and it was slowly beginning to knit itself back together. That process was even more agonizing. It only seemed to make Mercy more fierce in the Force however. Her presence bleeding into her immediate area.

And yet... she waited.

Patient for Cora to come to her.

There was that dangerous edge that would develop into a murderous scythe of a Sith Lord the Princess had witnessed just a moment ago.
 


Tag: Aris Noble Aris Noble Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex

So much destruction.

The lightning that had lashed out against her barrier jumped across the lab and destroyed anything in its path. Tanks made of glass burst open, water was evaporated into steam and metal was molten and deformed. The barrier itself had just barely managed to hold out, but only because of the sheer amount of energy Vera was forced to pour into it. This clash was for real, and she knew they were up against one of the most powerful of his kind.

She could not hold back anything.

Vera's gaze turned back up just in time to see the Dark Lord jumping down. But as he did, he vanished. Vera's breath was taken away and while her first instinct was to panic, the Force reached out to her for guidance. She saw him, standing atop the workbench close to her brother, and turned around to face him as he appeared.

"Aris!" Vera called out and sent the Golem for him. With the runes along its body, it too created a Barrier to shield the young Noble. Weaker than the one before, but strong enough to keep that shockwave from causing any harm.

"Don't listen to him!" She doubted that he would, but it was important for him to understand just who this man was. To know what kind of evil he had turned against his family. The Golem wasn't going to wait on anybody's response, however, and drew its mighty, Force-infused sword to guard the young Noble.

With the lab destroyed, its task was to get them back out.


 


Mercy's weight lifted from her, and despite how everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, the relief that coursed through Cora's body was sudden.

She drew in a sharp, gasping breath as Mercy was flung backwards. Head thrown back, strands of crimson hair gently wafting, there was a sort of artful touch to such an ugly thing that was war.

In that moment, the Force twisted and bent, and Mercy was not as she had been. She was the mighty, calculating Sith Lord and the serene, stalwart Jedi all at once. Two opposite visions, one more fitting than the other. The pair of images changed between one another as quickly as the oscillation of a fan blade, back and forth, back and forth-

The clock started again.

As Mercy's body crashed into a crumbling stone wall, Cora scrambled upward. Her left shoulder had puncture marks, and she couldn't move her arm without excruciating pain. Her lightsaber-

Cora looked around frantically until she caught sight of the familiar blue glow.

Oh, bother.

She grimaced as Mercy pulled the plasma blade from the smoldering wound on her shoulder and tossed an insult her way. For some reason, the harsh words didn't cut her as deeply as they had before. they were almost familiar. The corners of her lips, stained with blood, tilted upward in a wary smile.

"You sound just like the women of Ukatis' noble court."

There was something knowing in her gaze as she met Mercy head on, directly in the eyes. An acknowledgment of a shared experience that neither had discussed with the other.

Normally Cora would've let her eyes fall closed to concentrate, but instead she focused on a point just above Mercy's shoulder. Her connection to the Force grounded, beneath her feet and further still.

Extending her one good hand, Cora recalled her saber. It trembled in Mercy's grip before zipping back to the Jedi.

For a few seconds, Cora held the Amazon's gaze in concentration. Then, a rumbling. Long-buried plant life that had lain dormant beneath the sands surged up and broke through the ground. Thick vines wrapped around Mercy's legs, rapidly winding around her torso and seeking her arms.

With a burst of speed, Cora tore through the space between them, aiming a wide cut to remove her opponent's head.
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Objective II: Mirial
Break the Stalemate
"If you are going through hell, keep going."

34th Hellstompers
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Several tons of exposed explosives now sat in the middle of the battle zone where Pioneers and Marines were still locked in a brutal melee.

He reached into his coat jacket and drew out a thermal detonator. He set the timer to zero. His finger hovered over the trigger.

"LONG LIVE THE WARMAS-"

The thumping sound of an explosion sent dirt high into the air, and threw a Cougar onto it's back. Several marines were caught in the blast, annihilating them in the process. One local commander would later say that the Chaos Pact were simple maniacs. It was only an act of desperation. The Hellstompers would keep moving. The plans wouldn't change.

Fireteams, despite the losses, kept their wits. They knew this was coming. They'd been told the stories of how ruthless the sith were. Of how crazed their soldiers were. They'd trained to fight that. Trained to keep their lunch down, and their rifles raised.

Now it was the test of that. The bodies piled high, and yet one autorifleman never seemed to run out of targets. It wouldn't matter. The GADF, the prized fighters of the galaxy, would keep their word. Take back Mirial. They could rebuild. They could regrow. The GADF wouldn't let the planet fall.

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Still, the Hawks were going to be a juicy target for the advancing Wildcats. Asmodon was counting on that. The nine remaining Sagittarius Tank Hunters split up into three groups of three, taking ambush positions that would overlook any approach that the Wildcats could take to engage the Hawks in the ruined urban area. Asmodon's team nestled comfortably under a thick overpass that he hoped would protect from the swift artillery response of the Hellstompers fast enough to evac out. They activated their camo-nets again, dulling their metallic signature to match the burnt-out wrecks of speeders around them.​
The Commander of Thunderbolt, the lead tank of the formation, held his breath.

"Sir? What're orders?" The commander of Fury asked over the comms.

"Hold position. I'm calling up Thunderstorm to swing around and deal with the AA. Pull remaining Ravens back and keep eyes out for ambushes."

From behind the AA, Thunderstorm, which had already succeeded in swinging around to the Chaos Pact's rear, pushed inward and began engaging the APCs that gave the enemy hell. Thundercats, the same type that the tank hunters and struggled to kill, came up and began peppering the area with mortars. The Wildcats they had hoped to ambush now came from both north and south.

And now Ravens came from both sides. Often, the droids were too numerous to keep track of. The city they had hoped to find solace in, was now a swarm of droids and tanks. The trap had now become a killing ground. Once droids had a lock, rather than risk direct engagements, the Thundercats would engage the tank hunters with EMP mortars, before firing right through buildings that had been long evacuated with heavy beam cannons, not affording the enemy line of sight.

All the while, Marines from Thunderstorm pushed in an secured the Tank Hunters, while Tanks of Thunderstorm engaged the APCs with impunity.

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Ennenhim-General Neraddur shut off the transmission. "Did you get a lock?"

"Did you get it Phones?" Gress looked casually as the transmission shut off. He made a note to run back comms security when they got back. Either way, the Chaos Pact had given them an open invitation to mess with their comms.

"Yessir."

"Give'em the jams."

Just before Festerruman Sachiel Festerruman Sachiel could relay orders to it's artillery, the comms of the Chaos Pact, all of them, were suddenly blasted with an unmutable noise.


The sound of music blared over speakers and headphones. Nothing seemed to be able to shut it off.

Hypersonic superheavy shells, each containing a ton of pure baradium-impregnated detonite began to whoop all around the crippled walkers.

Due to the jammed comms, accuracy on shells was lacking. The sound of massive explosions filled the air, but nothing hit it's mark, outside of a stray shell that smashed into a Cougar, and vaporized the tank.

Gress watched the fireworks. It was clear that if the Chaos Pact actually used tactics, and coordinated their forces, they'd be a force to be reckoned with. Instead, they threw bodies at the problem hoping for an overwhelming force.

But one planet wouldn't stop the GA. One army couldn't. The GA were stronger together, a coalition of planets, of species, of people, sworn together under the agreement of freedom.

"Phones, call in air support. Get the Tornados on standby to shut them up."

"Yes sir!"

Above, Y-Wings and Tornados whizzed overhead, launching bombing runs on the superheavy artillery. The Hellstompers were now aided by the Navy, curtesy of Liram.

 
Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania

A soft click of her tongue as the saber wrenched itself out of her hand.

It was for the best.

Sabers had never been her forte. They were too... elegant. Too dainty. It reminded her too much of the fencing lessons she had endured after convincing her mother to allow her combat training only to be surprised by the prissy suits and thin needle like swords.

"And you taste just like an Ukatis noble princess." Mercy retorted without skipping a beat. Something in the way the Sith said it however... she certainly didn't seem to be talking about the blood or the meat. The tone was enough to make even the most experienced madam blush. Not that Mercy knew that Corazona was from Ukatis or a Princess. The latter was just a stab in the dark and the former was an educated guess. Someone from Dromund Kaas isn't just going to randomly start talking about Ukatis noble courts.

Her patience was wearing thin however.

About to take a step forward Mercy realized she couldn't. Subtle snake-like vines had winded themselves around her legs and as that realization hit more of them burst out of the rock wall. Tying up her arms, her throat and presenting a delicious target for the Jedi.

"Didn't realize you were into bond-." Mercy growled as she tried to fight against the restraints.

Cora would have succeeded at cutting her head off too. If not for yet another ace in Mercy's deck. Her connection to the Drengir. Once upon a time she had consumed an alchemical concoction made by Velok, an alchemist born of alchemists. She felt the ravenous horde of trees even here, even lightyears away... and it gave her an affinity to plants of all sorts.

Including the vines tying her up as target practice.

Her eyes closed- that could tip Cora off... because there was no world where Amazonian mountain ever close her eyes instead of facing her threat head with spittle and rage. But velocity and momentum were harsh and cruel things. They carried her forward to take Mercy's head off clean... except at the last minute the mountain's gaze ripped open.

And the vines loosened entirely.

Her arm lashed out. Burnished copper, self-healing meat and pulsing with poisonous dark signs. The lightsaber took her arm clean off at the shoulder and Mercy hollowed in pure agony. Perfect agony. The kind that fueled a Sith instead of keep them down. Even as Cora's lightsaber followed through and cut into the rock behind them Mercy's knee exploded upwards towards Cora's abdomen.

This was only to create space.

To finally snap that pretty head clean off of its neck.

Except... except that eldritch arm had a will of its own. Usually Mercy could control it... when it was attached to her body. Any such limits were gone now and the hand was making elaborate gestures, quick, quicker, quickest. Until it summoned darkness, the power gathering... and even as Mercy's attention was fully focused on trying to rend and rip Cora apart the power exploded.

A force of corruption and compressed air bursting out in a circle and sending everything flying.

In the aftermath? Mercy was gone. So was her arm. But there was an impression in the immediate era. Of a predator licking its wounds, but certainly not down. A hint of promise: I will taste you again... princess.
 

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Cora grimaced. Already flushed from exertion, heat spread from her face and down to her neck at Mercy Mercy ‘s crude comment. She didn't like how it was laced with something utterly suggestive.

Is…is this Dun Möch?

The mountain's eyes closed. When they opened, the vine-like restraints had loosened from her body. Her arm lashed out.

But Cora was already in motion. Her heart thudded heavily in her throat when instinct recognized the threat her mind had yet to process.

Her lightsaber cleaved through Mercy's shoulder, leaving behind the scent of singed flesh and trailing wisps of smoke. A howl of agony rang her eardrums, and suddenly-

Gck!


Cora's sharp gasp was muffled short as pain exploded through her abdomen. It was the kind that ached deep, the sort that would doubtlessly lead to internal bleeding and bruising. Her body careened upward before crashing back down into the dirt. When she finally managed to move, Cora was left prostrated on one knee beneath Mercy.

Lifting her head, the first thing she saw was her opponent's severed arm, covered in dark symbols, making complicated motions. Something was building, and though she did not know what, Cora scrambled to her feet. After only a few backwards steps, the pressure exploded and she hit the ground rolling.

A surge of nausea overtook her, and she reached blood and bile into the dirt before looking up.

Wha…?

Mercy and her disembodied arm had vanished. They left no tracks in the sand, no emissions from a booster. Her presence still lingered, not in the distance but not right in front of her either.

Cora winced, then spat more blood into the dirt.

Tasteless.
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Aris hefted his blade, hefted Sezil with the full intent to strike down another of the containers, only for it to shatter in a flurry of glass before him. Instinct had him shield his face, but even the most jagged of glass didn't seem to cut his skin. He hissed. Not because it hurt, but rather because he was now coated in whatever fluids were keeping them alive.

The substance was familiar of course. He spent long enough inside one of these.

He lowered his blade, though, as he looked towards Darth Carnifex. It wasn't hard for him to realize why he hadn't been shattered like the glass. The Golem. He gave them a simple nod before his eyes narrowed.

"Vera."

Aris wasn't calling out for her. He stared up at the giant of a man, his green eyes unflinching. He couldn't sense the danger here, couldn't hear the Force screaming to run. "You kidnapped her, at least remember her name. It's Vera."

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex | Vera Noble Vera Noble
 
"I do," Amani said plainly, "But it's not very Sith-like, I'd think. To rely on those weaker than yourself." The other Sith were leaving outright, content to leave Xeykard one-on-one with her. Probably for the best. Amani had the experience (and the bravado), but she didn't want to take her chances in a prolonged 3v1. Too risky.

"The cowards are gone. This one will show you the meaning of strength."

Amani grew a patronizing smile, "Sure." Xeykard charged, using his lightclub to its fullest extent. Amani blocked the strike, but he had the physicality to back up his talk of strength. She needed to avoid direct impacts when possible. The healer kept on the move, trying to keep Xeykard from getting as close as he wanted. She started to dodge strikes more than deflect them, using her supremo agility to her advantage. All the while she struck with quick pokes and jabs. Unlikely to do much damage if they hit (unless he got particularly clumsy), but it would keep him from getting too comfortable.

 

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"Yes, I did."

The Golem stood in His way, it's blade drawn and at the ready. Darth Carnifex watched it curiously, studying the leylines of it's construction. It was familiar to Him, as all runic magic born from the ancient thaumaturgy of the Sith was. But they had been changed, altered, repurposed entirely. No doubt this was His son's doing, the boy always had an intuition for the runic arts, but He'd strayed from the true and narrow path long ago.

Runic magic was stamped all over the Dark Lord's armor, they could see it etched directly into the braces of His gauntlets. They radiated power; dark and hungry. It was the truest expression of the ancient art, brought to it's inevitable conclusion and perfectly realized. When He'd discovered Solomon's Vault beneath the Iron Mountains, He voracious studied His ancient progenitor's research on Sith magic and ancient Rakatan technology.

In bringing them together, He was now the inheritor of both ancient legacies.

"I showed her what her future could be if she were to embrace her birthright, but her childish mind could not comprehend what I offered. When she'd served her purpose, I returned her unharmed. I've come to learn that she had grown very little since then, her understanding of her heritage barely progressed. I have no doubt her father is partly cause, He perverts our culture at every opportunity and fosters decadence in the most cowardly of our kind."

His lips curled in something resembling a half smile and a half snarl, baring the faintest glimmer of sharp fangs. "They can hardly be called Epicanthix anymore, little more than animals now. Perhaps I will visit upon them the ruin they unknowingly yearn for in their hearts." His eyes fell on Aris, His dark piercing gaze peering directly into the boy's heart; as though nothing could be concealed from Him. "You stink of the creche, does it not fill your heart with dread to see how you once were reflecting all around you? Your fate could have been same, would have been the same, if your other had not decided upon the merest whimsy to make you his ward."

It was not true, but it was also not necessarily a lie. The Dark Lord of the Kainate rarely operated in falsehoods, often twisting or obfuscating truth to confuse and beguile others. He had no possible way of knowing what Kahlil thought or desired when he brought Aris into his household, in truth it was merely a projection of His own perception on the matter. Life had no inherent worth in the Dark Lord's eyes, only what He had attributed to it. A lowly creation like Aris would not have risen high in His estimation, so it was difficult for Him to perceive that Kahlil might think differently.

For His blood ran through Kahlil's veins, and in Carnifex's eyes that made them more similar than not.

But it was not true, it would never be true.

Stretching forth His hand, the Dark Lord unleashed another torrential storm of blood-red lightning -- this time aimed squarely at the Golem's chest. The light was blinding and the air grew heavy with the acrid stench of ozone. But not only that, but the Force seemed to recoil as the Dark Side swelled from the attack, an abomination against nature itself.


 


Tag: Aris Noble Aris Noble Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex

Vera stood quietly inside the lab, separated from her brother, the golem, and the Dark Lord. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty, knowing that they needed to run and get out. The lab had been damaged, perhaps even destroyed to a point where it couldn't be repaired and would have to be replaced. But their mission was far from over. Now, they needed to get out. They needed to survive.

But even now, Aris stood his ground and supported her.

Vera smiled at him, though it faded quickly when Carnifex began to speak. The things he said about Dad, about the Epicanthix, and about her — it made her blood boil. She knew not to lash out in anger, but as soon as the bolts of crimson lightning lashed out at the Golem she had built with her father, Vera attacked. All of her life, Vera had dedicated herself to learning skills to protect others, but this time was different. She reached out with her hand and pulled on the cracked ceiling.

Large chunks of the floor above them crumbled and fell down towards him.


"Aris! We have to run!"


The Golem shielded itself against the lightning, but the barrier it used to do so wouldn't hold for long. Not against the onslaught of a Sith this powerful.

Vera hoped her distraction was enough to allow the golem to leave with them.



 


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"Niv Hani has and will continue to fight, even after being left to scatter. You shouldn't underestimate the blood they shed." He took a half step forward. The Epicnathix, those of Niv Hani, they were his people, his culture. All of their culture. He couldn't understand why the Sith before him would so callously throw them aside, even with everything they'd done to rebuild.

He lifted Seszil, fully intending to fight once the barrier had fallen from the Golem. But Vera called out. They needed to run? He glanced back to her before nodding once. If she thought they needed to run, he trusted it. He stared at their grandfather for a moment longer before turning to sprint to Vera's side. He was fast, far too fast for a boy his age, Jedi or not.

"Okay, let's go."

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex | Vera Noble Vera Noble
 
Though Xeykard had taken the initiative, Serys was answering every question he asked of her. The counters and jabs kept him honest. After the first few strikes he began to understand the truth of what he faced; her technique was near-flawless, perfectly shunting the weight of his strikes away from her body. It wasn't that he lacked the strength, it was that she managed to make it irrelevant. A brief awe filled him -- then there was the next strike, the next, the next.

He refused to be left behind, keeping pace with each withdrawal or dodge.

The first few exchanges passed, and his style, too, became more refined. Eight swings in he switched to swinging with one hand, sacrificing some strength for a minimized profile, a touch more reach, and a free hand -- by twelve, he was using his free hand to telekinetically manipulate the fight. Their clashes were too quick and his focus to split for anything major, but even a couple of degrees or couple of inches could force Serys into a full guard, blocking head on. But he, too, kept her honest, occasionally attempting to push the pike out of the way and go for a killing blow.
 

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"Underestimation is the miscalculation of worth. I know the certainty of their worth."

Lightning splashed against the Golem's shield, overwhelming it. Right as the shield buckled and broke, the ceiling above the Dark Lord cracked and began to spill down atop Him. The torrent ceased from His fingertips as His arms swung up in defense, pieces of metal beams and floor grating colliding with an invisible, scintillating barrier than exuded out from His outstretched hands. More and more fell upon the Dark Lord, sliding across the barrier and slamming into the floor around Him.

More and more of the room would begin to collapse, including the floor beneath the Golem's feet. It would cascade out, consuming medical equipment and what remained of the creche tanks before finally coming to an end several feet from the lab's exit. There would be no sign of the Dark Lord, only a mounting, groaning silence as the fallen metal settled where it had fallen.

But as the pair exited the laboratory and made their way back into the hall, a shadow fell across their path. It was the Dark Lord, blocking their way. In His hand was the hilt of a lightsaber, which He then ignited to bathe the hall in a dark, gruesome crimson. He then angled the blade towards the pair, the intention clear.

"Too eager to flee, younglings? I won't let you leave without testing your mettle first, to see what my son and his woman have imparted upon you."

Suddenly, the Dark Lord rushed forward, almost too quick for their minds to process. He swung out with His lightsaber, blade arcing out a wide but quick swipe -- the blade capable of lobbing both of their heads off in one strike.


 


Tag: Aris Noble Aris Noble Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex

Much to her relief, Aris decided to run with her.

He wasn't just Epicanthix by blood — he was a Noble, and much like Mom, he wasn't one to stand down when someone so blatantly challenged him and insulted his family. But this was not a fight they could win. Carnifex was a kind of evil that could only be stopped by Mom and Dad, so the best way to help them was to not get caught and complicate matters for them even more. They needed to survive, above all else.

With the collapsing roof and floor, Vera had created just the right opportunity for it. Carnifex was buried beneath rubble and the two Nobles were able to run, sadly without their Golem protector.

It, too, had fallen down the collapsing ground.

"Keep running! We can't beat him. Mom and Dad will-" Vera stopped abruptly when she noticed the shadow up ahead. A crimson blade illuminated the Dark Lord again and she knew they were in trouble. Vera drew her own lightsaber in response and ignited the green blade. She wasn't looking for a fight, but she'd have to defend herself to get out.

Then, he moved.

"Aris!" Vera connected with her brother and stepped right by his side to block the attack, not alone, but together.


 


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He spun with her, his eyes scanning. He could hear it. The sudden shift. Carnifex hadn't even moved, had he? He knew the Sith was fast, but he didn't see, hear. He didn't even smell the burnt scent of ozone trailed behind where Carnifex should have moved if he was just running. Escape wasn't just going to be being able to outpace him, was it? Sezil thrummed in his grasp as he brought the heavy sword around to help Vera deflect the strike. Even with his own unnatural strength, well beyond what even the average Jedi should have, he could feel his arms practically shaking out of their sockets.

They needed to keep slowing him down. They weren't going to be able to trade blows.

"Keep moving!"

Aris was the one who shouted back to Vera this time. All he had was strength on his side. She was going to have to guide them, find the way out. Make it so Carnifex couldn't keep following.

Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex | Vera Noble Vera Noble
 

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The Dark Lord flourished His lightsaber, spinning the crackling red blade through the air. Both Aris and Vera remained more concerned with escaping than staying and fighting, which was smart of them. They recognized the position they were in and were acting accordingly. Some of their kind might have stayed and fought recklessly, consumed by self-righteousness. He'd met plenty of Jedi like that before, not many of them survived for very long.

"You cannot run from your birthright, children. The dark is in your blood. Wherever you go I will always be with you." He smiled viciously, teeth glinting sharply in the sterile light. His eyes then looked to Aris, the boy who's strength He felt through their blades. Something within the Dark Lord called out to the young Aris, something so terribly like himself. For the briefest of moments, the Dark Lord's face and Aris' seemed to be similar -- or even the same. But as quick as the moment came, it passed.

"If you wish to know yourself, then all you need do is seek me out. I will show you what they fear to." He reached out with His hand, and bright blue flame rushed out in a wide conical arc. It filled up the hallway, spurring them to flee from it lest they be consumed.

It would speed along their escape, and ensure the destruction of the tower as the strange-cold fire began to devour the metal in increments.

Until nothing remained.


 

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