Diplomacy Haran's Shadow Wakes [Ask]

[Kei Amadis]

Dathomir– Haran's Shadow Wakes.
Mandalorians at rest, forever
Snapshot

Metal groaned and snapped—a door barrelled inward, imprinting the nearest Mandalorian against durasteel. The next was seized in the force, his armor resonating, plates warping and shredding into his flesh. Kei dropped him like a broken can on the floor.

Two more reached for their guns. Their weapons ripped from their grasp—one slammed against the ceiling, again until his neck gave with a sharp snap. The last managed to raise a wrist flamer, but the tanks on his back resonated, combusting and erupting into a liquid inferno. He screamed as he was cast aside, a listless torch in the dark.

Forward. The next room met his gaze, warriors waiting, but it made no difference. Siobhan Kerrigan had once wielded revenge like this—more telekinesis, less combustion—but the result was always the same. He'd faced her wrath before or hrd inspired violence at least.

Haran's shadow was on a warpath. Hell's shadow catching up.

Behind him lay a sparking ruin. Ahead, dar'manda prepared for a fight they had already lost. Kei only saw her—his wife, prone in stasis, red hair framing her beautiful face, his missing son, dead family and burning home. A failed protector, carving a bloody path through this planet, then the next, and the next. Till every soulless warrior lay a broken wreck.

He surged forward, his force barrier raised. Blaster shots sparked off his armor with a grunt of pain. He shaped the barrier's impetus into a brutal telekinetic strike, slamming through the next attacker to almost impale his broken bones around it. A blue saber flashed—another Mandalorian's hands fell away, leaving her a whimpering ragdoll. A final body was lifted, made into a human shield, shots ricocheted, some striking their own as he strode forward.

No words.

Just death.

OOC:

Spoiler

Not open to opposition yet; its a buildup thread or a choice point for him. A neutral third party or innocent would be the perfect addition.

 

[Kei Amadis]

Human shield thrown at the nearest Mandalorian, Kei's momentum started, Djem So driving his every motion—forceful, relentless. A diagonal deflection sent blaster fire sparking away, the sparking beam broke the swing of the second's blade, counter-cleaving through the shooter in a single, brutal stroke. The Master lunged again, a two-handed leap carrying him into the first shooter. His saber came down like an executioner's axe. The Mandalorian's guard couldn't hold. All one momentum from start to finish.

They died on their feet. They didn't break or beg—but they died all the same.

The clan symbol—he'd seen it in his dreams. His true target showed himself. A warrior, armed and ready. A Beskar-clad arm caught the saber on a wrist blade, heat scorching metal, the Mandalorian jetting into the air, firing from above. Kei's guard stayed high, catching the bolts. Then he shifted, using the Mandalorian's own momentum—telekinesis driving him into the wall with bone-breaking force. Kei carried through, right on him.

The Mandalorian crumpled, his jetpack sparking. Amadis knew the clan, his face. A gunner from the ship which rained fire on his wife, his children, their families, and home. One of a thousand. But this one... this one he knew was there.

The Mandalorian lunged, trying to wrest the saber from Kei's grip. He let the saber fall. Blade disengaged, arms locked, their fight turning brutal. Crushgaunts scraped against his armor, searching for a grip. A headbutt cracked against Kei's armoured skull—he answered with a brutal stomp to the other's knee. Metal struck metal with a sickening crunch. They slugged at each other in armored fury—personal, vengeful. Kei caught the warrior's wrists, drove a foot behind his injured leg, and wrenched him down hard, twisting at his wrist to crack it limp. He pinned the wrecked arm to the ground under his boot. A Sith Lord had taught him that. In his right mind, he'd have felt his bad leg. But in his right mind, none of this would have happened.

The saber flew back to his hand, igniting as he looked down. The warrior rolled free and crawled, reaching for a weapon with his usable hand. Kei let him. The shot came parried away, one caught his armor, another back at the man. Until the warrior stopped, beaten but unbroken, staring up at him.

They all died the same way, as soldiers.

But they didn't deserve the name.

Kei seized him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. He wanted to ask—where was his unit? His vod? How could he follow orders blindly? How could he call himself a man? But as he stared into the warrior's eyes, the words wouldn't come.

He let his saber do the speaking, impaling the Mandalorian and dropping him to the floor.

A terminal flickered nearby. Kei called up the crew manifests, scanning names—clans, families, vod of those who were there that day. He patched it to his wrist console. Not every name. Not even most of the details. But enough for a start.

"Why?" someone rasped from the floor, bleeding out against the wall.

Kei didn't turn. He tossed an inferno grenade behind him, its slick liquid running like a burning promise across the floor.

Some questions never deserved an answer.