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Cas' first few attacks failed to connect with Argaloth, creating more fatigue in the young Jedi as he was going beyond the limits of his personal Force reservoir. Luckily one managed to connect, causing the gigantic Ravager off-course, creating a bit more distance between them and him but it wasn't enough as the Bryn returned and this time, sunk his claws into the Frittata nearly knocking it over and throwing Cas off of it completely. Stablising himself with his cybernetic arm, latching onto the edge of the Frittata - Cas again staggered Argaloth with the dwindling strength of his telekinetic attacks.
They were going to make it, Argaloth was so far now that it'd be impossible for him to catch up. Letting out a sigh of relief, his head hung low as his eyelids grew heavy - the pain of his injured rib grew worse and he had now hit a 'Force fatigue' feeling both physically and mentally exhausted. Arms growing heavy, Cas struggled to lift himself up but before he could finally rest Argaloth attempted to leave them with a "parting gift".
"No..." he muttered weakly, slowly raising both arms and positioning them in the direction of the incoming boulder. Releasing a strained grunt, Cas pushed himself farther than he had ever gone, calling upon the Force one last time and concentrated on slowing down the boulder's velocity as best he could. Unleashing a strained yell, Cas' eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell back hard on the Frittata's roof, slumped and unconscious. Thankfully, the Jedi Knight was able to slow the boulder enough where it would collide with the ground instead of the Frittata.
Opening a hatch on top of the Frittata, a Kastolar soldier reached over and with the help of the others, dragged the unconscious Cas back inside. He was subsequently carried and placed onto a bed next to some other injured soldiers, one of the soldiers placed a hand over the Jedi's glove - thankful that he had managed to use the last of his strength to save them all from certain doom. While today didn't go the way he expected and the lives of everyone lost today would certainly weigh on him - for now, Cas could rest easy and allow his body to repair itself knowing that he and Mathieu managed to do the right thing and save everyone else as well as avenging those lost by dwindling the numbers of Argaloth's forces.
Not only had the Chieftain shut his ears to her words, but he had also silenced the cacophony of truth that poured in from the galaxy itself. He painted a new picture. One that suited the glory of the Bryn’adûl. One that heralded his greatness; versus the visions of abject horror his slaughter brought to every system his horde moved through. Gianna could feel that the Draelvasier had deafened himself to her. Not only to the dialogue but to everything she embodied. He turned his back on his people. On the light. Welcomed the dark—With open arms.
The fact that he pulled his axe back from where she had thrown it in an effort to behead her without resistance was telling. It was dishonorable. More than anything else it felt like a trap. It spurred her into action. It pushed her to fight. He was pleased with the sight of Sol & Astra burning bright into existence. Strangely, the massive creature even seemed satisfied by her momentary escape. She expected a growl or at the very least to be swiped at for the insult of using his face as a springboard—But not even that processed.
This was what he wanted. To fight. To tear into each other, brutalize, until there was nothing left.
This knowledge made the Jedi Knight feel dehumanized and above all entirely exhausted. As if her spirits had been drained and crushed beneath a cruel gauntlet. The flame-haired woman fought with care, with respect, but it was still violence. She tried not to harm him. She didn’t use his previously accumulated wounds against him. She hadn’t harmed him intentionally before—And she wouldn’t now. Mercy was not a weakness. Mercy, was not a failure.
It was everything. A sibling to hope, a cousin to goodness, it was part of what made desperate decisions in the final hour hold merit. It made the galaxy at large a little less unsympathetic. A little more just. She strove for that balance in every moment of her existence. Each time that she nicked or grazed the red-skinned giant she found it to be the antithesis of her belief structure. It was from this that her sorrow welled ineffably. It was the knowledge of how many more would suffer; should she fail.
How many, many more would perish at the hands of a nightmare.
The fact that necessity had caused her to play right into his hands was a disgrace, yet the ultimatum was clear. Fight or die. His attacks were measured but no less lethal. If she made one wrong movement, one wrong turn, one wrong jump, she would find herself split in twain. “…Don’t…Do not do this…”
Gianna had been willing to die. She did not plead for her own life. She begged for others. She begged for him. For his people—And all that would fall to ruin in his thirst for the unattainable.
“There is a reason tyranny fails. There is a reason that empires crumble; that wickedness is swept away.”, she started, between blows, and in the scant few seconds she had to formulate an intelligent thought. Her train of thought had long since departed the association of hope stemming the tide of his genocidal massacre. Hope existed for her; as real as the sun. For him? It was a fools errand. A fairytale for the weak to provide succor while they idled in perdition. Still. If he would end her life…She would not go quietly. He would know all she thought; and more. “It is because hope never dies.”
At least, it never died a natural death. It only ever seemed to fade because people didn’t know how to replenish its source right away. It suffered from blindness, errors, and betrayals. It thinned from illness and wounds; it struggled of weariness, of withering, and of tarnishing. It became diminished in the shadows, but from the darkest of night came the brightest stars. It would persevere. When the time came—She believed the Draelvasier would harken back to this moment.
When a know-nothing human warned of the end. All it would take was one. Just one person strong enough to rise up and declare that this would no longer stand. A moment when the galaxy would stop reacting to trauma and actively seek to destroy it. He would be taken blind. Sightless, save, for that which let him cling to a faulty belief. It would not be today. Likely, it wouldn’t be her.
Gianna doubted that she would live to see morning.
But someone would continue what she had begun. Someone who could do what she could not. The only way that evil ever truly triumphed was when good people did nothing. No one would sit still. No one would wait for their loved ones, their homes, and all they held dear to be destroyed by this malevolent wave.
The Jedi Knight was sent backward by the explosion from the breaking of her shield. Every moment until then had been well-met. With the wind knocked out of her and her saber clattering away, in truth, she thought it would be the end. Her abilities were weakened. Her body was running on fumes and ached in places she didn’t know existed. It was sheer force of will that caused her weapon to return to her in time. She had seen aureate eyes boring into her own. Though they spoke on different wavelengths and opposite hearts—There was a silent passing.
A silent acknowledgment.
He would win.
Gianna got back to her feet with a slight sway before she steadied. An airy pirouette caused her to once again avoid certain death, though, the reprieve was only momentary. They moved around each other as if they had fought for an age. He knew where she would step. She knew how he would swing. Knowledge didn’t matter in the end. She made a mistake. Too slow. As she rose her blue saber to try and deflect the swing of the axe—It was hooked, stolen from her hand. She tried to call it back.
Nothing. Not so much as a shudder.
She was forced to move beneath the screaming crimson weapon once again. With a soft, silent apology, she struck out at the back of his leg to gain a little ground. If she could make it to the sister-saber that lay not far away she could hold on a little bit longer. Not forever. Every moment she could delay him from leading his horde through the Concord forces was a blessing. He was the head of the snake. The head—And the heart.
The flame-haired woman tried to call the weapon he had taken from her once more and to her relief, it leaped from the earth and flew toward her waiting hand. Only to be blocked. Something blunt hit her hard and the Nabooian woman was falling into the flower-speckled trench before she knew what was happening. She hit a hunk of duracrete and bounced off with a solid thud as if she were little more than a doll. Pain exploded in her cranium like nothing she had ever felt—So strong that she couldn’t see. Small fingers found purchase in the dirt, trying to stand, but a mammoth hand grabbed her by the face.
He murmured something. She couldn’t hear over the sound of her heart thudding in her ears like a drum. Gianna could feel something digging into her flesh and her airway was abruptly cut off again. She struck at his armor with her lightsaber in an attempt to free herself, but his grip was iron. When he threw her backward as if she weighed nothing at all the sound that echoed through the trench was deafening. Her head, already injured, struck the rock again.
Gianna swallowed with extreme difficulty. She could feel something wet and warm dripping down the back of her neck. Her vision was swimming and a soft sound escaped closed lips. It was involuntary. Too weak to scream. Too weak to cry out. It was just that—One small sound. Jade eyes focused on the red-skinned Draelvasier and a myriad of emotion passed. It did not have words, yet, the sight of her amulet in his grasp brought a vision she could not comprehend. She had forgiven him once.
She would forgive him again. Again, and again.
When he returned to her with his crimson axe her teeth ground together while she reached for the Force one final time. She could barely feel it. She could barely feel anything at all. Just pain. Her head was so full of agony, of screaming, that she would never realize none of it came from her. It was a ghoulish echo of anguish that poured in from the void. The heartbreaking sound of the galaxy crying out while it bled—While its children died. While she failed.
The Titan swung down with all the force of a hurricane and in a burst of spirit, he would find that it stopped. His arms would shake, tense, while the Knight held one dainty hand before her chest. Palm out. Holding him at bay one final time. “It’s okay...If I die. It's a-all right...”, she struggled out, murmuring, through sight that was distorted and words that were hoarse. Her healing artifacts couldn’t keep up with the damage anymore and her lightsaber was out of reach. Her hand began to tremble as her telekinetic hold began to crumble. “I…”
Gianna looked as if she wanted to say something else but the pressure was too much. Her body felt like it was breaking with every passing second beneath his attack. She drew another shaken breath but knew...Knew it was over. It was all right. It was all right if she died in service to the innocents of the galaxy. It was all right if her time had come. She would pass in place of something far more important. Hope. She could die. Hope—Never did. Her heart seemed to flutter while she pressed all of her goodness into the area around her. The flowers that had started growing spread further. This place didn't need to be a grave. It could be filled with grace. With light. Her hand fell abruptly and the shield went with it—All at once. Everything stopped as her eyes closed and her head fell to the side. Blood pooled slowly out from beneath her and her world went dark.
The last thing she caught sight of was the glint of a crimson blade.
The Axe fell short of its final stroke, even now after so much punishment she still resisted. Her strength was remarkable, her will as strong as a Draels. But still her use of it disgusted him. But this, this last act of defiance gave him pause. Her words, almost comforting - confused and enraged him. Even as he fought for control she speared at his heart. He could not do it.
"Gaaah..!"
Hesitation cut through him like a blade, the light lingered in her subconscious as he was reminded of everything she had shown him and how she had shown mercy. Now - so would he, the Titan had defeated the Jedi and now as she lay helpless before him he would show her mercy.
It had been done, the insult she laid upon him with her tricks and feigned mercy was diminished, but it did not feel glorious - all he felt was hollow. Nar Kreeta burned and soon so would so many other systems like it, she had sought to warp his mind with Human lies. Instead he had found truth, their purpose was as much manifest of the force's will as it was his own. The Jedi would learn to accept that, before the end. But that end wasn't now. He had hesitated, some part of him wanted her alive to see. She would see, so much and she would be horrified by it. That would be the price paid. He called the Sword back to his grasp as he stepped away from where she lay, the blade lancing through the air into his grasp - he placed the weapon on his back alongside his Axe. He had no need for them now, the battle here was done.
But Nar Kreeta awaited, the Titan scoured through the wreckage following strange whispers. The corpse of a Juggernaut slid from the remains of the Gunboat, his communicator still active. Tathra removed his, replacing the broken stone with the Juggernauts, it took a moment for the connection to be established, all the while he could not help but look back on the wreckage around him. The torment of what how he had been betrayed was something he had not escaped, the pain still raw in his heart. But now there were no tears, now there was only time to return to what he knew. War. His mind was swept from thought as he heard those familiar words.
"Unity." Tathra spoke the chant alongside his roaring kin, his voice lost among the thousands.
Unity. Their unity had seen them this far, they had endured together and today they would take these worlds in the name of their Strength. He had been away too long. Tathra called down a Gunboat to receive him, entering onto the deployment bay hatch he looked back upon the wreckage. A glint in his eyes, no doubt he would see the Jedi again. The price of the mercy she had shown would break the Jedi's heart. The Gunboat took off with its deployment ramp remaining open, flying over the outskirts - Tathra studied the battlefield below with glee. He was so proud, even against the odds the Bryn'adûl had united under a common banner, endured what no other military force could and in a grand sweeping motion crushed the enemy. Pockets of resistance remained, but even from up here anyone could tell, with the Guardian roaring to the skies through the corpse of the Palace and the forces of the Emissary slaughtering everything in their path into the heart of the city, this world would be their and soon enough others would follow suit.
"Down there, now!" Tathra called out as the gunboat swooped down, its dual turrets killing a few soldiers as Tathra leapt from its innards onto the steps just ahead of Galak. He was wounded, yes - he had suffered much but he stood tall. He stood tall because of pride, but pride for his own. He had never been more proud of his brethren than he was now, looking down across the city-scape and out into the outskirts. Even as battle raged on now, HE was honoured to join them.
"We will finish this together, old friend."
The Titan and the Emissary would lead their forces into the heart of the city, closing in for the final assault. But it was different now, everything felt different - more visceral. Everything had a price, he understood that now.
Suddenly, Krarolk's view of the Jedi was obstructed by a boulder flying in his direction.
It was too late for him to dodge - he instead used his remaining spiritual energy and upper body strength to thrust his imbued glaive through the rock, shattering it into numerous smaller, harmless pieces. With the rock cleared, he saw that the Jedi had evaded the Major's glaive, leaping beyond their melee range before returning to counterattack.
Krarolk lunged to the side as the female ran by at a surprisingly high speed, nearly slicing his right arm off. The Major had a similar dilemna, but wasn't as lucky as the Elite. As she attempted to find cover under a nearby stone, she slipped and was cleanly decapitated by the approaching lightsaber.
"Quickly, we'll need to keep up the swarm!" cried Krarolk to the remaining Drael behind him, speaking in the native Drael tounge as to not give the Jedi a clue to his tactics.
Just then, the three remaining Minors crested the small hill of rubble on which the battle took place. As they assumed a triangular formation and sought attack proper attack angles, the cry of the Tenants shook the battlefield. In their strife and desperation, the Zealot unit had been too distracted to notice the first few that were called and had not called in response. To redeem such a heresy, they would live their next tenant to their fullest.
"STRENGTH." The Primarch hissed through his teeth, forked tongue slithering in his jaw. The words of the Draelvasier, their tenants. A promise made, and oath kept and a truth shared.
It was strength that had kept the four remaining Zealots alive, even when dozens of others had perished. It was strength that allowed Krarolk to rise once more and pull out one of his throwing axes, hurling it at the center of the advancing Jedi's mass even as his arm muscles cried out in protest. It was his strength a Zealot Elite that would guarantee the survival of himself and the Minors newly under his command. Strength was the glue keeping the species together.
"STRENGTH!" yelled Krarolk, newly invigorated.
The next tenant was one that Krarolk was intimately familiar with, more so than his own kin. It was a tenant that had guided him for several years through the ranks of the Zealot Order, and one that represented an indispensable duty to the Chieftain.
"BATTLE!!!"cried Krarolk as he charged forwards once more, switching his axe for his glaive.
The Elite was about to find an angle of attack on the rapidly moving figure when he noticed a flash in the sky. It seemed as if an artillery shell had been sent off course, and now it flew towards the Zealots and the Jedi.
For a brief moment, Krarolk considered his options. If he let the shell land, it would kill the Jedi, but it would also likely kill him and his kin. On the other hand, if he somehow blocked the shot, then his precious energy would likely be consumed in its entirety and his kin would be safe, but the Jedi would still be at full strength. Ultimately, the tenant of battle made him choose the latter. Even if the Elite was knocked unconscious or worse, if his kin could continue to fight and somehow escape the infernal hell of a battlefield, then he would be satisfying their right for a battle.
Krarolk halted his charge, forcefully tearing all the remaining spiritual energy from his extremities and his armaments. Then, with a massive mental effort, he thrust it outwards, creating a curved green wall of psychic energy directly in the path of the descending shell.
The moment the shell struck the floating wall, it detonated, the heat of the explosion singing Krarolk even as he stood nearly ten meters below it. Seconds later, the immesurable burden of holding the explosion back triumphed over the Elite's body, and he crumpled to the ground, the barrier he created fading away.
All at once, Krarolk's adrenaline rush began to fade away, his limbs finally giving in to their natural urge to rest after a long workout. Even speaking was beyond him, and breathing was a Herculean labor.
The Zealot Elite's vision turned gray, red, and finally,
black.
OOC: This is my final post, Krarolk is now unconscious.
Sergei had dove down with murderous intent in his eyes. He'd been prepared to finish this fight with blade and pistol. When it looked like the Bryn used his space magic to compel more of his followers into the way of his shots, Sergei was enraged. This fight was between them, and them alone. He'd even had the gall to rely on one of his own to plant the spike into his back with a well placed sniper round. But to literally force someone into the way of a shot to save your own skin? Sergei was seething. So much so that when he dove, his intent was clear to run through the Bryn with his blade, and finish this. He wouldn't see the tear running down the Ashaka's face. He wouldn't believe the Bryn had sacrificed himself to save a friend. He wouldn't care about the pained expression on his face.
He had made his choice.
The Drael marched on a war of annihilation of all kind, stating that because they weren't gifted with as hardy biology and natural strength that the rest of the galaxy was impure. That they were weak.
Sergei would prove to them otherwise.
As Sergei came down, he would feel the spike in his back heat up, and then explode, causing much more damage than had it just simply exploded on impact with his heavy power armor. Sergei would feel extreme pain as the blast was just enough inside of him to shatter his collarbone, perforating his left lung, and even lodge several fragments into his spinal cord. But after the blinding flash of pain, his left arm would almost go numb, barely able to move and hold onto his sword. Blood spewed from his mouth as his lungs started filling with it, and he could feel all the internal damage on his body catching up to him. So much so that when the thruster failed, he didn't land softly like he could have. He slammed head first into the ground. He could hardly think with all that was going on around him. He could hardly think with the fact that his collar bone was now shattered and all of the adrenaline and rage in the world couldn't dull his now screaming nerves inside his body. Alarm klaxons blared in his helmet, as red warning signs flared all over his HUD showing not only the suit, but internal damage. Sergei would look up, and rip the face plate off of his suit to silence the system with his remaining arm. Now breathing in the air around him, he could smell the ozone, the blood, the carnage and smog of war. He could see his opponent before him. He could see the Bryn and pictured in his mind's eye a smiling beast eyeing a mostly dead carcass. How he'd probably be thinking he won.
Sergei had just one more trick up his sleeve however, and he wasn't dead yet.
The bolt that had hit him had just missed his assault pack carrying all of his DEX satchel charges and a single round of MAAWS that had managed to stay intact. His voice was a rasp as he fought to speak through blood filled lungs. He would also slowly fight to his feet to look this Drael in the eyes as he played his final card.
"When you... get to.... hell... tell them... The Wolf... sent you," Sergei rasped through broken bloody coughs and blood now dripping out of his mouth and nose.
Sergei would then grab onto his pack, using the quick release to get it off of his back and throwing it at the Bryn before him. The detonators inside would illuminate as they were activated, and Sergei would slam his fist into the roof as his shields finally reactivated and concentrated to the front of his suit. The blast would be much larger than any hand grenade, even in the Bryn's arsenal, and after the blast sent Sergei flying into the now collapsing building, he would hit the ground with a thud. The last thing Sergei would see is his vision going dark after watching another pass from dropships overhead. The War Hound Heavy Dropships would begin firing on anything that moved at point blank range with their 35mm Autocannons and would hose down the entirety of the School yard. If it moved and wasn't SJC or TDW, it would be met with a hail of autocannon rounds. And they wouldn't cease until whatever it was fled or seemingly died. The cavalry, had arrived. Ropes would deploy from the dropships as more droids and TDW standard Commandos would deploy to the ground, providing relief and reinforcements to this area and attempting to surge, push back and overrun the now beleaguered Bryn attackers. Several would rush to the rubble that now buried Sergei and would immediately secure the area around him. The squad that had supposedly outmaneuvered Sergei's droid team would now find themselves under heavy autocannon fire and even find a few missiles sent at them for good measure. Sergei's men were not holding anything back now, and his forces were now rejuvenated with the arrival of reinforcements to this particular area. The two droids would dig out their unconscious commander and haul him back to the dropship, meanwhile the four commandos pulling security never stopped shooting, only pausing briefly to switch targets and selectively destroy which ever Drael decided to risk approaching these men. Sergei would be attached to the rope before being hoisted up by the dropship with the droid that had carried him. Once aboard the droid would begin work on stabilizing him, pulling an EBFAK and starting interventions right away, calling up a tier one casualty to Hope.
Meanwhile in the skies above the second squadron had rearmed but now, both Red and Gold squadrons had a new mission. Close air support.
The Dragons would immediately form up into two flying V formations, Red Squadron with their SIM-1 payloads up front, Gold Squadron with their SIM-6 Hellfire payloads behind them. Comms chatter would flare up as the two coordinated their maneuver.
"Red Leader to Gold Leader,"
"Gold Lead send it,"
"We're making our approach bearing two seven fife, speed 250 kay-pee-aych, we'll keep the air clear, start your attack run on designated targets,"
"Bearing two seven fife, speed 250, you set 'em up, we'll knock 'em down aye,"
The two squadrons of fighters would would be streaking through the sky as they came in hard and fast. Whatever the Bryn would try to throw up to interfere with the airstrike would be intercepted by the Dragons in Red Squadron, leaving Gold Squadron free and clear to engage. Targeting systems would line up on the massed forces of the Bryn, now for some reason cheering or chanting. Gold Leader would watch as his system would lock six reticules on various targets across their formation, and his gunsight would go from red to green as a shooting solution was formed.
If these Bryn were so hell bent on getting a chance to go meet their gods, Gold Leader was going to be more than happy to assist them.
A wave of missiles would be launched at (Galak
)'s massed forces, the Hellfires seeking to make their marks as Deimos laser cannons and 14mm HMGs would go cyclic for seven seconds in their engagement window; sending down a hail of Armor Piercing rounds, Shield Piercing rounds, and heavy laser cannon blasts. The fighters would then accelerate to finish their high speed overpass of the enemy forces, letting them know that this fight, was far from over. And that they had not won yet.
At (Osam
)'s position, he would find that the moment the Commandos and massive Tactical Combat Droids gained fire superiority and suppression on the enemy, each commando would grab a DEX Satchel Charge from their pack and chuck it down into their would be cover, waiting scantly for them all to detonate before the commandos would begin pushing up the street. As the Drael had fired his explosive weapon into the building, the two droids had been preparing to jump down, one losing its footing as the building collapsed while the other making it to the ground. Rubble from the collapsing building would seep into and behind many of the plates of the droid restricting its movement as it was pinned, and fought to free itself. The droid itself was now quite sluggish with all of the debris in the way of its servos, and would violently creak and crush the stuff inside as it fought to get back out of the rubble pile it was in. Meanwhile more pods would rain down as more commandos and TCD-2Ds were deployed to this assault. The enemy would fixed to their position. And while the single team was now left with their one TCD-2D to finish dealing with (Osam
)'s unit, the rest would push forward. The other two squadrons of War Hounds now being deployed as well to support this counter attack. (Tathra Khaeus
)'s own gun boat would come under attack as several of the War Hounds would mark it with their targeting lasers and fire more SIM-6 Hellfires to destroy the vessel.
Aleksandr Kerensky would smile only because the enemy had once again done what they had tried on Yurb. They had encountered heavy resistance against a foe, and would once again take a seemingly less defended route to try and achieve their objectives. This he had waited for. This he had anticipated. And now that they had once again tried to bypass the defenders to sack the "heart" of their defensive line, they would find this wasn't a place for them to destroy.
For it was a place to become their graves. He would speak into comms to all of the pilots and support craft in the SJC's arsenal, having one of the comms officers transmit the location.
"To all members of Silver Jedi Concord flying air support and combat air patrols. This is Aleksandr Kerensky of The Dire Wolves. Sending a priority one fire mission request. Authorization is approved for all ordinance. Fire on this location. Wipe them from existence. Seal their fates. Send them to whatever gods they worship,"
And with that transmission all would have the coordinates to this rendezvous they'd created. This bypass they'd attempted. His and Sergei's men and women at arms' sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. As the old saying went.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Beltran hadn't even been sure whether he'd heard the words, felt them or imagined them. It didn't matter, because he replied in kind, almost without even thinking about it. Thanks, He would transmit back, his tone-if tone could be measured in this kind of communication-wry. I intend to.It was becoming clear that the Bryn'adul had a flare for the dramatic. Something he felt they shared in common with the Sith, and if he had to be honest the Jedi as well.
Beltran and his remaining continued to fall down into the chasm. Though it was nearing on pitch black, Beltran's HUD transmitted visual stimuli to him using infrared, low-light and thermal imaging. Falling in the arch position to provide stability, this really wasn't much different from the kind's of jumps Beltran and his Rangers normally did. They used their bodies as well as their jumpjets to nudge themselves in the direction they needed to go.
One thing that helped immensely was the massive thermal signature that the Guardian Servitor gave off. It was as if it's insides were made of molten lava. And, Beltran found, he was able to feel it in the Force. Perhaps he was piggybacking somehow on it's controllers telepathic connection, or perhaps it just emanated a powerful Force signature in it's own right. Either way, it wasn't difficult to follow at all.
"It looks like it's burrowing upward," Beltran would say after a moment. "General direction has it moving toward the Palace."
That made sense. The marketplace was all but destroyed, neither side having really been able to use it to much effect. Now the battle would likely hinge on who was able to take the main section of the city. Beltran briefly thought to the survivors of second and third platoons, who even now would probably be making their way to the palace to aid in the defense. Mrawr would ensure that they gave a good account of themselves there.
While the jumpjets that the Rangers used weren't true jet packs in the sense that they allowed one to fly, when falling in a chasm that measured whole kilometers, flight was a relative concept. And while a creature the size of the Guardian could probably move very quickly, it couldn't just disappear an entire kilometer of length in the time it took the Rangers to reach it's last known position.
So as the Rangers reached the lower section of the chasm, they found that a large section of the Servitor's rear section was still visible. Using Beltran as their lead, each operator would trigger their jumpjets, slowing themselves just enough that they were able to make a controlled landing on the Servitor itself. Each man would, upon landing, immediately go prone, grabbing for the boney outcroppings that seemed to jut out from the servitor every few feet or so.
Only the assisted strength from their powered armor would them to hold on as the giant worm burrowed up through the crust of the planet toward the palace. And even then, two more of his men would be pulled off under the force of it's movement, likely to be ground into paste between the rock wall and the creature's skin.
"Start climbing," Beltran ordered. "We need to get to the mouth." Judging on it's mass and the hardness of its hide, Beltran doubted that even his lightsaber would be able to cut through the skin-much less the explosives that they'd brought.
"Sir," Said his Sergeant. "I think some of those spider things may have followed us down here."
It was likely, but unless they were able to achieve a controlled fall of thousands of meters and land precisely on their position, Beltran doubted that they would be able to catch up with the Rangers. Still, on the off chance he responded. "Keep an eye out for them. Engage them if they get in our way, but otherwise don't let that detract from our objective. The worm needs to go down."
And with that, the group of Rangers and Beltran began their climb up the length of the Guardian even as it neared the palace and finally burst through. Debris rained down on them, killing another man just from sheer blunt trauma. In the end, it would only be Beltran and four others who would make it to the mouth of the beast.
Perhaps it was luck, or perhaps it was the will of the Force that both remaining explosive bundles had survived the climb. Even as the creature writhed and crashed through the rock, Beltran held firm as he moved ever closer. "Give me the bundles!" Beltran shouted. Holding both of them, he then threw them up into the air, just above the Servitor's mouth. He wasn't much of a telekinetic, but all he needed was to give the bundles a little shove. So he drew upon the Force as best he could and with out final ounce of energy, forced the explosives down into the chasm of the beast's gullet.
His Sergeant, also holding on for dear life, would key the remote detonator-activating the two powerful explosives at once before they could even touch the molten walls of the creature's insides. Utterly spent, Beltran would never see the results of his gambit, for he would lose consciousness and fall from the creature, back down into the abyss from where it had come. Perhaps his surviving men would be able to save him before he hit bottom, perhaps they would not.
Either way, that would be a story for another day.
(OOC: This is going to be Beltran's last post for this invasion. It was an absolute pleasure writing with all of you. Good luck in the judging and see you guys in the next one!)
The young Jedi couldn't react. The Force seemed to flee from her body; there she sat, only to watch the blur of a monster charge, only to watch Yula raise her hands to launch her away. Then the spear. The pain. It flooded back. Though the Zeltron was unconscious and felt none of it, Auteme cried out for her. "NO!"
She didn't know Yula well, but she didn't believe anyone deserved to die in pain, especially not at another's hand. Life could flourish. Apathy? Never. Auteme cared for everyone. Weakness? Mercy was a strength, and the Draelvasier had shown little.
She could see the life there fading. Enough, she thought, and the thought manifested.
In an outburst of strength she took hold of the Force, pushing it forward to knock away the warlock. She was enveloped in a corona of light that pulsed outwards, bright enough to force those nearby to avert their gaze. In truth she had no idea if she was in control or not. The Force was giving her the strength to push onward, and yet it'd been almost resistant to her will the entire time she'd been on Nar Kreeta. But she wanted to save Yula.
With a spectral hand she reached out, grasping the body of the fallen Jedi. The woman's blood seemed to stop pooling. Instead it was pulled back into her body, just as the wounds began to mend. If her mind was still intact, there was still time. Yula would live. She had to.
For someone else to give their life for hers...
It was not only with her hand that she reached out. The Force pulled the Drael's emotions for her to see, and for a brief moment tears formed in her eyes. "It won't be the last time," she said, knowing he would hear no matter the distance. "You will feel again, you will care again. Remember it well, and you might yet change."
She pulled the woman to her, laying Yula down at her feet. Auteme knelt beside her, the Force once more leaving her to her own devices. "It'll be alright," she said, mostly to herself. "Just rest."
And so they rested.
Just a wrap-up post I'd been meaning to do. No need to respond, mostly wrote this for myself just because!
