Life is the Enemy, Death is our Solace - Battle of Bimmisaari [TSE/SJO]

[WolfMortum]

Objective: Defend the Capital City, Glastro.
Inventory: Battle-Armor | Lightsabers of Svivren | The Kingsglaive of Commenor
Opposition: Darth Prazutis & Galvanoth the Genocide.

Nothing?
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Veiere's eyes widened in realization that the blow he had dealt to the perceived weakness in the Sith Lord's armor had hindered the tyrant none; Darth Prazutis retaliated with a powerful strike of the Greatsword's pommel, the back-guard to the hilt in the hands of the raging giant. The blunt-force strike slammed against the Jedi Master's chest place, the armor caving in against and taking the wind out of Veiere, leaving him to reel back in near crippling pain. It felt as though some part of him had been broken within, yet he hadn't the time to stop and assess the damage, as Prazutis was on the charge and showing no restraint in his want to cleave the Jedi in two.

He didn't have the time to rely on the power of the force. Up close and personal like this, Prazutis held the advantage and Veiere had to scramble to try and evade or counter the strikes from the Greatsword. His lightsaber, held in both hands, met with the first of the strikes, seeking to parry with an upward slash in order to throw the blade's trajectory off and simultaneously duck beneath the swing. The weapon was far heavy that Veiere's lightsaber, he just managed to evade the blow, however the weight also gave him the time to dash backwards hoping to escape the follow-up.

He hadn't anticipated the Dark Fire that manifested from the Greatsword, a rush of fear and a chill hit the air as the Darkside was emboldened around the destroyer, sent hurling through the air directly at Veiere. He was too close, and had already summoned the Light of the Force several times that it had begun to take an effect on his stamina, his pool of energy waned, he needed time to recover before countering something so tremendous and vile. Lifting his blade defensively, it was all he could do in order to prepare himself, the heat of the elemental force about to overtake him was so much that the pain reached him before the attack had even hit him.

 

[Auteme]

Pain, huh.

Auteme had been about to hop out of cover and attack again in an attempt to push back the Sith attackers, but then she felt a bit of distress beside her and realized the other Jedi had followed her into cover. She'd almost mistaken the woman for a civilian. It was certainly a reassurance to have a friend to rely on. And yet... what could the two of them do against the onslaught of the Sith? They couldn't really fight back; it was two against a small army.

The solution was never destruction. The Jedi were protectors first, keepers of peace and balance.

In her moment of clarity it felt as if she'd learned a new power instantly -- though it still might be too late. The Imperial soldiers were closing in. She turned to Kirie and began to sign quickly. "Buy me some time," she said. That was what Auteme needed. Time to focus. That was what she began to do. The teenager settled into a meditative sitting position and closed her eyes, centering her energy and focusing her will.

She asked the Force for a favor, and waited for it to respond.

Kirie

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Worn.

In one fell swoop the pendulum of combat changed as the Grandmaster was forced from a front footed approach, to a back footed one. Victory wouldn’t be achieved by the quick stroke of a lightsaber, or the single thrust of a sword. It was a battle of inches a slow grinding, war of attrition. These were the conditions that were forced upon their duel by the Lord of Lies as he crashed against the Jedi’s defenses over and over. It was a fight that was tilted drastically in his favor. There would be no respite barely enough time for the inhalation of air as he pushed back into him. Inch by inch his assault would wear the aging, weakening Jedi down if he continued to play by the Sith Lords rules.

A brief moment of space was all that stood between them before the Shadow Hand unleashed the chaotic blast of dark fire in a large, blue wave that flowed from the dark swords tip pointed in his direction. While directing the blast the Lord of Lies continued pushing towards him even as the fire met with the Jedi, closing the distance bit by bit. That was when the fire suddenly ended in the form of the massive greatsword coming down upon him. No rest. He would exhaust the great Jedi’s reserves until he had nothing left and then? Then he would die.

All around them the war raged. Chaos reigned in the sounds of engines, the ripples of explosives and the storm of peppering fire that soared through the air. In moments of space shots, blaster bolts, shrapnel and other such debris created among the pandaemonium. Munitions reflected off of the hardened impervium while kinetic energy was stopped long before it could become a hindrance, the hissing of cold gas came along with the whirring noise of the armors servo motors as he moved. It wouldn’t stop the hopes of daring soldiers looking to solidify their place in history by scoring a lucky shot to save the jedi, and end the vile monster. Dreams. That was all it would ever be.

WolfMortum​

 

[WolfMortum]

Objective: Defend the Capital City, Glastro.
Inventory: Battle-Armor | Lightsabers of Svivren | The Kingsglaive of Commenor
Opposition: Darth Prazutis & Galvanoth the Genocide.

Struck by the heat of Darth Prazutis vile manipulation of the Force and the elements, the flames engulfed the Jedi Master whose armor heated to the point where his flesh burned underneath and the leather and material under garments seared atop of him. Crying out in agony, Veiere's grip of his lightsaber was lost while being driven back several paces.

The Force cried out, though fell upon deaf ears as the pain overcame his immediate hold over the situation and clouded all but the smell of burning hair and skin. With no helm or defensive head guard, his face burned and visibly scared, skin folding, some peeling and leaving a bloodied and blackened left side, his hair faring no better while his right side was desperately guarded by a raised arm.

The Sith Lord came slamming directly into him, the goliath foe throwing Veiere to the ground, tumbling over himself from the force of such a momentous attack, the greatsword missing him by inches as Veiere rolled in the dust, flailing as he sought to regain control.

Around them, soldiers of both sides waged war against each other. The squadron of Antarian Rangers that had been with Veiere formerly, moving to open fire upon Prazutis in an attempt to distract the Sith from killing the Jedi. In this moment of distraction, Veiere forced himself to his feet and stumbled several further paces, drawing the Kingsglaive from it's sheath and near losing his balance whilst doing so.

"Get to the frontlines!" Veiere shouted to the troops, wanting them not to be caught in the onslaught of the Sith Lord who would make short work of them were Veiere not to intervene. At this rate, Veiere wasn't finding much success in the battle, yet he had a much better chance of fending off against this Monster than the men did.

Smoke rose up from around him, his body already rife with pain, feeling his skin tear against sundered, burned skin underneath. "We're not done here..." Veiere exclaimed as he turned back to look to the Sith Lord. In his stance, his body was hunched and his breathing staggered, it was clear that he was struggling and Prazutis had the advantage yet Veiere showed no intention of standing down and letting the tyrant cleave through their forces.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

It was a calculating assault of immense aggression backed by the calculating mind of a butcher. The howls of agony from the former monarch only spurred the Shadow Hand forward. Every sensation of agony, every torturous feeling that flowed through his hated foe only spurred him on. The dark infused flame left its mark in the form of blackened flesh and seared armor as it melted, fusing with the skin beneath. Even through this agony Veiere wasn't granted any respite as he was battered to the scarred earth, a foundation of defense swept away as the Mountain closed in.

Distractions.

All it took was a hesitation, a delay from the peppering fire from the Antarian Rangers that brought the successful assault to a screeching halt. It was all predicated on keeping the Jedi constantly moving, constantly backpedaling and keeping his focus occupied. If he had no choice but to defend and evade it wouldn't give him time to recover, nor would it give him the chance to draw the blade on his back. In close quarters a lightsaber was no match for a sith sword. The weightless nature of most Jedi weapons gave it a distinct disadvantage especially against the seven and a half foot monstrosity he swung. But the hesitation gave Veiere the precious second he needed to force the legendary blade out of its sheathe. It was always his hated opponent's fighting style to take a reserved approach, only using the exact amount of force that was needed. Now?

All of that was being thrown away.

It was about survival now. About life or death. It wasn't just about protecting his fellow soldiers, innocents it was about killing the Sith Lord. Good. To the Shadow Hand it only forced him closer to the edge of darkness he already crossed a lifetime ago. It was clear to a trained eye that Veiere was struggling from how he stood, to the pattern of breathing. But he would fight until the very last moment no matter the personal cost.

So be it.

The giant threw everything into a forward charge a roar tearing from his lips. Every footfall caved in the earth beneath him as he brought Daesumnor down. He rained down a series of powerful overhead strikes making use of his reach with the weapon. Despite his failures the new blade wouldn't stop him from trying to crush him beneath his offensive machine.

"Death calls for you. Your story ends here."

WolfMortum ​

 

[WolfMortum]

Objective: Defend the Capital City, Glastro.
Inventory: Battle-Armor | Lightsabers of Svivren | The Kingsglaive of Commenor
Opposition: Darth Prazutis

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The Sith Lord set into a series of assaults against him, moving like a tower of armor falling upon him, Veiere was forced to quickly dash backwards in his attempts to evade each of the devastating strikes of the Daesumnor. For most typical warriors, the large blade would require a vast amount of strength and the grip of a two handed weapon, however Darth Prazutis made the Greatsword look little different from a vibrosword, his shear size well suited to the use of the brutal weapon.

Compared to the Kingsglaive however, Veiere still held the advantage of maneuverability and he used this to his best. Every strike that missed him, carried a torrent of air, heavy in the Darkside as the Sith Lord's steel swept mere inches from Veiere, the Jedi Master stepping back and bending at the lower back as the Greatsword narrowly missed his throat, soon forced to leap sideways as the next strike came down and crashed into the ground, a blow that would well have cut him into two.

Defending against such monstrous strength and ferocity, the Kingsglaive provided a solid mass that would halt the Daesumnor in it's pace, however even still, the single-handed blade would require the strength of his free hand placed against the flat of the sword's back in order to do so. The weight of his opponents weapon was alone, enough to carry through any single-handed parry or attempt at blocking their powerful strikes. Maneuverability was his asset here, when fighting the likes of Prazutis. A dance of death they'd shared several times over, now.

Moving quickly to evade the following horizontal sweep of the Sith Lord's blade, Veiere hoped to capitalize on the few seconds it would take to rally another strike, launching himself directly head on against Darth Prazutis with the Kingsglaive pointed towards the breastplate of the tyrant. His right hand held fast to the hilt, while his left hand took to the pommel in order to further add weight to the stabbing lunge, driving the sword towards his long-time rival with the intention of piercing the man's armor and running through his heart.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Location: Destroy Life
Tags: WolfMortum

D E S T R U C T I O N​

The force flowed through him.

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Daesumnor was Sith Greatsword without equal in the alchemical world, an unmatched masterpiece forged originally by one of the galaxies pioneers in the field Rave Merrill. It was reforged and perfected into something new, something greater. Its seven in a half foot long blade and its huge fifteen pound weight made it virtually impossible to wield without sufficient aid or force energy. For all who witnessed it was shocking to see just how easily the Shadow Hand swung the runeblade in a brutal dance of death with the Paragon of Light. When the blades met they screamed loudly as they slid across one another, a towering giant meeting a steadfast defender. ​

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Veiere Arenais was a ferocious combatant.​

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The Jedi Grandmaster didn't need an imposing physique to carry the day he had a brilliant tactical mind, each step was a calculated move, an careful spending of his energy reserves. In all of his wars with Veiere and his countless hours studying his fighting style he only used as much energy as was necessary, normally seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. It wasn't normal for him to be going for the vicious killing blows he was here, normally it was about disabling his opponent and using death as a last resort, which he realized it clearly was. There was no holding back. Veiere had the agility as he moved between blows, evading several strikes. The reaction time of the Jedi was commendable as just a few seconds passed between one strike and the preparation of another when a lunging thrust came in. The Sith Lord shifted back and contorted his torso pulling away from the oncoming thrust. It wasn't enough to evade it by any means but it was just enough to cause it to drive clear through his chest. ​

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It pierced the armored plating and met the flesh beneath as it sliced skin, muscle, and sinew beneath driving through with the added force. A thick black blood vile, unnatural seeped out as a body beneath screamed in agony, or would've if he could feel pain. It was a presence he could tell was both there, and not there at the same time, a vicious blow for certain. The Lord of Lies separated a hand from his blade and used it to unleash a blast of deadly crimson sith lightning at close range in an attempt to brutalize his opponent, a quick blast before his hand came back to the raised greatsword. ​

 

[WolfMortum]

Objective: Defend the Capital City, Glastro.
Inventory: Battle-Armor | Lightsabers of Svivren | The Kingsglaive of Commenor
Opposition: Darth Prazutis

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The tip of the Kingsglaive hit home, piercing Darth Prazutis ' armor and running through in a surprisingly successful blow, Veiere grunting as the cross-guard hit metal and found himself momentarily victorious. The moment was however fleeting and victory soon turned to puzzlement as his gaze lifted and Veiere realized that there was something dreadfully wrong, the tyrant before him didn't appear to be feeling any sort of deterrence to his own end, pain seemingly void of the Sith Lord's corrupted glare.

Time stopped as the Destroyer's hand came free of the Daesumnor, reaching out to Veiere; Everything become white, his gaze blinded by a great flash before startling pain shot agonizingly throughout the entirety of his body as if his muscles were suddenly alight in flame. The Force Lightning struck the Jedi Master dead center and suspended in place, the electrical currents tore through his flesh and traced bone alike, smoke rising up around him as Veiere's cry rang out in horror.

The onslaught of energies assaulting his body felt unending, a vicious invasion of electrical currents that seemed to last an eternity in the moment; Yet as Darth Prazutis ceased the maelstrom of darkness, Veiere's hands came free of the Kingsglaive's hilt, his knee's buckling as he could no longer sustain his own weight. His muscles spasm'd, the static currents of the manipulation of energies causing his body to want to convulse, yet the pain wished not to leave him despite the ravaging attack having temporarily given him a moments reprieve.

Sitting atop both knees, Veiere's body rocked a little in place, leaning back rather unstably to look up to that of his opponent, seeing that Prazutis wasn't yet done with him. The Daesumnor being lifted high above his head, that monstrous physique towering over Veiere.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Location: Glastro City
Tags: WolfMortum

D O M I N A N C E​

Glory.

The sight of the former High-King of Commenor, former Grandmaster of the Jedi Order on his knees his body wracked with battle scars brought a toothy grin out of the armored giant, who stood with the iconic kingsglaive sticking out of his chest. The blades presence served to stop the potential flow of blood that might've poured out, but its presence through the hardened impervium plate left its mark. It was infused with the light side of the force and saturated with the Jedi's powerful presence. As soon as it kissed flesh it burned the skin and muscle beneath to the light this organic construct was an abomination, an affront to the natural order. If he was anyone else the waves of pain that rolled through his flesh would've been catastrophic, crippling. The only presence he felt was the burning light as it eroded the darkness in the very cells surrounding the blade. He brought Daesumnor down to a relaxed position as the crackling lightning ceased and the smell of ozone and burning flesh mingled in the air between them amid the distance scene of rising smoke.​

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Finally.​

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"As I told you my triumph here was inevitable, Veiere." Darth Prazutis said leaving emphasis on the jedi's first name as he took slow, deliberate steps to close the distance between them, as if he was savoring the look of the Jedi on his knees. "There is no future in which you walk away, it has been foretold. You are destined to die where you belong on your knees before me, alone, wallowing in your past failures." The Shadow Hand said taking a few steps closer, shutting the distance between them that much more. In the position Veiere found himself in it was one countless victims had before peering up at the looming titan, ground rumbling beneath his heavy footfalls. It was a whos who list of slain from Jedi Masters, Mandalorian Alor's, Sith Lords, and so many others who fought the Tyrant Zambrano and fell before his blade, their souls ripped from their forms and consumed by the hungering fury of Daesumnor.​

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"Your chapter ends here." He said stopping before him. ​

 

[WolfMortum]

Objective: Defend the Capital City, Glastro.
Inventory: Battle-Armor | Lightsabers of Svivren | The Kingsglaive of Commenor
Opposition: Darth Prazutis

"Your chapter ends here".
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The battle had been grueling, Veiere's strength sapped and his body shell-shocked from the exhausting over-use of Force Light as well as the general tax of battle against an opponent the size and stature of Darth Prazutis . The Sith Lord wasn't to be underestimated, and Veiere had known that when he had moved to counter the tyrant of darkness; it was a battle they had fought time and time before, yet now it seemed things were finally coming to a head between the two.

His first thoughts were of desperation, and the want to find some means of retaliation in order to find salvation; However Veiere could not even bring himself to stand on his own two feet, his muscles wrecked from the blast of electricity, burning throughout his body and leaving him crippled. There in the debris of the broken city street with Prazutis towering over him, Veiere was on his own, alone with all but the Force promising eternal peace on the other side, as the Jedi had always taught him.

Somewhere out there, Kay Larr and his children, Caedyn and Loreena Arenais-Valhoun were living their lives oblivious to all of this. He and Kay had shared a life together, a bond in the Force and a marriage that had born them two beautiful children. Caedyn had entered into the Je'daii and the Force had guided him onto the path of the Jedi today...-Whilst Loreena was strong in her own independence and out there causing trouble for whomever made life hard for the good people of the Galaxy. Of all his achievements in life, at-least he could be proud to leave behind a legacy as precious and beautiful as theirs.

"It may be the end of a chapter, Darth; but my story is just beginning..." Veiere croaked, as though his throat was burned within and his expression grimaced, proving to be a pain-filled effort to speak up to his long time rival and opposition; "The Force knows no bounds...". What did he have left, if not his faith in the Force and his life-long dedication to the light. He had made mistakes along the way, grave ones, yet in the end he had always found his way back to the path before him.

Reaching out, Darth Prazutis now having closed the gap between them, Veiere's hand grasped tightly to the hilt of the Kingsglaive and ripped the sword from within the Sith Lord's body and armor, blood giving way along with the blade to expose the deep wound as Veiere reclaimed his weapon, a sigil of the Commenor Systems Alliance and arguably the greatest feat that he and Kay had ever accomplished together. Lifting the sword, Veiere didn't care for whether the blow would land, he simply refused to go out without giving it his all, and now with the weapon in hand, he was ready.

Compared to Darth Prazutis, the attempted swing of the Kingsglaive would be easily deflected. It lacked all strength of a rightful strike, but the principle was all the same. Enough talk, now was the time to finish it, if ever there was going to be an end to his path. This was one that Veiere would have, without regrets.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Location: Glastro City
Tags: WolfMortum

T H E F A L L​

"It may be the end of a chapter, Darth; but my story is just beginning..."

"The Force knows no bounds..."

It was commendable.

Although he would never admit it even the Mountain could respect how the Jedi Grandmaster chose to leave this world. So many victims before him chose to cry, beg, grovel and a number of other fates. Not Veiere. Even surrounded by hopelessness and drowning in the encroaching darkness he kept his head held high. In the bubble of unexplainable tranquility that surrounded them time seemed slow. The battle was done and they both knew he was finished for he had nothing left, yet Veiere chose to stare the specter of death right in the face. The Jedi didn't fear the coming fate and try to find a way to worm his way out of it, he didn't wish for more time to do more or accomplish more, he didn't hold any regrets in his life and was proud of the legacy that he left, the mark that he made on this world, he didn't allow even death to compromise the man that he was. If this was the true end of his story then this was going to be one that he chose, on his own terms. It was in that single moment that he connected with the Jedi Master, he connected with his long hated nemesis, his greatest enemy. Death came for all it was an eventuality none had managed to conquer, eventually it would come. But when it did? They wouldn't go into it with fear, when it was their time to die. They lived the lives that they chose and ultimately they would end them exactly how they chose to and that? That was the Veiere Arenais he could respect, seeing the true mettle of the hated foe was someone he could respect. In another time, another life, another direction they might've been close.​

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Time slowed as the Kingsglaive, symbol of the Commenor Systems Alliance was ripped from his chest and Veiere swung it one last time. It was a blow without any of the proper strength and precision behind it, yet that wasn't the reason it was swung. Its meaning rang far deeper than its intended purpose. This was it. As expected the Shadow Hand brought up his blade and deflected the strike hard completely exposing the Jedi Master, and he plunged Daesumnor towards him. It could feel the potent, nearby soul to be harvested and it practically shuttered and heaved with need like a great lung. The soul stealing runeblade that denied peace to his victims and trapped so many countless victims of the galactic tyrant, their identities far and wide within but all were united in their final moments of death, their end at the hands of this vile butcher. As the poison laced, serrated blade touched flesh its shaft driven clear through the Jedi Masters heart in a vicious killing blow time seemed to come to a standstill when Daesumnor ripped on the radiant soul of Veiere. But for the first time since the blades creation, for the very first time this sacred final moment of demise that so often played out like a repeating cinema stopped when the Champion of Hope, Paragon of Light, Bulwark against the Dark, the Savior of the Innocent died. Streaks of light flowed through every inch of Veiere's body like roots, like the intricate webbing of a spider that shot like veins through the blade of Daesumnor. A white light rapidly grew bright until it was blinding everyone and everything, completely obscuring the pair. ​

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Then Daesumnor shattered.​

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A massive nova of pure light and compounded souls exploding all at once erupted with such force that it lifted the colossal Sith Lord off of his feet and launched him clear through the air. The tyrant in dark iron was entirely engulfed in molten fire the color of white gold its fury so great it obliterated the imperator armor he wore, shattering its impervium plating like it was some form of brittle stone or glass while other parts of the armor were melted to his very body outright. Nothing could obscure the fires as they set this profane construct of arcane ritual and perverse sciences ablaze, its fury annihilating his form cell by cell stripping his very flesh away, his body glowed with streaks of the dark power within as the light pressed hard to cause a complete eruption. Those moments that he surged through the air were but a few seconds to the outside world around him, but for the Lord of Lies? It was an eternity. Even he could feel as the fires burned through the physical and reached into the spiritual to light his inner being, his spiritual essence on fire. The forceful all consuming flame of light drowned him beneath it as his soul, its inky blackness was forced out of his broken, body as it cratered into the war torn earth. The massive, eldritch consciousness of the Lord of Lies was alight with fire, as the embrace of death came for him he didn't fear its coming. He stared it in the face and unleashed a defiant roar to it so horrific, so violent that it sundered the earth splitting the very street in two, separating them like the move of two tectonic plates. It shattered stone, glass and ear drums for countless individuals and sent those within proximity to the ground in raw pain, killing anyone outright who stood too close. For the first time in centuries since his downfall on Maena the Lord of Lies was dying.​

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Abyss.​

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All he could see was darkness as he felt himself falling deeper into the pits of darkness his soul, the identities that encompassed him Braxus, Ya'zid-rah, Uthax'ra began to fracture and separate like three people lost in the rip currents of the ocean. In this soupy primordial ocean, this falling pit he was lost. There behind the fallen titan, the framework of a single figure loomed, hunched and leaning heavily upon a crooked staff. Where the Lord of Lies had gone, it was impossible to say, even for a being as transcended as he. It was land devoid of sight, locked away and forgotten in a foreboding fog so thick that the great beasts senses were entirely obscured. "What is this. . . ?!" Demanded the giant, the echo of his voice suddenly ushering forth the conspiracies of a wild and spiteful gaggle of crows. "Acheron. . ." Whispered the figure in reply, the rasp of it's voice as old as time itself. "Who are you!?" The fierce mountain beckoned with a boom louder than a shattering world. "What- are you?!" A further demand was added by the Shadow Hand. This figure was no God, he was no Demon that he had seen or learned of. No, something else entirely. "I have walked the furthest depths of the underworld for eons, groping for meaning. I could hear your agony on the wind, so I came. . ." That voice stretched out gently to caress his senses once more. "You don't belong here, Ya'zid-rah, Son of Narr'ahazii. Not yet." It was almost as if the voice timed his appearance to the tune of fate itself as the various forms of his collective identity pulled themselves together, wrapped in the embrace of Uthax'ra the outer entity. It was his complete refusal to die, the dark powers that accepted and welcomed him preventing him from slipping into oblivion. ​

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Reality.​

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The dispersing blackness of his soul merged beck together and the fires of the lights fury were extinguished allowing his spirit to coalesce around and climb back into his body once more. There was an obscuring silence as the surrounding area of the city had been leveled, clouds of dust from building debris obscured the skies and surrounding area. In the small crater created by his own bodies landing he remained.​

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In time the Midnight II had descended alongside a full Crownguard escort, accompanied by the custodia division of Blackblade Guard. Their sovereign was collected alongside every single shard of the broken runeblade, the Kingsglaive, and any remains of Veiere Arenais should they be left were taken while the Zambrano Lord was rushed away to urgent care. There were little to no living witnesses of the act who were able to witness the unfolding events and they were quietly silenced. ​

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