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As the assault on the objective was drawing near SICA had managed to reach out to Frank to let him Know they had the IED's set and Were taking up defenses. "When we retake the base we will signal you to fall back to our position were going to need all the help for the second part at that point." Hearing the explosions as well as seeing the plasma and napalm from the distance Frank looked to the driver patting him on the shoulder. "Alright they are fighting SICA lets punch it."
As they near the Base They began taking fire from the Particle cannon turrets located near the main gate. Vehicles lightly armored were blown apart as some heavy armored were hammered into submission from those guns. However, it didn't slow the stride everyone was determined to see this threw.
over the radio from within the tank, frank heard one of the Legionnaires say. "Hey, gunner smoke them Shiny's." All frank could do was slyly grin as he saw the gun blow as they neared. The battle took to the inner base as Frank's tank slammed through the front gate with the rest of the armor as troops began to dismount the true fight began.
as the fighting continued inside the base the attack force had suffered heavy losses retaking the base. Frank by this point was nearly unrecognizable going to show how much of his humanity he was willing to give up in order to win combat engagements. His armor by this point was in tatters hanging off his body along with portions of his synthetic flesh burned away gunmetal black skull with actuated jaw robotic arms and heavy dermal plating with visible drive motors for the arms and lower half showing from under charred flesh and breached metal.
"Common show these New order guys what it's like to fear us, rip them apart." franks words of inspiration and overwhelming firepower as well as the troops who weren't really prepared for the suicidal attack to reach the Fairfield dropping in droves, spurred on the combined forces to push on despite the assaulting army being a fourth of their original combat strength and the Varanin Legion being reduced to half their forces. No one was going to back down on this side or their forces.
a wounded frank joins the assault army remnants in starting up the Planetary defense gun while the remaining forces reinforced by SICA prepared to Defend this base with all they had from both air assets and ground assets. Knowing they'll only get one shot at this They targeted the closest starships that blockaded the planet. Frank and the crews working as fast as they could hearing the flack and remaining Particle cannons firing away outside with the assistance from SICA joining the fight as they made their way into the base as well.
"Prioritize keeping the enemy forces from taking the Planetary defense gun out. we will hold this to the last man."
as the moment of action drew near one of the Sith-imperials notified Frank that the first shot is ready. Frank looked him dead in the eyes and Said. "fucking send it!"
Location: Crystal Caves
Objective: Stop Being on Fire
Writing With: Enlil
The blades did not clash as Lark had imagined they would. Chaotic eldritch energies and primordial hellfire erupted as though they had been spawned from some infernal volcano, and the young Sith acolyte certainly took his fair share of burns. While his stasis barrier prevented his entire body from being engulfed in splashes of plasma, there would certainly be more splotches of pink skin that would be dotting his frame like freckles. Wherever the superheated spray struck nearly melted away, exposed skin turned molten and the scent of burning flesh tainted the natural aroma of untouched cavern air. A bit of armor partly protected his torso and upper arms, though one of his pale cheeks suffered a brush of heat that seemed to be akin to the fire of a burning sun.
Perhaps it was because he was older and stronger than when he was younger, or perhaps it was because his attachment to the same feelings others felt had diminished over the years. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that accompanied battle. He felt every sting of pain, every burning sensation that one could feel. But it didn't bother him.
The cradle of fire he was born into still burned brighter.
Still, he knew the blaze would consume him without any remorse or hesitation. No matter how detached he was from physical pain, his body was like that of any other human. Fragile, and susceptible to extreme heat.
The battle wasn't going his way, and as Enlil launched another incendiary attack Lark knew it was unavoidable from his current position. But he would not panic like a wild animal who had suffered a non-lethal shot. Agitation was the enemy of survival, and Lark had been born into a hell far more damnable than this. In many ways, the heat was an old friend. Familiar. Comfortable.
Enlil had brought him home.
In the serenity that warmth brought, Lark was able to focus. He stood completely still as the fire drew closer, but he was as calm as glass. He closed his eyes and willed protection, the same kind he wished to provide to his siblings, somewhere out there lost amongst the stars. And as he concentrated, a bubble of blue energy surrounded him. The fire was as wild as a starving beast desperate for a lick of substance, but heat such this was almost tame compared to some of what Lark had let dig around inside his mind.
As the fire engulfed the bubble of protection, Lark took a moment to breathe. A small gust of Force energy smothered the flames dancing around his cloak, this would be a good opportunity to 'reset' the battle, so to speak. But he couldn't hold the bubble indefinitely. As the integrity began to falter, Lark once again let those maddening dark energies surround his blade. But they would not stay around his enchanted weapon as they did before.
The bubble fell after a few moments, Lark swung his blade, and from it was a devastating wave of abhorrent dark energies. The wave pulsed and howled like a man being flayed alive, and in its path nothing remained. Crystals disintegrated into nothingness, whatever fire lay in its path was quenched and extinguished. The wave oscillated and shimmered with terrifying beauty as it traveled directly towards Enlil, intent on consuming him whole.
And then, as the miasma of eldritch energy hurdled towards Enlil, a voice whispered in Lark's head. One he had thought he was rid of. Words from that fairy tale he had read so long ago.
Once upon a time, there lived a nameless monster. The monster was so desperate for a name... I wonder, Nameless Prince, do you envy Enlil? His resplendence, strength, and resolve? Or is it that you wish that you bore his name instead, and wielded all the power he has at his fingertips? Worry not, dear friend.
One thing that you learn in combat was that the battlefield was an ever evolving beast. Situations changed at a moments notice and those who didn't manage to shift with them were left to fend with a chest full of lead or worse. Whipping around with my tail I aimed to overbalance the walker tipping the bipedal machine down. Fail or succeed it was all the attention I could spare the construct as Aurelion Nova
had pressed the attack on the two soldiers above and needed my support lest the pair return fire. As I glided in the air close to the street I reached an arm out reaching around a lamppost. My momentum did a fair amount of the work and I was left holding a what was essentially a large metal pole tipped with a concrete 'head' at the bottom. A far cry from a lightsaber but fine for my purpose.
As I soared towards the building I pulled my arm back for a windup wrapping my second fist around what might be considered the 'hilt' just above the glass lamp pommel. My crude hammer ready I swung the makeshift weapon through the side of the building in which the two soldiers had chosen to make their stand. It was far from an accurate strike. If you wanted precision combat look to another Sith because as sure as the nine hells of chaos you weren't going to find it here. Plaster and brick gave out as the sheer force of the blow sheared through the side of the wall. I moved my body wings beating as I dragged the implement through the swing till it finished its arc.
Did I hit anyone? I had no idea. Tavius Muuaji
and Arno Lettow were the targets of my attack but in the maelstrom of plaster dust and explosions there was no way for me to know if it had connected or not. If my strike had not managed to incapacitate them they were likely to return fire. That could be bad depending on what they were carrying but it was unlikely that anything they were lugging around could kill me in one shot. Hurt yes , even maim but dropping me would likely require multiple rounds and I didn't plan to stick around for any long enough to take more than one or two shots from anything of high caliber.
The sight that unfolded before him as Lark burned made it abundantly clear. What had been a child became twisted by evil, and what should have registered as pain was merely consumed. The furnace heart that smoldered within Lark took the suffering and twisted it into a hollow, unrealistic and chaotic fantasy.
It manifested in the form of fleeting energies that protected the man and gave him baseless confidence to stand against authority. Enlil's eyes darted toward the energies that moved to snuff out his purifying flame, aware of the raw and horrible power.
This was wave of pure, unadulterated sin. It was a blasphemy against all things good and just, and it had come from the hands of a mere boy.
So great had the power of lawlessness become, and so vast its sway that even the young and innocent were no longer safe. The King opened his palm and splayed his fingers, his grip on the energies relinquished. As raw energy was extinguished before his eyes, steam billowed outward in every direction.
The King suffused that radiant flame with energy, fanning it outward in front of him. The dark power collided with what was effectively a Force Barrier with magma stretched across the surface of it, superhot but thin. It fractured the wall like a mirror, and shards of rapidly cooled glass splintered outward, ablating the blast harmlessly away from Enlil.
Shards that hit the ground shattered, mixing together with crystal and concealing into misshapen, beautiful refuse.
Through a hole blown open in his shield, Lark could see the King's face. His lips were set in a thin line, all humor drained from him. Enlil had folded his arms. The fragmented shell slowly crumbled as he considered the younger man.
Hatred? Envy? Greed? There were such malicious things surrounding the Sith that his emotions existed only as abstract concepts in the Force. Whatever he "felt" Enlil could only sense in small, unfeeling spurts. It was like something else entirely had taken him and had its way, and all that was left to Lark was a husk.
It was a husk filled up with enmity.
Gilded light fluctuated in front of him as the King reached out. His left hand gripped something immaterial, and before Lark's eyes, it was written into existence. "I had hoped," Enlil spoke, "not to draw my sword."
He drew from his treasury something ancient, something horrible. As the blade came forth from nothingness, he held it out and sighed. "I am sorry."
The Force itself screamed out, Dantooine itself horrified by the presence of Dînum.
The scale of the battle had already well embedded itself into the Kel Dor's psyche. The New Imperial Order had made total commitment to an offensive into the Sith Empire, they had mustered a fleet to rival that of the force used to overtake Bastion...and the Sith Empire arrived with a force far greater.
"Admiral- CNS signatures have entered the system." Artor Konstantine sounded out adjacent to Var Koon at the map yielding the holoprojection of the system and coalescing battle before them.
Confederate.
"I see...though they are in league with the SIth we will not fire unless fired upon, we never came to Dantooine to fight the Confederacy, Artor." The Kel Dor states.
"And if they fire first?"
"Then we'll drag them along kicking and screaming into the lifeless void." Var said and soon enough, the very meeting between nations played out over the communications system.
Kiff Brayde
postured but vowed non aggression. Citing that the Confederate navy would only be present to evacuate all Confederate military personnel from the planet's surface.
Verin Oldo
was somehow fired upon but hailed the New Imperial Order in an attempt to reconcile the situation.
Grand Admiral Rausgeber responded in kind to Kiff, offering full compliance between the New Order and Confederacy.
It seemed cooler heads would prevail and the threat remained solely on the New Order's existential enemy, the Sith.
Then the Lord Inquisitor Kyyrk
grasped apart of whatever diplomatic framework of cooperation that had been built up and burnt it away infront of them like a petulant child in an instant.
No quarter to be spared now, they old, sleeping lion in the savannah heat and the Sith with their Confederate allies were prodding, provoking hyenas snatching their jaws in open provocation of the lion's power.
But every time...every single time, that lion wakes up and tears the hell out of all of them.
It was time to roar.
"Admiral!-" Artor sounded out, in an instant, the neutral cobalt sheen of the projection of Confederate ships turned to a crimson red, the nigh entirety of the three dimensional holo map was now dotted with hostiles.
Var Koon could only align himself with the same Imperial heroes on Tatooine who held off the Confederate horde of several million battle droids with a garrison of only a few thousand.
That same tact, that same aim would be pursued with the decisive force and determination that won them the day there, would be siphoned once more over Dantooine. Nothing less would be acceptable here. Nothing less would be sending the names and serial numbers associated with all of these men and women home with scraps recovered from the vessels from which they served upon.
Var Koon had accepted the reality already a great deal of his servicemen and women would not be coming home. In that aching realization, he honored the silence for just one moment, honored the impending sacrifice.
"No battle will be won today if we do not maintain our composure, Commander. We will assess our situation, act accordingly as to what we can observe." He said, if only to sate those accompanying him aboard the bridge.
Tapping the commo to communicate with all vessels on all channels under his command, he spoke.
"To all of you, aboard the Penitent, all of you under my command. The odds for us in this battle...are not near what could be described as anything other than dreadful. We are vastly outnumbered, the full power projection of two Galactic leviathans have coalesced here to be sure that Dantooine is buried in glass, more peoples enslaved to the damnable cult of the Sith. Our duty is the most noble, before any of you hesitate...think of what brought you here. The atrocities you witnessed, the kin you lost, the struggle you endured. That will be the fate of the galaxy if we do not muster every fiber in defiance here. Our sacrifice...will never be forgotten. You...will never be forgotten" He said, signing off before he observed the holomap once more.
"Our first directive, Admiral?"
"Rausgeber, while understandably outraged gave no specific direction and thus...we shall split our attention. Though our aim should exist solely in eliminating this Sith fleet, the more we allow the Confederates to drop the hammer on our forces, we'll be ripped asunder immediately. We need to retaliate on all fronts, even if the odds are stacked against us, we will make the Sith accumulate wounds unrecoverable and make the Confederacy re think the next it ever decides to impede our war of defiance." Var Koon states.
"Close in, fire at will on all Sith vessels, ping the command to all starfighter formations to protect our frigates. Assemble the packs of corvettes to harass their larger vessels as our Pellaeons move in to reap the whirlwind. As soon as our destroyers are in range to do so, begin draining their shields. As soon as our assimilator cannons are humming in the fray, we may very well be able to bleed them out." The Admiral commands.
"The Asajj Ventress will be our first catch of the day, let the Confederates know that if they will so boldly commit warcrimes, to enter the field of battle as a non-combatant only to open fire once the illusion is embedded, we will send them home bloodied. Do we have a readout of this vessel?" He inquired.
"A great deal of it is locked behind the highest Confederate clearances as you might expect, ISB's initial analysis is that Asajj Ventress is the flagship of the Knights Obsidian, the Confederate Force Order. It's main armament, the XR-01 is its main armament...its...brutal, but if we are able to splay our forces enough to avoid its fury, or lock our destroyers in assimilation, its effect may not be so devastating." Artor suggests.
"Or- we remove it as a variable to begin with. The Knights Obsidian and its Lord Inquisitor has deemed themselves untouchable, certain of their victory else they might not have tread in our direction at all. We will show them how wrong they are. Deploy three squadrons of Petard-class fighters, eject them only via the launch racks on our underside. Power off, we'll use the magnite arrays to slingshot them in the direction of the Confederate Dreadnought, behind them put 181st group 'Whirlwind' in its wake to conduct a 'nova flare' operation on the weapon once whatever Petards have made purchase. Once this weapon is disabled, we can proceed...with a bit less weighing our subconsciousness..." The Kel Dor suggests.
<"Hammer! We're up, form up on me and veer toward Brawler and Mayhem squadrons."> A unit of TIE Interceptors and another one mirroring ours, Slashers. Now was time.
<"What are we clipping, boss?"> I asked, ever eager to get into the fray, do some real karkin' damage. Maybe I was out of line, maybe not, I don't know. They ain't found a way to kill any of us yet.
<"Confederate Navy Ship 'Asajj Ventress', the flag of the Knights Obsidian, in particular its main doozy, the XR-01. It's a mean beast, soon as we knock it out, our lives get easier. We're forming up on the underside of the Penitent, in ten count, it's slingshotting its Petards in the direction of that boat, soon as it runs below the shields, its digging and we're following up with a nova flare to rip it out. Understood?"> The Squadron Leader stated.
<"Yes sir!"> We all sounded out in unison.
<"Then lets drop the Hammer...">
We were in under the Admiral's Pellaeon in a matter of moments, the droid starfighters being yanked violently from the underside hangar bay. No lights, no signature indicating they were powered on at all. That was the best part of the trick, from here, we could slingshot em up and out with a pull of the tractor beams and their lack of any signature on the scanners would make it so only the naked eye could pop them out of the sky.
We'd follow up with our nova flare and with that one-two punch, no doubt it'd be enough to at least disable the gun, or so we hoped.
The magnite enhanced beams immaterially grasped ahold of the formation of droid starfighters, in one moment, drifting aimlessly into space, the next they were flung at a rapid speed in the direction of the dreadnought.
<"Go."> The leader followed up and we'd be on their tail.
No doubt the turbulence and blasts in between would render a few of them destroyed. Maybe one or two of us as well but hell, we knew our mission, we knew the stakes as soon as we signed on the with Corps. No better death than in raining hellfire in a Sith sky.
We neared, our shields powered full front and our twin ion engines working double time to keep up with the Petards and soon enough we were in range of the cannon, the Petards powered on once more and sent themselves full speed toward the XR-01.
Whatever happened, what was left of us would follow up on the approach, my thumb flicking the power toggle with the rest of the squadron, whatever was forward to the engines and shields, a lions share was siphoned by the capital grade turbolasers mounted to our wings.
As soon as we were able to manage close enough, we dropped the hammer. Everything we could manage all at once. In my periphery, I saw the blaze of glory of two of my squadron mates snuffed out a in single moment but that was our line of work and our job was among the most dangerous of the corps.
FLEET ACTIONS Moving up to duke it out with the Sith.
Sending some fighters (mainly anti capital ship) to target and disable the main gun on the Asajj Ventress with a nova flare and some droid starfighter missiles.
He could feel it, the deadly poison that came from the bladed tip of the spear infecting the likes of his insides. Slowly he could feel it spread all through his body. The plague ever-increasing it effects, as the young man started to spit out blood from his very lips. More in intensity as he gazed upon his foe. The fury lying behind the blazing yellow eyes of the dark side. Even now, all his strength was him slipping deep into the dark side. Arguably something a Knight shouldn't do. Something that was strictly forbidden for any Knight to dive into. Made so even worse given where Jin came from. It was all he could do from letting the infection affect everything from his reaction time to his motor skills. What was worse, he could already feel his death slowly bubble to the surface. His skin was already starting to lose its color, the sickly veins starting to appear as the toxin was slowly worming it's way all around his body.
Yet, while still consumed by the darkness. The legacy of Kyrel Ren taking shape in its sickest form. Jin was consumed with a single thought on his mind, Death. The desire to slaughter his enemy, to grasp him by the throat in hopes of tearing his jugular out, to bathe in his blood to be it the last thing he would do. To see this Sith Lord fall before him. If it meant giving his life, if it meant to fall into the depths of darkness with no hope of returning he would do that. The look on his face, all the calm, stoicism once present within the Knight Errant was gone. Replaced with a mouth dripping of blood, both dried and fresh. Snarling, with a look of contempt towards the being that wounded him. He could not decipher as if the being before him was a man, demon, necromancer. He did not care. For all the thoughts in his mind were gone, only the desire and lust to kill remained.
With Hans now entering the Fray, the two apprentices would face the Sith Lord together, just like when they fought above the skies of Bastion together, as Knights, Brothers in arms, as friends. When the Sith spoke to them, he still remained calm and collected. As if he was untroubled by two opponents. It seemed that the encounter did nothing to excite him in the slightest way if only it seemed that both Jin and Hans were pesky flies that posed as a nuisance then a threat. "You may not wish to kill us, the same cannot be said for you. I swear before my time is done, I'll have you by the throat, and choke the life out of you! Even if it's the last thing I do!!" He shouted the once calm knight exposed a ferociousness unlike that of any other. Never showing such a side to him until now, when he was at death's door with everything at stake. He did not care much for his own life, but he would not allow Hans, his friend to die today.
No more words were spoken, nothing was needed to be said, for what Jin would face with Hans, they would do so together as Knights of the New Order. When the first strike came from his foe, normally the second sight that the Force offered would give him a moment to counteract the assault. Instead, he barely reacted to the Makashi strike, forced to take a step back into a Soresu stance. hyperventilating His blade not connecting with the spear, instead, it was one of his crossguard blades, the saber sparking against the saber resistant material. He couldn't cut through it. Now with more of the disease starting to affect his body, more blood pouring from the edges of his mouth. The sheer power of the dark side the only thing keeping it all at bay. Diving deeper into his rage, as the man was only testing his skills. Before retreating to create some distance. Jin was struggling. He could feel it, there was not much time until the wall of darkness would break and the disease would consume him.
He gave out a vicious scream as if a beast striking. He tried to muster all the strength the dark side could give. His eyes now completely a fiery red, as he gazed upon his foe. Trying to move closer launching power strikes from a Djem So stance. As if a brute warrior, attempted to widdle down his defenses, followed by a sucker punch to his face. Hoping for his friend to use the chance to strike upon the shared foe. The walls of his darkness slowly being shed. The sickness quickly starting to erode him. His time was quickly running out.
Location: Outer Garang City; Capital of Dantooine. Objective:Revenge - Limited by the NIO Rule(s) of Engagement. Allies: The New Imperial Order. The Sons of Mandalore. Enemies: The Sith Empire. The Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Elder Compact. Equipment: See the Hyperlink in my Signature. NPC Complement: No Active NPC's. Currently Engaging: Gnox the Insatiableand their Savage Beasts.
The beast was dead moments before their corpse collapsed to the ground. Had the Mandalorian the time to relish the kill, the man would’ve enjoyed every waking moment of that Sithspawn’s demise. He would’ve been proud of his placing and how the unstable catalytic reaction unfolded as the particle bolts impacted their targets. The Forgemaster’s back home would’ve been content with their handiwork, as their upended ratio of energy to tibanna gas produced quite the explosive results. The two glowing holes in the beast’s chest were akin to craters of flushed metal and flesh, as the bolt’s destructive potential was unleashed upon impact. The caged lightning within the magnetic sheath broke as soon as it faced an opposing force, which was the armoured husk that coated the Sithspawn’s breastplate. It was true that Sith-forged steel was mighty, as it could turn aside conventional blades and bolts. However, as proven by the super-charged setting of his rifle - Rynn’s blaster was far from conventional.
But, it wasn’t the twinned craters that put a stop to that towering creature’s advance. It was instead the incendiary dart that was launched from Rynn’s armoured knee-plating. The caustic gel gave life to an all-consuming inferno that devoured the beast’s exposed flesh - leaving their surroundings smelling like burned meat and singed fur. Only when the creature was engulfed in flames did they howl out in agony, causing some of the others nearby to take a single step backwards. This solitary Mandalorian did what an entire Platoon of New Imperial Soldier’s could not. He slew the pack leader with relative ease and slowly began to turn his attention towards another. Death became a possibility for these near-immortal creatures. That fact alone gave rise to the notion of hope stirring within the Mandalorian’s veins. Although he was likely outnumbered and outmatched in close-quarters combat, there was a possibility that Rynn could triumph over these dastardly creatures. Should the Fates be kind enough, their deaths would push the Mandalorian one step closer to accomplishing his revenge.
As the charred husk of their leader crashed to the ground, though stilled by momentary fear or indecision, the remaining beasts surged forth. Their fangs were bared, and some even barked or howled. Some had their weapons drawn, or even brandished on high, and were preparing themselves to land the killing blow. Rynn couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind their actions, nor did he want to. They could be avenging their fallen alpha and sire, for all the man cared. But, these abominations weren’t worth the effort of diving into the depths of their bestial psyches. All these creatures were worth was the ever-growing cost that was roused from the expenditure of his munitions. The whistling birds that nestled within his vambrace found themselves utterly spent as the first creature stormed forward. Their explosive lethality was made apparent as they sought to burrow deep into blood-matted fur and mottled skin.
Another incendiary dart was catapulted from the Mandalorian’s knee-plate, striking a Sithspawn that clambered over the charred corpse of its fallen leader. Only for them to suffer a similar fate as the caustic gel was exposed to the atmosphere. It was then that Rynn pivoted to acquire another target - only to find himself coming face to face with a Sith-forged blade. He threw himself into the attack, using the curvature of his helmet to deflect the blow upwards. The creature was taken aback at Rynn’s sudden ferocity but sought to redirect his deflected blade downwards - seeking the killing blow. However, the scorched muzzle of the Mandalorian’s rifle was shoved into the beast’s chest, right beneath the armoured breastplate. He pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession, an act that beheld an immediate and explosive result. The creature died, instantly, as its innards were simultaneously scorched and vaporized. Whatever remained of the beast was blown outwards - bathing the Mandalorian’s surroundings in a shower of gore and viscera.
With his rifle caught betwixt the standing remains of the slain Sithspawn, Rynn’s onboard sensors began screaming. Several creatures remained, and all of them were clawing their way closer. He wouldn’t be able to free himself in time, let alone draw a bead on these charged beasts. Thus, the Mandalorian let-go of his prized rifle and activated his Jetpack with a thunderous roar. The creatures spilled forward as they swiped at his feet, likely slashing one another as their actions were centred around killing and feasting upon their newfound prey. But, in attempting to kill Rynn, they packed themselves together nicely. He couldn’t ask for a better chance to slay these Sithspawn in one fell swoop. So, as the Jetpack threw him out of their reach, the sole antenna that dominated his helmet swept down to cover a portion of his visor.
As the calculations were made and the target(s) were locked, the missile mounted into Rynn’s Jetpack surged forth from their magnetic-accelerators. A small tail of combusted energy chased after the rocket as it fell downwards in a mesmerizing arc, only to fade as the rocket detonated within the clambering group of blood-stained creatures. Everything they were, all the lives they had claimed, were taken and avenged within the blink of an eye. Nothing but blackened earth and smouldering ashes remained behind in their wake.
Like a falling angel, the Mandalorian plummeted towards the despoiled surface. His Jetpack deactivated scant seconds before his feet touched the ground, forcing the Warrior to jog forwards to arrest his stolen momentum. As he came to a stop, Rynn scoured his surrounding terrain for his rifle. While it was unlikely that the weapon survived the blast intact, He hoped it was still in serviceable condition. Sadly, after several moments of search amidst the rubble, the man came across the shattered remnants of his particle rifle. Despite being forged of some of the finest materials that could be stolen from Stih-Imperial smelters - the plating buckled under the explosive forces generated from Rynn’s rocket. The Forgemaster’s would kill him for recklessly wasting such a fine rifle in an ignoble manner. Still, it was doubtless that the others of his wayward clan would commend him for triumphing against all odds.
So, he tossed the sundered weapon aside and drew a pistol from its magnetic holster. With the flick of a thumbed switch, the sidearm began to thrum with barely contained lethality. It screamed to be used in combat - to gun down the enemies who stood along Rynn’s path to vengeance. Yet, it’s constrained fury would have to wait for a time. He was the last man standing within his surroundings. His armour was marred by the twinned coatings of caking blood and ash. The enamel on his helmet was chipped in three places from where the Sith-forged blade skittered across its curved surface. Small fires raged around his person, eager to consume the feast of charred flesh and matted fur they were given. It was a sight to remember, and there was a part of the Mandalorian’s mind that was saddened that none could see his deeds.
Nevertheless, as echoing howls filled the battle-drenched air of an adjoining street, Rynn prepared himself for what would come next.
There was no “never” for these men, not since Irveric’s declaration of Defiance; a declaration of freedom against the Sith Empire. A declaration to free the Imperial from the traditional shackles and restraints of the Sith. Before that bold and daring declaration, they had always lived under the word “never”. Never did they had a choice under the cruel dictatorship of the Sith. Never did they have free will, not once questioning what was right or wrong as expendable servants for the Sith Code. Never did they have a future as a nation, adhering to tenets that were foreign to their own. Never were they Imperial.
But that Will of Defiance freed them from those dreadful bonds they wore since their youth. That same defiance won over the Braxant Run. Now? Now that same defiance would motivate them to win over this military compound and cull what was within its perimeter. As for the odds stacked against them? Damn them all. They were always against them, but that never stopped them before and it sure wouldn’t stop them now. Even at the face of death that Will of Defiance was impossible to conquer.
The Sith and their newfound allies of the Confederacy could kill them.
But they could never...
...defeat them.
I’m gonna make them give back our future.
The future was theirs now and it couldn’t wait any further.
Time to fight tooth and nail for victory, or face the consequences of defeat. Though the latter did not instill fear into him. He lived long enough as a hollow shell of a man that served the bidding of the Sith. Fighting and dying as a free man with courage against this demented power of tyranny made him feel alive. An inexorable fire in his heart yearned for vengeance against the darkness of the Sith Empire. A fire that would consume it all until the mission was accomplished or until he could no longer continue the crusade.
<“Vipers! On the Boss! And remember!”>
<“No quarter.”>
Not to the Sith or the Confederacy personnel that stood in their way. The Confederacy made it clear on their intentions when siding with the Sith. Aiding an amoral organization known for oppressing and massacring diverse populations, and yet pretend as if the New Imperials was this tyrannical force that sought to be everything Irveric was against.
Lies indeed traveled faster than the truth.
Diamond Snake followed Irveric, preparing his last “null” grenade on his waist as he knew they’d be facing a salvo of blaster bolts on their advance from the enemy positioned on the walls. Prepared and the fuse was activated, immediately a fog of smoke enveloped his figure with it being a barrier against any blaster bolts coming his direction. Upon the ramparts a droid was destroyed by the Imperator’s hand, its head removed from its body. For Djorn a Sith Legionnaire was in his way, firing blasters with no effect due to the dampener smoke. At close quarters it was foolish to engage with a blaster when Djorn’s knife in his hand stabbed right into the neck of the soldier, giving him a death by blood loss from the gaping wound. No time to engage the opposition on the ramparts as they had a job to finish.
They made it past the ramparts when they jumped it, still sprinting towards their main target. The head of this dark beast. Right where Lucien and his Myrmidons made the breach into the garrison to engage the Dark Lord. With every step they were nearing the end, nearing the outcome of this battle. Time to make that sweat and blood count for something. Ascension cables were prepared and fired to bring them into the breach of the garrison’s wall. They were in and it was perfect timing for the “null” grenades to expire their smoke, thus their purpose.
Within the breach there was a mixed crowd. Obsidian Knights, Lucien, and Prazutis. Djorn’s focus was on the latter as his rifle was trained and aimed at the behemoth draped in robes and armor of the Sith. The Obsidian Knights among them would be dealt later due to the aggressions of their nation that were acted on the Iron Sun. Right now? They had a job to do.
Irveric took the first shot on the Zambrano and as soon as he did Djorn followed suit. A barrage of particle beam blaster bolts from his rifle was unleashed relentlessly at the Dark Lord.
Loske knew the gravity of choice, at least. From the instant she knew the legacy she'd been supposed to continue, she'd done everything in her power to diverge from that path. Even now, unable to control her inheritance, she fought to deny it.
In the back of her mind, she hoped she wasn’t setting Maynard up to be a roast with that wall of fire. But there was something there, within this red-headed girl that felt uncomfortable; and it was in more than just her footwork.
"You're the only one that can make yours––”
There was no time to explore. The tenacious opponent that had Loske in her sights continued her prowl.
White eyes turned to look at the woman who’d shot at her, narrowing in confusion as the bleached irises started to reduce opacity and let blue fade forward once more. Not a Sith? “Then why ––uurk” An invisible hand gripped around her throat, tightening against her trachea. Ineffably, her eyes bugged and she gasped for air.
Needing to claw at the invisible hold outweighed the magnetized feeling of her fingers to the stone, and she uselessly scraped at her neck. As desperate and scrambling as her hands were, so too were her feet when that strength yanked her upward and away. Her saber dropped from her hands just before she was rag-dolled into the outer wall of the temple. She couldn’t even yawp in surprise through the pain in her larynx.
The telekinetic toss relieved the constriction on her windpipe, and that dominant current within took the bait to consume her once more. Just before impact, a subconscious necessity to defend curled around her body, permeating a thin barrier. In addition to the suit’s kinetic amplification, Loske became little more than a wrecking ball through the corner of the temple. A shockwave of pain tore through her skull and spine on impact of the rubble-torn wall that she burst through.
She would have preferred to land in a state of unconsciousness. No such fortune was earned, and she groaned to push herself up, moving to grip the pile of rubble she'd landed on and created uselessly to reveal her first feeling: pain –– pain in her entire arm when it moved. Dirt and rubble clung to her hair and face, and she forced out a stinging cough.
Paired with the chalkiness of dust on her tongue, there was a metallic taste and she opened and closed her mouth a few times to localize where the blood was coming from; but she couldn’t. Instead, the attempt only brought recognition of more pain -– in her head, in her neck, and down her back. It was a throbbing hurt, and she blinked a few times in her new location and pushed herself to stand. The numbness in her right thigh remained from the earlier shot, she faltered, a hand falling back to the pile of rocks that she'd brought down with her.
Frantically she pat about herself for her sabre, only to come up empty. It’d dropped. She didn't have it.
“Feth..” She felt a chill, like a physical sensation, as if her blood had actually congealed. Loske quickly became distraught. Her face fell at the realization, and she looked down at her hands, turning them over as if she’d never seen them before. “Hopefully Maynard makes use of that then..” The words burned her throat, and she dropped her voice to a whisper when ruminating in solitude.
Her new powers, and their relationship with her baseline abilities, were untrustworthy and the idea of being separated from her lightsaber –– where she didn’t have to flex the Force –– scared her. And in that fear, the conflict beneath her skin flourished, dominance working to be established between the two sets of strength. One was..far more susceptible to the environment she found herself in. For all the Light that her mother had been, she’d also known how to manipulate the darkness. Something Loske never learned, nor tried to. And now, it was contaminating her.
Slowly, her sight acclimated back to the battlefield, reducing the black spots from the impending concussion. Behind her, she'd created a hole into the yawning temple, it was dark, shadowed and rotten. Deep within, there was activity, but here.. vacant for the most part. She could feel the miasma around her shoulders, but she didn’t look around too much –– instead, she looked up at the arch she was under –– the top part of the human-sized hole she’d created. Smoke was pouring in from outside, rising to the ceiling and dissipating about the cavernous entrance.
Looking too long wasn't allowed though, her attacker was still on the move and the would-be Kiffar triggered a reaction to go on the offensive.
Nothing fancy.She reminded herself, and padded the outline of the pile rock she was leaning against. Telekinesis was basic, the first thing she'd learned and hard to mess up. She could depend on that, she was fairly confident. In quick, rapid-fire succession, one, two, three, four of the bricks that had composed the temple projectiled from either side of her at the approaching Enyo Typhos
. At least to give Loske enough time to think of something else to do until she got her lightsaber back. What was she doing? She had to do more than that.
With some amount of pain, while the first four stones cut through toward her opponent, she shuffled around to get behind the mount and energize the entire mound. Quivering, they responded before the entire pile of rubble onslaught toward Enyo, to drown her in a deluge of brick and debris.
Her planning ahead beyond that attack fell short when overwhelming sense of dread pierced through her chest, tightened behind her rib cage and dropped her down to her knees again with a protesting bark of anguish.
Auteme’s light caused Joycelyn’s eyes to narrow in response, but her hold did not relent, not yet. Instead, embers flashed over her face as her skin grew steadily more ashen and the corruption around her eyes became more and more apparent. Her irises glowed like rings of fire under her black eyebrows. In ways, it was as if her very being was tarnished by the exposure to the Jedi’s foul powers.
From Darth Vornskr’s fingers, black flames shot out to meet the light: Eating up the power, or perhaps dashing itself against the light in violent self-sacrifice to keep the light from getting the upper hand against the Sith Empress.
A smile crept over her lips, into something between a snarl and a grin.
This struggle against Auteme consumed too much of her focus to allow her to react in time against Sakadi’s sudden attack. One of the stones broke against her breastplate, another bounced off the hidden trauma-pad protecting her hip. One hit her arm, and one clipped the side of her forehead, drawing blood from a long gash on the side of her head.
That did dispel the darkness she was summoning as she shot a glare at the sephi.
“So, that is how you will have it?”
Quick like a whip, she whipped her foremost foot toward Auteme’s abdomen in a stone-shattering kick, seeking to keep her pinned to the wall without use of the Force while her eyes were focused on Sakadi.
“You think she is good?” “She’s snake. With one hand she will offer help, and with the other she will poison us.”
Vornskr glanced at the silver shaft of her weapon, wedged in the entry of the Imperial Dawn Domicile as a forbidding sign, while its head, the sabre itself, rested in her hand. She shifted her grip on it and pointed it at Sakadi.
The Kiffar grunted sourly at the nickname, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was clearly rusty if one Sith Lord was kicking her around like this. There was a time when she had fought some of the worst names on the Outer Rim to a standstill, but now she was struggling with one pretty boy in a fancy suit. This entire encounter was hardly her finest moment, but as the recent mental assault had shown, hardly her worst either. Still didn't make it sting any less.
She closed her eyes, an unsteady breath escaping her lips as she used the Force to center herself once again. Dulling the pain, steadying the nerves, focusing the mind beyond the turmoil that bubbled beneath the surface. The latter was easier said than done, but the spacer hadn't made a life repressing emotions and memories for no reason. The Nwûl in her ear burned hot as pushed the worst of it into the alchemized relic, emptying her mind of the trauma to allow her some semblance of balance once more.
"I wouldn' count..." She grunted as she forced herself to her feet, knees almost buckling before she steadied herself. A heavy breath escaping her lungs as she opened her eyes once more, focusing first on Amea to assess her friend's situation before turning her exhausted, yet still alive gaze on the Sith Lord. Jaw knotting. The taste in her mouth as bitter and rancid as she felt physically and mentally right about now, but he didn't seem to be healing nearly as fast as he had before either. Whatever had transpired while she'd been out of it, Amea had done some obvious damage. Enough to at least force the man to entertain a proposal. "I wouldn' count me out just yet, Vandiir."
Was that bluster? Kark, even she couldn't tell. At the very least she figured she could draw some of the fire before her body failed her completely.
"You could probably take one of us out," which was an embarrassing statement of fact, especially when Runi knew who that would be in the current situation. Vandiir might have been more scientist than warrior, but his skills clearly weren't entirely academic. The spacer gestured to Amea, "But you know the other will finish the job, 'lek?"
She thumbed her scarred lip, regarding the ghostly apparitions for a split-second before shaking her head. "I don't know about you, but dyin' on Dnatooine ain't exactly an' endin' I'm set on embracin', tayli'bac?" She offered a lazy shrug,"But I also ain't lookin' to come away empty handed."
Not after that beat down.
"So way I figure it, we should be takin' both. The ship an' the money." The latter wouldn't salve her wounded pride, but it would sooth some of the financial issues she'd been experiencing since KDY had been stolen out from under her. A fair chunk of Stellarwind's smuggling revenue along with it. Bigger picture, as much as she wanted it to be otherwise, Vandiir was clearly worth more alive than dead. "In exchange, you walk, on my word. We'll even tell you the route we took comin' in. Should be a clear shot out if you act quickly. Otherwise... We make a song of it, I guess."
Yes, that was it! This was why making lightsabres was exceedingly dangerous and why these crystals were generally kept from the public: Channel too much energy in them without the right outlet, and they could explode. This whole cavern was like a bomb, just add a fuse and watch it go,
Iasha did not know how to make lightning, not yet. That power was beyond most acolytes, but perhaps there was some other way of overloading them. She scrambled through the equipment they had gathered between them. There were some medical supplies, some explosives, a blaster, not much to set up against a graug horde. The twi’lek cursed internally as she gathered up a handful of the small explosives. “These will have to do”
She clicked one and threw it. It stuck to the head of one of the graug. Another, it landed next to a cluster of crystals. Another, set itself on a pillar, at least it would help with the blast. Another, it skipped across the water and landed in a cluster.
Iasha put the trigger on her belt to be used at the optimal time.
Just as she was about to delve into the bag again, she felt the need to duck down as Ruek skidded across the ground and slammed into the wall next to her. Cursing to herself, she pulled the medical kit out of the satchel and set to work. She didn’t know who this person was, but they worked for the Empire, and they had made sure she and the acolytes had not been ambushed. She knew the most, so she needed to live. At least to the end of the battle.
Warren was thrown against the wall too, but did not move when he landed in the puddle of dark water. The sabre in his hand extinguished. “Chit, chit!” Iasha grabbed Ruek and sprayed a bacta solution on her shoulder to stop the bleeding, then pulled the cap from one of the stims with her teeth. With her hand, she traced over Ruek’s back and found the approximate location of where she could hit the heart, then stabbed the needle to its base before injecting the stim.
“Fight, legionnaire!”
She jumped over to Warren and rolled him over to check his pulse, but the visceral sight of his face gave her pause. She knew there was nothing more she could do for him. So instead, she picked up his sabre and ignited it along with her own. The hatred, the death, the pain of everyone around her surged through Iasha as jumped toward the graug with a primal scream.
More lies came from her tongue. It was impossible to reason with the woman with any ounce of logic. Perhaps the Dark Side clouded her vision and sense of thinking, using her as a mere tool like its other expendable agents. He wouldn’t be surprised if so. There was no reason to waste another breath of words with the woman. Rhis had heard enough and said enough.
What he did find rather curious was a disturbance felt in the Empress. She felt pain from what his tendrils and the Force deduced. Something foreign and far away from where they stood. A distraction for her, and a factor he would exploit on her defenses.
The Nautolan did not give a response to the woman with his mouth, only with his lightsaber. Two vibroblades held in her hands as she waited for another attack from Rhis, and she’d get it. Stepping towards her, Rhis allowed the length of his lightsaber to bridge between him and the woman like any proper bladesman. His attack was made, and focused on the wrists and forearms of Ingrid instead of aiming for her center mass which was typically expected.
Aim small, miss small.
Render her hands useless before making any death blows on her.
There was a moment of hope even as her weak light fought against the darkness. The other Jedi struck the Sith, giving Auteme a break from the choke hold. She assumed it was the other Jedi, at least -- her focus was on drawing a breath. She began to fall from her place pinned on the wall, her diaphragm dropped to pull air into her lungs-
The Empress's foot slammed into Auteme's gut, pinning her again and forcing the air out of her lungs. She swore she heard a crack but she was so lightheaded she couldn't tell if anything was broken. Instead of the deep breath she'd been hoping for, all she got was a wracking cough as she struggled to breathe again after being choked and winded.
The world blurred and she slumped forward, resting her hands on the Empress's leg.
"I'm sorry," she croaked. The short breaths started to clear things, only to be muddied by the pain in her throat and her abdomen.
Clearly, the women were quite mad. That or were indebted to the point of their lives being forfeit if this job failed, but he was leaning towards insane. It certainly fit the Mandalorian profile - and the behaviour Amea had displayed. Karking hell, bargaining with madmen was never easy.
Clicking his tongue at her demands, his voice was... almost amused. "You drive a hard bargain, Mandalorian."
Arms spreading outwards in a gesture of appeasement that suddenly shifted into something else, his power erupted in the form black-as-night miasma pouring outwards in a thunderous wave, drowning out the few sources of light in the cavern and bringing with it an almost palpable sense of confusion and despair. Strangely echoey as it pushed through the ambience, Adrian's voice was tinged with annoyance. "Too hard."
Rather than take the opportunity to launch an assault, he skittered back into the shadows, seeing through the supernatural senses of his Shrouds.
A shame, really, his word was ironclad - they could have taken the money and everyone could have left moderately unhappy.
Clearly, compromise was not a skill taught in what passed for schools among Mandalorians.
"Keep going! The checkpoint!" Alina started yelling at her fellow acolytes now, ushering them into the gradually shrinking tunnel. It was wide enough for two to walk side by side at the smallest, but that was the point. The Horde would mean nothing if they made it there. They could barricade themselves with the corpses of these monsters. They could survive. Win. Alina clung to that bit of hope. She would put everything she had in as many of them surviving as she could.
Behind her another was brought down. A hatchet? She turned her gaze to the legionnaire and nodded in thanks. Then yanked the weapon out for her own use. Armed with the vibroaxe and her own saber she'd quickly turn them on their foes. She would survive this. She had to!
These.. Creatures were large, but they were still mortal. Still human in form. She knew how to kill humanoids, and they barely seemed sentient. Numbers was all they had. She could do this! Another fell to her blade as she turned and brought her saber around. They were going to do it! She chanced a look back to the ground behind her, and the horror returned.
The Legionnaire was taken out. Thrown by another of the Graug. She wasn't the only one. Around them the Acolytes were dropping. Getting overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. Alina didn't even have time to truly process this as she turned to rip her blade through another of the beasts. But the fear was there. Overwhelming. All consuming.
Then they were gone. The initial charge had ceased, leaving Alina there with the only two other surviving acolytes. A younger boy who was shaking and hiding in the back, and Iasha. The quiet was more horrifying than the battle. What had pulled them back?
Kantus's voice rung in her ears. The dull thuds of something.. Massive, stalking closer. They had made it to the choke point, but as the Glycon Warbeast came into view, all remaining hope was completely lost. Her yellow eyes widened as the beast's cannon lowered and the energy within brightened. The pair of weapons in her hands lowered slowly as she accepted the fate that was coming.
Crystals shattered under the impact. The brief quiet as the beast came into view was replaced by a constant and loud ringing in Alina's ears. She could see nothing. Feel nothing. The shockwave from the blast had rocked her to her core. With a pained whimper she tried to push herself off of the ground. Slowly she did. She was.. Whole. No, not just her. Everything was blurry as she tried to force herself to stand. What had happened? The cannon went off, but that should of been the end?
No.
Ahead of the three survivors was the boy who had been hiding. Whatever strength he had was what saved them from complete annihilation, but not for himself. His body was a charred mass. Still, there was no time to truly process what had happened. The remains of his body were crushed underfoot as the Graug renewed their charge.
Alina coughed as she staggered to her feet. The strong copper taste of her own blood pooled in her mouth before she spat it up. This was going to be it, huh. The end. She brought up her saber in both hands, the axe had been lost in the blast, staring down the incoming horde. If she was going to die, she would die on her feet.
Lady Ingrid L’lerim-Ragal Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch; The Night Queen, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium
Ingrid also thought exactly the same thing as the man, only in the exact opposite direction that it was impossible to negotiate or talk to the Jedi. Much earlier, they grabbed a weapon and tried to kill their opposite. She would have left the man alone, would have had no problem with him, she just wanted to find Adrian, but the Jedi would not leave her and could have caused a diplomatic scandal. Were all the Jedi stupid and short-sighted? The woman has only encountered these so far, not a normal one. Maybe someday. But that wasn't the day.
Now she had a few seconds when she just didn’t get any more punches for which she was infinitely grateful, hoping Adrian did it successfully, which the Sith Lord was very adept, and ran away from the fight. Given that she still didn’t know where she was or what was happening to her beloved man. But now that she had a few moments when the woman was not in any trouble and she did not feel any pain, it was time to turn her full attention to the fight with the fish, for after her words the man attacked.
The red-haired woman watched the fish and moved as he approached. It is possible that she had vibroswords in her hands, but she was known for more lightsaberging habits, as she was also able to use more forms, but preferred traditional weapons. Saw the man attack her arms, wrists and forearms. That was a very good point. Ingrid looked up, straight at the man, maybe a surprise was what she was up to. Knew it would hurt, mostly because of the heat, but she could handle and bear it.
She let the man's lightsaber hit her arm, immediately felt the burning sensation, but fortunately the protection of her coat caught on, as did the heat. Next to the lightsaber, she stepped closer to the man, going into inward combat. She then pulled her arm away from the lightsaber and moved her sword to hook the lightsaber. Meanwhile, she tried to get completely close to the man and touch the man with the blade in her other hand, or cut the man where possible in a place where his skin was uncovered, so that even the touch would have a great pain effect on her opponent because of the poison.
Didn’t take a genius to know when someone was driving too hard of a bargain. While Amea admired the gut it took to spit someone in the metaphorical eye, she still understood where this was likely to take them. While you missed all the shots you never took, this was a shot she wasn’t sure should have even been lined up to begin with. It was her bad, really, she was the one who could have told Runi they were just going to leave.
A long sigh parted Amea’s lips as she entered stance again. Would have been good to get this one fixed without the pain of struggling against ghosts and spirits, but alas it wasn’t meant to be.
Where she had however expected to find opposition she only found darkness. Slick like oil it curled around the room with an ever increasing size. Her eyes opened wide, eyelids peeling back as if to soak in what little yet remained of the light before it was engulfed by this thing.
“I feel like this would have been a good time for a witty remark.” She laughed the nerves off. “I’ve got nothing.”
Her hand patted against Runi’s shoulder. Adrian had disappeared, the darkness was growing. There was really just the one thing to do.
“I'm about to run.” She whispered before setting off in the direction of where she could have sworn the entrance was, keeping her presence felt through the force and their bond. Enough to at the very least locate her. This should have been where Adrian had been standing when they first barged in — or well, where Amea thought they had seen him barged in, the room grew more and more confusing by each passing moment, somehow falling into more and more stranger territory.
“We can still do my compromise though, right Adrian?” Amea shouted out in no particular direction at all. “Would it help at all if I apologized for shooting you?”
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
NEW JEDI ORDER
JEDI-IMPERIAL JOINT STRIKE TEAM Armor | 2x Lightsaber
Objective II: Sith-Jedi Temple
Shaka did not let the opened distance keep him too far away from the Sith Lord as their bout opened with him adopting a defensive role. Skipping backwards away from the Thyrsian, Shaka's own movements a reflection of the battle that surrounded them. Both Jedi and Imperial forces pressing forwards against the Sith, pushing them back to their very steps of their own Temple.
A tainted Jedi sanctum.
Destroyed, and over its foundations a structure serving the Sith.
It disgusted him. But there was no purpose in voicing it. No reason for him to share his woes of the Dark Side with a practitioner of its arts. He cared little for what those of their ilk had to say, for their reasons. Other Jedi would seek common ground with Sith, or a way to reconcile their actions. As if they required some form of validation before receiving 'redemption.'
Jedi had failings like any other being. Shaka's simply was a failure in seeing the potential for good in Sith.
And the ever looming presence of the Temple mere steps away was the proof that pushed him forwards. Coupled with the presence of his approaching friends, he felt that he was resolute in his belief.
The Sith Lord's saber leapt upwards, an abrupt piercing stab to his shoulder.
His entire frame dropped, lowering him beneath the piercing strike that grazed the armour. It held, but a fiery glowing gouge across his pauldron was the only proof the Lord of the Sith struck him, for Shaka's frame continued forwards underneath his guard. His toes digging into the ground as his heels lifted up, haunches lowering before he sprung forwards in a Force-enhanced attempt to tackle Adron Malvern
to the ground.
There was a draw to the move. One that superseded his drilled into discipline discipline. He wanted his hands on the Sith Lord, to prove that he wasn't as slimy and smooth as he thought himself. That he, a simple Jedi Knight, could knock him to the ground and sway the fight.
They were the first wave at the wall, they were the first to fall. You could see the white in their eyes. Demon Company. Through the gates of hell, into the maw of death, they plunged deep the sword of retribution even if it cost the life of the wielder. Flames lit up across the ramparts, scorched bodies fell fried in their own armor - their screams echoing in eternity. The Imperator's command came to usher the breakthrough into the heart of darkness where the head of evil lied. The Dark Lord himself. Captain commands rang through the air: "Reach the target!"; valiant Imperials gave their blood in faithfulness to the Imperator in the bloody thunderstorm of the Sith.
For the first time in ages, Jaeger Harrsk felt alive once again. Youthful vigor rushed through his veins as A Squadron jetted upwards over the ramparts. They knew all too well where they were going and what odds awaited them; yet, someone had to cross that line. Even if it meant fighting the galaxy to the last man standing, to the last breath drawn - the New Imperials' cause was just. Too long Jaeger witnessed and suffered the rule of Gods tear the galaxy apart, rip apart lives of 'mere mortals' such as his at a whim. With a promethean torch of justice in hand, the New Imperials charged to burn down the edifice of corruption from the galaxy once and for all.
It was time to take back their future.
Over the ramparts and following the Imperator's way paved in audacity and defiance, only a third of A Squadron remained. They did their duties, paid the price - a worthy sacrifice. All knew the toll of waging this assault but time waited for no man. Jaeger had sent a thousand and one men to their deaths before but today he felt their loss. Away from the comfort of his seat on Bastion, the COMPNOR commissioner headed straight into the domain of evil. Task Force Axis, the spear of the Mortal dwarfed against the demonic goliath, the Dark Lord of the Sith himself.
Yet its aim was true, its conviction righteous.
"A Squadron, fan out and provide cover. It is time to end this once and for all." he ordered as he crossed the threshold into inferno.
<"Braxus Zambrano...I'm in your area...">
Jaeger heard Tavlar call and as the Imperator pulled the trigger, so did Harrsk pull his. The shatter rifle rattled as it fired a burst of rounds at the devil himself.
Robogeber
