Commander Tarain barely shifted as Jacen stepped back, immediately falling into an aggressive stance. His sword dipped low, his frame coiled like a predator ready to strike. For a brief moment, it looked like the real fight was about to begin. But then
Jacen Breska 'TK-710'
spoke. Tarain cocked a brow beneath his helmet. The words were vague, almost too calm. He instinctively took a single step back, suspicion crawling up his spine. A trap?
Then came the toss low and deliberate. His eyes tracked the thermal detonator the instant it left Jacen's hand. There was no time to think. Tarain pivoted sharply, sprinted a few meters, and dove behind a chunk of downed stone. The blast erupted behind him, concussive heat slamming against his armor as he covered his head with both arms.
Keldo, meanwhile, was faring far worse. As D2 jammed the Knife blade down between his fingers, the edge carved through the protective weave of his gauntlet. Pain flared sharp and immediate, forcing a growl from his throat as his grip gave way. The weapon was ripped from his hand, momentum carrying him forward in a clumsy stumble. He slammed shoulder-first into the trooper, then crashed to the ground with a hard thud.
Dazed, the heavy gunner rolled onto his back, vision swimming for a moment beneath his visor. D2 loomed overhead now, blade in hand, advantage fully seized. Keldo let out a scoffing exhale, lifting his gaze to the man above him. "
Go on then," he muttered through clenched teeth, pain thick in his voice. "Finish the job. I'll die with honor."
Cailen had expected a battle. What he got was a tragedy. His blade had torn through D4 like a furnace-fed axe, and the clash was over before it began. He stared into the man's eyes as he fell, the firelight reflecting off the glimmering arcs of lightning still dancing across the Sith trooper's blade. Cailen's voice, distorted and low through his vocoder, rumbled with solemn reverence. "
You died with honor. With the spirit of a true warrior."
He barely had time to finish the words before he heard it the high-pitched whine of a thermal detonator arming. His head snapped toward the sound. Too late. The blast consumed the space between them in a fireball. The force of the explosion launched Cailen like a ragdoll, slamming him across the battlefield, his body bouncing twice against the stone before going still unconscious.
Beyond the duels, the larger battlefield roared to life. Two AT-AE MKIII walkers had begun their advance, moving with thunderous weight across the terrain roughly 200 meters from the skirmish site. Each hulking war machine was surrounded by waves of Lilaste Order soldiers, a phalanx of forty men and women using the walkers' armored forms as mobile cover as they pressed forward.
The walkers' main cannons fired high into the sky airburst munitions detonating mid-air with thunderous cracks. Hundreds of razor-sharp shrapnel shards rained down like metallic hail, tearing through cover and unshielded enemies alike. Below that, gattling guns screamed as they tore through entrenched positions, the twin LMG ports mounted beside the main turret spitting streams of glowing blaster fire and chattering slug rounds. Thousands of rounds per minute flooded the battlefield, cutting down any Sith troopers too slow to move or unlucky enough to be caught exposed.
With Jacen and his squad finally occupied, Laphisto seized the opening. His long strides carried him through the chaos of Mystral Canyon, the heat of battle crackling in his ears. The stench of ozone, smoke, and scorched flesh mixed in the air, but his eyes were locked ahead. He reloaded his
LO-22S hand cannon with a snap of his wrist, raising the weapon to drop a pair of advancing Sith troopers mid-stride. Their bodies crumpled as he pressed on, but it was what he saw beyond the smoke that made him falter.
Diarch Rellik
. with a flash of teal blue his force sight glazed over his vison
The Diarch's aura was writhing, screaming. Laphisto could see it, not with sight but with instinct, Force attunement, something deeper. The man's very presence in the Force was being torn apart, shredded like parchment beneath a blade. Laphisto nearly paused at the sheer unnaturalness of it. It wasn't pain. It was spiritual mutilation. A deep growl rumbled from his throat. Then he moved faster. His lone ear perked as the thunder of engines split the air his gaze snapped sideways just in time to catch the blur of a massive Basilisk war droid charging toward Darth Prazutis, weapons systems roaring to life as it unloaded hell upon the Sith Lord. A plan clicked into place.
Snatching up his comlink mid-run, Laphisto's voice barked sharp through the channel:
"Walker 226, fire airburst shells—grid mark two-six. Twenty-meter burst. Focus on suppressing fire!" Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Rellik dragging himself away from the battlefield, wounded but breathing. That was enough for now. The Diarch had earned his moment of recovery. But Laphisto's eyes locked on the true threat ahead.
Darth Prazutis
The beast who could unmake souls. Laphisto squared his shoulders. Hand continued forwards
As the distance closed, Laphisto raised his sidearm mid-sprint, his gun arm locking into place with deadly precision. He fired once. Twice. A third. Then three more. Six heavy .50 AE slugs screamed across the canyon toward Darth Prazutis, each shot thunderous, defiant, aimed straight for center mass. When the chamber clicked empty, he didn't hesitate he hurled the hand cannon like a thrown weight, aiming to disrupt the Sith Lord's focus, if only for a breath.
He didn't need long. The Basilisk and its onboard arsenal were still closing in, and the walker's airburst shells would take time to find their mark but Laphisto wasn't waiting. Not for backup. Not for fate.
He reached inward, dragging both Light and Dark into himself, like a man inhaling fire and wind. His muscles coiled, a low growl bubbling from deep within his chest. Sparks of raw energy danced across his armor, forks of blue and violet lightning arcing over his shoulders, stirring the dust at his feet into a circling wind. Pebbles floated up off the ground seeming to be caught in an orbit around Laphisto as he ran. The Force clashed inside him writhing, clawing until, slowly, it began to harmonize. That was his cue.
His hands snapped forward and with them surged a monumental Force blast. It wasn't wild, wasn't raw. It was channeled fury. Dark side power sharpened into a blade, light side focus guiding its arc. The ground cracked beneath the pressure, stone fracturing and launching skyward as the concussive wave tore across the canyon toward Prazutis. But he wasn't done.
Still sprinting, Laphisto threw out his hands to the sides. Jagged canyon walls groaned as he seized massive chunks of stone, splintering them into spears mid-flight. What began as cracks became a storm of dozen, then hundreds of razored fragments, screaming toward the Sith Lord in a coordinated barrage, riding the wake of the Force blast like shrapnel caught in a hurricane. And still, he ran.
Above, the airburst shells detonated, thunder cracking through the sky. Laphisto reached upward with one hand, seizing the shrapnel midair and guiding it like metal rain, forcing each red-hot fragment to fall like divine judgment toward the enemy. And if all of that fails? Then he'd finish it the old-fashioned way. He came in swinging, his saber came carving downward in a brutal arc toward Prazutis. In his off-hand, a second Force blast began to build, gathering power, waiting to be unleashed point-blank.
Zinayn
may have talked not at all. But Lirka talked too much, she liked the sound of her voice far more than she really should have. And within her core, Lirka was a taunting bullying looking for any way to slip the metaphorical knife into the heart of her opponent. If the flames of rage could simmer in the Chiss's heart, Lirka had every intent to turn it into an inferno and please Primordial Dark.
