Invasion Rage Awakened (TSE Invasion of NIO Held Bastion & PL-40112-CE-021105)

[Jaeger Harrsk]

H E L L I O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE I: FORTRESS IMPERATOR
T H E _ P O T

​

"Harrsk! You may want to start wrapping it up!"

He registered Elicia's concern and knew what meant - in mere minutes the area would swarm with stormtroopers; and the hierarchy was clear - the Grand Vizier was the Commissioner's authority.

Tangled in a grappling contest with his superior, Jaeger knew what the stakes of this scuffle.

No quarter.

The shell of Paxxus had stated his intentions clearly - he had decimated COMPNOR and he would decimate the New Order if need be for the Sith to fall.

He could not let that happen. Even if his actions were condemned to be treasonous. An insurrection.

He had to do what he must. For the New Order.

The Vizier's cybernetic enhancements easily hurled Jaeger away onto the ground, his fall resounding a heavy crack of bones. Harrsk wrapped himself around the hollow Vizier, pulled back his head and smashed it straight into Tyrell's forehead.

"You're insane!! The Sith have fucked up your mind!"

Another headbutt.

"Who."

Headbutt.

"Is."

Headbutt.

"Your TRUE fucking master?!"

Jaeger rolled away from the man posing as the Vizier, sunglasses cracked and pieces of the glass dotting blood around his eyes. He hurried to stand up, pain nearly breaking him apart, and pointed his gun at Tyrell.

"HOW ARE YOU ALIVE, TYRELL?!"

His finger, for the first time in twenty years, trembled over the trigger.

NIO | ALLIES | Elicia Hejaran
TSE | ENEMIES
ENEMY: Tyrell Paxxus

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

V i n d i c a t e _ A c t u a l

307th Stormtrooper Legion // Darth Sybila
Task //: Evacuate Intercept Destroy

B a t h _ S a l t s

Tenebrae Armor / Hand Of God / BR-212-'Jackal' ACR / BH 'Durin' Charric Blaster Pistol / Light Saber (s) / Void Grenade

​

<<“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a COMPNOR turncoat. I think you’re forgetting the civilians here are the exact reason we’re fighting. If we can not protect them in the slightest degree, no other system will trust us. The Order will not survive as a warmongering machine-”>> her voice carried an edge, she seethed over the comm link as Djorn Bline transmission was forwarded to her.

A heavy mechanical screech reverberated through the streetway as the lead tank entrenched itself in the road below them, it’s main gun drawn on the blockade set by the Lieutenant; the struts cracking the concrete as it locked in. The street was a haze of red and tibanna as the roadblock fed every powercell into mowing down the Sith’s infantry lines, bolts singed the tanks armor, blackening the steel and chipping away at the roadway.

A pit sunk in her stomach, Lyra braced herself as the wind whipped over the audio free falling from the building’s heights. The Platoon opening fire on the roadway as they dropped in, forcing the Sith troopers to scatter for cover. The Ion charge had washed over the lead tanks in a wave of static, the burst hailed their attack and in seconds the shields were disrupted.

<”Cinn get off the roadway now!”> Lyra’s voice was harsh as she shouted over the link, rifle drawn to sight as she fired several shots. She would rather lose the position than good fighting men. The burst bordered cathartic as the recoil hammered into her shoulder, shooting down the unfortunate man in her path.

Her eyes flickered across the battlefield, drawing the barrel of the rifle down on the next soldier. The A.I’s timer dwindled down as the distance gauged dropped rapidly, in its place a warning skyrocketed across the HUD in red. The repulsors dimmed as power was syphoned off the engines to fire-

<”I see it we’re moving-”> the orders echoed across the comms as troopers hauled their guns up.

Her hammered against her chest cage-through the thick of the smoke, red plasma crackled as the Sith infantry opened fire on the troopers on the ground as the guns ceased. Cinn’s men raced off the blockade. Bline had better come through but she had less expectations then before.

<”Appw’rii save your charges and keep up the fire, cover them!”>

<”Copy that!”>

The radar was a mess as the avenue turned into a hornets nest. Their burst was lost as blaster fire sung through the air, eyes trained on them now. The main gun of the lead tank glowed before it fired a volley, the whole machine lurched on the road; the percussion deafening. The wave blasting out windows of the surrounding complexes. Red engulfed the roadway as it made impact with the barricade, black smoke erupted as debris and durasteel exploded on impact; splintering their resistance. The roadway was bathed in the fall out, rock and chunks of metal raining down.

The stun of the volley ended as a series of charges followed, detonating down the line of armor as the Riders made impact with the spearhead in the seconds after. Lyra was weightless if only for a moment, the rifle dropped-snapping against it’s strap fed across her shoulder. Her gauntlets spread out as she came crashing down in a heap of Tenenbrae on the main gun. A dull ache radiating through her limbs as she clung to the gun-boots angled down, the impact was dampened by greater powers. The Force slipped invisible between her fingers and she drew her simmering rage close.

Lyra knew damn well what was at stake, she had said goodbye and knew well it may have been the last. She wanted to drive it down each and every last bastards throat until they understood-

The metal creaked and the tank shifted below her, the drivers were moving the armor and the whole machinery shook as the siege struts disengaged. She clung to the gun, the echoes of foot fall distant around her. Appw’rii and Arroyo flanked her. They were outnumbered still, they needed to move-She vaguely registered them as her eyes fell shut, the sound of blaster fire drowned the senses as they opened fire off the tank’s top over the roadway. Her foot threatened to slip as she pushed the force through her limbs, pulling back against the metal, liquid fire coursed through her muscles. The farther she pushed the greater the pain radiated.

<”Colvy we can’t hold this position-”>

<”Drop down and weed them out!”> she ground out.

A pressure loomed in her mind, faced with an unfathomable wall and she grinded her teeth. Lyra hunched over as she bore down on the gun in the armor. A deep groan bellowed from the tank as she wrapped her gauntlets around any purchase on the metal, energy crackled in the air. Blastfire tore past her and her stray shot pelted her, the faint burning lost in the wave of her hatred. She pulled harder against the gun-a scream tore through her throat as she punched through the unseen.

The machine lurched as she tore at the cracks, the repulsors whine reached a high octave before it died ubrutly.

<”Bird Dogs pushing up the blockade now-”>

The whole of the tank shook as it hit the road and her knees shook as she rose up slowly-bearing the unseen weight. Her arms held high as she bent the main gun back slowly. Electrical components sparked as the metal rendered. Her boots slid across the metal before she released the weight in one breath, a blaster shot buckling her leg. Lyra hit the tank’s spanse with a hollow thud, smoking marks littered her. She didn’t want to touch the sabers strapped across her chest, she didn’t want to invoke the voice inside. It harried her mind. They were tools, they didn’t control her-A detonator exploded off on her right and Lyra’s eyes flickered shut, a cold feeling wrapped itself around her, drained.

<”Tank three is down-”> reports flooded the links as the team swept over.

She couldn't lay down and die yet

Thebwoman planted a knee beneath herself, dragging herself up painstaking slowly as the fire fight dragged out. Blastfire ricocheted off the tank and Lyra turned her helmet down to the roadway, letting herself roll off the armor. Her vision tunneled as she dropped down the short few feet and hit the pavement. Metal scraped against the surface as she rolled over onto her back. Lyra knew she just had to do that a couple more times-to hold the line.

A bitter laugh shook her form as she slapped her hand down, picking herself up-unslinging her rifle.

<”Lead tank disengaged.”>

---

​

ALLIES | NIO | SOM | Djorn Bline Creuat Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran Kolson Vrask Zakaria Black Meko Sorrin FN-999 Vostok Grauv
ENEMIES | TSE | OPEN

 

[Lirka Ka]

They scampered like helpless animals, their terror only gave away to a low, distorted, chuckle from the armored monster. Her blade swung wide, it's reach immense: a fleeing trooper's legs taken off at the knee, she left him there to suffer. Taking in a deep breath during that short pause in the carnage, but she was immediately snapped out it as the words Sith reached her vile ears, a bestial snarl bubbling up from the creature, pointing her blade towards the next wall of troopers.

"I am beyond your comprehension. I am the End. I am the Dark!"

With that "correction", Lirka broke into another run. Loping forward to continue the massacre, leaping high into the air midway through to crash down upon the next rank of troopers: but she never landed, as midway through the assault a missile careened forward, smashing into the Sephi's armored form as she was sent tumbling back, rolling across the earth with the clang of metal.

There was a silence, well, the best amount of silence a battlefield could muster. The Prone-Lirka's eyes darted beneath her helmet as a dozen different warnings popped up from her powersuit's HUD: she ignored them all. It would take more than that to bring down the Empress of Sumitra. With a groan of mechanisms, the creature rose again.

Two hateful eyes bearing down upon his attackers once again.

Anden Fancelo

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

Tags: Auteme
Gear: In signature
As always, shots called with permission.​

"Tithe had a price. I do not." She stepped into view. A thin layer of dust softened the harsh grays of both armor and arms while a streak of dirt crossed her cheek, and she quirked a scarred brow as she studied the girl. "I am Cara Dorniarn, engineer in several fields of study, and someone on a tight schedule," she shook her head, an agitated sigh escaping her lips, "Jedi have preached that Sith have been failing ever since the Jedi forced their creation--"

A sharp whir was the only warning. With mechanical precision Cara's hand latched around Auteme's neck in a firm grip, "--or did your masters omit that piece of ancient history?" Cara frowned as she lifted Auteme from the ground, her little finger pointedly digging into the side of a vertebrae. "Pain? Death? Only payment for what was given. It'd be a shame not to balance the books." For a moment her gaze had shift to the side, a quick thought taking her attention as she spoke.

"It's unsurprising that Jedi would work to further their own reach. So eager to become the final word on how others live and rule. Which I suppose the dark side had been on quite an upswing in the southern regions." She tread forward, pushing Auteme against an earthen pillar before she relaxed her grip. "It's within its nature to seek balance in itself-- the Force, I mean. Everyone sees it as black or white," she smirked, an arrogant glint forming in her eyes, "right or wrong." Her hand seized again as she resumed a harder grasp, the little finger pressing deeper into the spine. "Imagine thinking it cares."

"Your bleeding heart is the string attached. All the 'righteous' deeds, every 'evil' vanquished, all the little antics just further tip the scales, throwing the dark more fuel for its own revival. No one learns from the past, especially fools so ready to slip on the roles of their predecessors." As Cara neared the end of her tangent all disdain left her voice, her focus returning to the person in her hand. She didn't suppress the reluctance as she spoke again. "You seem a nice girl, Ms. Denko-Durren. It's disappointing that I must do this, but you'll survive."

The finger's joint gave a single click, a warning as it moved to perform its paralyzing intention.

 

[Felix Astermo]

Location: Tunnels beneath Ravelin, close to Library "ad hoc entrance to Library basements".
Objective: Recover abandoned artefacts, slay the unworthy strange pyromancer.
Equipment: Sith Warblade, Unspecified Talismans, Glorious Golden Mask.
Writing With: Elpsis Kerrigan

Unflinching will determined to transform her fancy armour into an impromptu tomb, Aurum continued his efforts even as she lashed out against him once more. He could feel the joints locking, the phrik from which it was forged ever-so-slowly bending to his Forceful command.

So close, so very close to victory.

Her decision to direct her wrath against his mask proving to be both boon and bane, the heavily-alchemised source of his power seemed to drink in the energy with little issue... at least at first. It had clearly not been designed as a heatsink, however, something made evident to him by an escalating sense of scorching heat and to her by the outer layer turning almost semi-liquid, one of the five spikes that crowned it cracking and falling off.

Flinching worse than he had when his body had been singed, the Golden Magus' aura seemed almost to flicker then lessen, the power directed at her fading somewhat in the process. If she had her wits about her, she would quickly realise how much he relied on the artefact.

How thoroughly vulnerable he would be if it was destroyed, nullified, or taken from him.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Felix Astermo

Gear: Elpsis' Armour, Inferno, Uproar Blaster, Hold-out Bolter, Shotgun, Wrist Ion Paddle Beamer, Revolver, Grenades.

Joints were locking, fingers and toes were screaming in anguish, and even the remarkably durable Phrik was starting to ever so slowly bend. More fingers had broken. Her right hand was no real use now for holding anything anymore. Breathing caused a stab of pain inside her chest.

But her fiery outburst had had an interesting effect on the golden Sith Lord's mask. There had been little strategy behind Elpsis directing her baleful flame against it. The manoeuvre had been born out of rage, pain and more than a little fear. She had wanted to break free and make the Sith hurt by melting his golden face.

But now she felt the scorching heat emanating from the mask. And through the Force, she felt his dark aura weaken just a bit. Finally, she felt the power being exerted on her recede somewhat. It did not vanish. She could still not move, but she was just a bit freer. Her mind was just a bit clearer - and so she saw the threads of the Force that connected the mask and the being behind it.

She was bruised, baked in sweat and strain was etched across her features as she drew upon her last reserves. Her milky-white eyes flared. All the fiery power she could muster was directed against the gold mask when she directed all her power towards intensifying the sense of scorching heat. She poured in all her fiery energy, seeking to make the mask burn hotter and hotter. Lifeweb willing, it would melt.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Lord-Major Erskine Barran
1st Galidraani-Volunteers Armoured-Infantry Brigade,"Tal's Devils"
2nd Battalion,"Blue-Hearts"
New Imperial Order

LOCATION: Fort Imperator

ALLIES: Willan Tal Zakaria Black Enedina Tal Vostok Grauv Djorn Bline
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Tyrell Paxxus Creuat Kolson Vrask Meko Sorrin FN-999 Halketh Noel Strasza

<"Moran to Blue-Heart Alpha! They're climbin' up oot the groond! Ah swear doun deid there wasn't that many before, Milord!">

'Settle doun, Moran. Just keep firing! It's all going according to Rhone's plan, but only if every rifle over that rise is still firing! Barran out!'

The noise of dead moans and wailing, and all the anguished sounds of the mass of walking corpses could be heard more loudly in the moments before the Guard's baiting-retreat, and every vehicle-crew on the other side of the muddy rise were aware of the intensifying cacophony, especially in the lulls between barrages. Even as the dark became the murky morning grey of the mists they'd been wading through all night, the flashing of the laser-rifles were firing relentlessly, though they were all firing semi-auto to conserve what little ammunition-reserves their webbing-pouches would allow; Rhone's replenishment-efforts would be made easier once they returned to their ammunition-crates onboard the armoured-vehicles, but they would need to enact their intended idea to gain tangible access to said ammunition-supply.

Every element of the Blue-Hearts were poised to draw the undead into their trap, but it had seemed to some that Rhone's men were stalling, and yet Lord Erskine knew that the Guards and the riflemen were drawing in as many as they possibly could, before needing to regroup and make a double-time running retreat towards the tanks again. Everyone in the Lord-Major's ACV would turn out to be the only ones with that level of serene calm, even Erskine's driver was calm enough to see the tactical masterstroke unfolding before his very eyes, and Sergeant Strathie was often last to catch on to his superiors' ideas. The MG-turret gunner was quite calm also, though he was somewhat more fidgety than the others below him, something that Major Barran would tolerate with ease; knowing the gunner would be busy enough soon, Erskine just let the over-eagerness fester in the lad for a while, as the young Lance-Corporal would get his chance to let-loose with his LMG alot sooner than expected.

<"Moran to Blue-Heart Alpha! Ready up, they're all retreating!">

'Barran to Walker One! We're ready, just keep offering as much protection as you can. We'll take it from here.'

<"Affirmative, Milord! Walker One out!">

As if by a flash, all the Guards and their accompanying riflemen came bounding out of the grey mist, sliding down the near-side of the muddy rise and sprinting for the tanks with every ounce of their strength and ferocity; and following them, the auditory wall of undead anguish would closely pursue the soldiers before the walking-corpses mobbed the top-sides of the rise behind it, screaming pain and hunger at the grounds around them. Given no time to descend, these zombified remnants of the beings they once were soon met with a wall of their own, one consisting solely of the full weight of the Blue-Hearts mobile arsenal. Like the endless waves of personnel-carriers, the undead were completely unaware that the 1st Battalion had time to adjust the aim of their turrets, all tilting their barrels to the top of the wide, muddy hillock the zombies were trying to ascend en-masse.

'Who conjured these things? They're like locusts, man!'

The resulting carnage would pile up in a way that made it even more difficult for the undead to climb the small rise, though there were enough sights covering the level ground on either side, anticipating the eventual spill-out around the hillock itself with as much ordnance as they could allow for the task. Some of the tank shells would make sickening echoed tearing-sounds as they ripped through multiple undead foes without detonating, these could be heard all across the line as every Cataphract continued laying down every single incendiary round they possessed, as the shells that ripped through at the top always detonated somewhere behind the other side of the 10-metres-tall obstruction.

Even after spilling around the sides of the hillock, the zombified corpses stood no chance against the sheer weight of the Blue-Hearts' aggression, especially when the infantry jumped back into the fray with replenished ammunition-supplies to throw at the rotten, decaying onslaught that brought an ungodly stench with it. To make matters worse, the smell of bare, rotten flesh intermingled with the scent of it's charred, burning counterpart, and it was beginning to have it's impact on the nostrils and the gag-reflexes of the Lord-Major's battalion; the non-coms in Erskine's ACV were smart enough to briefly remove their helmets first, both choosing to apply better protection against the nauseating effect the stench was having on them before having to get back to their tasks, with the Lord-Major and his adjutant following-suit with the spare helmets and face-masks immediately after.

'Barran to Walker One! Are we getting anywhere with this cadaverous mob o' creepers? Like, at all?'

<"Getting there, Milord! They're beginning to thin out in the distance, Walker One out!">

Sitting tight, and keeping himself away from the comms until he saw the combat slowing down for himself, Erskine looked through the optics and waited for the crowd to thin out; knowing he could do nothing for a time was vexing the Lord-Major, but he knew that patience would win his fight against the risen dead. However, Lord Erskine wouldn't need to wait for long, as the omnipresent hubbub of pain and hunger began to get quieter, little by little as the minutes passed the Blue-Hearts by; the difference would soon become visible after the assault on their ear-drums began to subside, and when the success began to show properly in the optics' lenses, Barran set to searching again for his allies on the map-holographics.

'Once we finish this lot, we burn their remains and move on to aid the other tank units in the area. Ah'm done with this stench-'

<"-Moran to Blue-Heart Alpha! Almost done, Milord! They're really runnin' oot o' bodies ti chuck at us noo! Two mare minutes and we're good ti go!">
​

​

 

[Ragnar the Blooded]

Location: Ravelin, Bastion
Equipment: Saberstaff, Imperial Knight Armour
Engaging: Alina Tremiru

Ragnar's orange gaze followed the tip of the silver coloured saber flying upwards towards the Sith. Impossibly fast, if he had been a lesser being without the touch of the Force, it would've looked as if they were blurs, undoubtedly. That's how he recalled it when other Force users moved when he had been younger, before he had been trained in the basics of the Force's many perceptions. Carving a swath through her flank, she shifted past him and off to the side.

She suffered far more wounds than he ever had. His armour did its job in protecting him, but he knew he possessed countless bruises, likely a number that rivaled her own, but as long as Bastion was aflame and the battle raged around them, it'd remain on. No matter how sore it was, no matter how much it unnerved him grinding against the growing swells.

Her leg flew up, arcing right for his head.

As soon as she had moved to the side of his saber, he had followed her movements. He saw the tension in her leg, it extended, lifting off the ground father than it needed to to take a step. His free arm came up to shield his face, the sole of her foot crashing into the combined shield of his bicep and forearm. The force behind her kick was enough to send the kinetic force traveling through his limb and crash into the side of his head, folding him over as he slid across the pavement.

Beneath his armour, he knew a bruise was forming to encompass his entire arm, but Ragnar didn't care. Resting on the ground, he laid on his now deactivated saber, groaning. Pain ran through him and he reached out into the Force, looking, searching for where his opponent was. In the back of his skull, all he could feel was a growing heat, and a hammering sensation filling his ears.

 

[Xeykard]

Hans Rennagen Detritus Ren Agrrur'arr | Rurik Fel | Tunnels
​

His anger mounted. Every blocked strike, every time they got back up -- his frustration climbed and climbed. Why wouldn't they just die? Had he become too weak?

No, no. He needed more hate. He had his frustration. He had his anger. He pushed it forward, gathered it in his heart and hardened it further. Each swing of his saber brought out a roar; he frothed at the mouth, as if the physical aspects might deepen his hate further. He was digging some terrible hole for himself. Oh how he hated them. These filthy New Imperials and their Will of Defiance. How dare they? He hated them. The pain in his left arm, where the cybernetic met flesh, flared up as he concentrated.

Each strike could bring more pain. He feasted on it; the clash, the conflict, the passion, the hate. How he hated them so deeply. How pathetic they were. These Knights, facing an Inquisitor, a warrior without equal among these miniscule creatures. He would kill all of them. Yet...

Why did he feel as if he was on the verge of losing?

Each strike increased his hate, but they still defied him. Worse -- they hoped. They roared out like fanatics in hopes that their Lord Fel might hear them. Why? Why did they do that, and why did it hurt him so?

The Tusken charged.

"No. NO!" Xeykard screamed. "DIE! DIE! DIE!"

He threw up his left hand, summoning his hate. All those he could reach, he formed that vile spectral hand around their throats, hoping to choke them to death. The Tusken, though -- he blocked the saber swing with his own weapon, pushing hard against it as to break the momentary saber lock, then aimed a quick swing down at his enemy's shoulder.

 

[Anden Fancelo]

Bastion
Allies: NIO | GA | Willan Tal | Zakaria Black | Djorn Bline | Noel Strasza | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Creuat | Tyrell Paxxus | Kolson Vrask | DECEASED Erskine Barran | FN-999 | Meko Sorrin | Vostok Grauv
Enemies: TSE | CIS | Lirka Ka

[THEME]
​

SECTOR 7 - Edge of the Fortress

The carbonated smoke hissed from the heated barrels of Avala 1-2. The orchestra came to a booming end after the explosion caused by the rocket. Aurek had arrived fast, faster than expected in the former Gravewalker's eyes. Maybe there are some soldiers that were capable after all.

As for the target of such a barrage, it had impacted the duracrete roof heavily with as much fury as the Sephi intended to unleash on the squad of soldiers. The Fog of War continued to be an inconvenience for the Imperials, as the buildup of flames and fumes from the debris lying on the roof had concealed the body that had landed there. While there was a brief silence despite the mad cacophony of distant explosions, some of the soldiers panted and eased up their posture. For the episode of terror seems to have ended, they had avenged the fellow squads in their platoon.

Or did they?

The Sergeant who had regained his composure lifted his rifle upwards. Venting the heat within the blaster and turning towards Fancelo, as if wanting a suggestion or an idea. It was clear to Anden that experience in fighting force sensitives or the abnormal was minimal amongst the Imperial Army, or at least with this platoon.

"Besh, two of you approach the impact zone with caution. I want verification if that thing is dead." He ordered. Taking hold of his rifle and reloading the weapon. The hardened soldier knew better.

"Everyone, reload. Keep your bearing and your awareness high. We don't know what we're dealing with."

The Besh troopers that first identified the entity, including the one that misbranded it as a sith, approached the smoked-up impact area with a slight amount of hesitation. The duo watching their step as they submerged themselves in the fog of war. Once they hit the center of the area, the soldiers froze at the sight of the giant butcher. Stunned in absolute fear.

Whether it was the appearance of the enemy or the sheer power the foe survived, it was unknown. Though one thing was certain.

The nightmare had just begun for the lonesome squad.

 

[Alina Tremiru]

Ragnar the Untested

The crack rang in her ears as her foot connected with the Zabrak's block. But it wasn't his body that broke. The pain was immediate. That flash of rage that had made given her more strength than before, her body wasn't used to it. Control was important. If she didn't control the power coursing through her body, it'd break. Just as it did now. Something in her foot broke. She should of capitalized on the fact he had been sent to the ground, she wanted to. But the first step after the kick had her mind spinning from pain.

Alina fumbled into one of the pouches she had on her waist, pulling out another of the medpacks she had to slam into her thigh. It'd only numb the pain, but that'd be enough. Had to be enough. She limped about, pacing as she tried not to let the pain overwhelm her. Her eyes stayed on the Zabrak however, narrowed in hate. Anger. She had no idea who he was, but she hated him. Not because he was a traitor or her enemy. Simply because he was someone she couldn't beat. Everything she'd done so far was pointless. She'd never win a fight against the Sith's enemies. She was too weak.

The frustration grew in her heart. The pain was number now, but no amount of drugs could numb that anger. She gripped her blade tighter as she waited. Watched. She didn't dare charge in on a broken foot less it give out under her. Even numb she knew the limits of her body. "Get up! I'm not done with you!"

 

[Halketh]

H A R M O N Y
THE LORD OF CARNAGE

DOOM_DIVISION : // DEPLOYED
THE_CARLACI_CORPS : // DEPLOYED
ENGAGEMENT? : // Dimitri Voltura
NIO_ALLIES_CLOSEBY :// @IAMTHEWARMACHINE Tyrell Paxxus DECEASED Erskine Barran Djorn Bline
Jaeger Harrsk Asa Yubari Enedina Tal Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Willan Tal

_

She looks you in the face and says:
"-and you knew this all along, didn't you?"
​

The ground heaved as incomprehensible forces built to a deafening, ear-splintering crescendo, crashing down there by the fortress to level buildings, fling debris, and bury anything or anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the blast zone. The thunderclap of the explosion rocketed down the alleyways and streets after, unraveling a dust and shrapnel cloud that shrouded the troopers and armored divisions all the way up to the entrance of the fort, leaving everything coated in a layer of grey and brown. Blood gushed from Halketh's nose, splattering down to his coat and mingling with the grime he had accumulated in his time on this raging planet. He was panting, nearly doubled over, struggling for breath then. Why was he so tired? What happened?​

He found himself grasping at fleeting straws.​

Yet, a burning light blazed across his unnatural sight, forcing him to jerk his head upward out of reflex. It pulsed, flickering and humming along to the familiar melody woven around them. That cadence, he recognized it; Dimitri. ​

Instinct had claimed Halketh in the moments immediately following his outburst and both hands had been dragged outwards, suspended upon invisible strings webbing into the barrier the Dragon had woven to shield them both from the sheer annihilation they had created together. It was beautiful, really. He bled his energy into that barrier, maintaining it as his ears were deafened by crashing debris, buckling buildings, and the impact of every single brick of the planet it seemed like, crashing down on top of them. Pearled teeth were bared against the effort as the two men were trapped in a web of their own design, forced into some state of stagnation as their very existences depended on it. He fed his energy into the barrier, reinforcing and strengthening it, bolstering the Dragon's presence and hold with his own. ​

Poetry.​

A moment of harmony between contenders of the same predatory kind. Despite what may have been his best interest, Halketh's energy bled from him more freely, seeping right into the Dragon's withering frame should he have reached for it. Master Kezec was a font of coalescing energy when he needed to be. In the wake of their destruction, the life forces of those caught in the blast were feasted upon, fulfilling some feedback loop that held The Vulture steady despite the steep price for what it was he did. Blood soaked the cracked earth between his boots, trickling from his chin in steady flow- the only expression on his face was one of strain, emphasized by the quivering extensions of his arms and the lock of his knees. His heels stamped deeper into the splintered ground as he twisted them, locking his position. ​

"Why do you fight beside those who care so little for what destruction they wreak?" He questioned his counter, blood mixing with his panting breaths to mist the heated air encircling them. He tilted his head up, aligning his blindfold with where the man stood out of courtesy, "Are you not as tired of this game as I? Do you not wish for a future worth more than blood-paved streets and the constant turmoil?" His voice wavered, dragged out on guttural note by the taxation of his efforts once more. ​

 

[Felix Astermo]

Location: Tunnels beneath Ravelin, close to Library "ad hoc entrance to Library basements".
Objective: Recover abandoned artefacts, slay the unworthy strange pyromancer.
Equipment: Sith Warblade, Unspecified Talismans, Glorious Golden Mask.
Writing With: Elpsis Kerrigan

It was working. She was slowing, her bones breaking, her fate all but sealed - and then it happened, some small piece of his mask giving out, the source of his power fraying at the edges. Sensing weakness, she intensified her assault even as his power waned with the integrity of his mask.

Desperate to finish the fight before it was too late, he threw one last burst of effort into his transmutation of her armour...

... and then another spike broke off, crimson energy sizzling through the air as the outer layers of his magnum opus began to bleed away, droplets of liquid gold falling onto the sundered floor, his power fading with every falling piece, every sequence of intricate spellwork mangled by churlish heat.

Aura fluctuating wildly, his outwardly projected strength would seem to fluctuate from the inhumanly powerful to the pathetically puny to an observer. Unlike most Sith, Aurum's power rested in his items of power, not his body alone. His power had been seized, not given through circumstance of birth or cosmic will. His power had been wrested from the Force and bound within specially prepared foci...

... most importantly, his mask.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Gear: Elpsis' Armour, Inferno, Uproar Blaster, Hold-out Bolter, Shotgun, Wrist Ion Paddle Beamer, Revolver, Grenades.
Felix Astermo

The Sith Lord had wrested tremendous power from the Force. But it had come at a price. The golden mask was a focal point, and now that focus was under attack. The Sith did, however, not go quietly. His power was waning, but one last burst of sorcerous power struck Elpsis' armour. It was already rusting under the stress of being transmuted.

Her body was a mass of pain. Then suddenly there was by now very familiar cracking sound when the locked joints from the transmutation broke her feet. Elpsis fell, unable to stand, or keep herself from crying out in agony.

But her efforts had not been in vain. The eternal flame had heeded her plea. As droplets of liquid fell upon the scorched and debris-covered floor and the outer layers of the mask bled away, the Sith's aura diminished. His power was fluctuating. He was weakening.

Elpsis unleashed one final burst of fiery energy, seeking to melt the mask completely and destroy the Sith for good. The flame burning inside her grew fainter. All the heat she had to spare was poured into the mask, draining her. After that she would collapse.

 

[Lark]

Allies: TSE
Enemies: GA, Ripley Kühn and Enlil
Location: Bastion

Songs of agony, the most torturous bellows of pain echoed through the broken streets and ruined buildings of Bastion, rivaling the sounds of blaster fire and the bursts of shattered concrete. And, through it all, Lark saw in the distance a familiar golden figure cast a tempest of fire, cascading around the warzone like a baneful mist. That's cute, he thought he with an impish grin. A part of him wanted to abandon his current quarry and seek out the King, but he knew that to be unwise. He had a more immediate threat, and blindly rushing towards enemy lines was foolish enough. And when one of the most powerful men on the battlefield lay within those lines, it was a death sentence.

So he turned his attention back towards where he hurled the heaps of rubble, though the Zeltron he targeted had become shrouded by the smoke from the fire and the dust from the collapsing wreckage. But the shriek that pierced the sky was enough evidence that he had hit target. His posture was that of a hunter as he slowly traced his way through the smoke to the source of the scream, his eyes and heart still as stone. He felt the rhythm of battle drum around him, and he fell in step with that cacophonic crescendo. There was a beauty to it all. Even in the most insanity-inducing battles that left the minds of survivors in twisted little puddles had a cadence. A pulse. As if it were somehow alive. A beast brought to life by the will of humanity. The musical patterns of their monstrous hearts made into something that seemed alive, yet beyond their comprehension.

Yes, warfare was an entity on par with the most eldritch truths. It was alive, and it could shatter the minds of those who were not careful. Leave one broken, unrecognizable from their former self. And Lark would bather himself in that madness to restore his home.

There she was, crawling out from underneath the debris. Her foot was mangled from the crushing weight of the rubble, and yet she still held firm. Admirable, that she was capable of keeping such a clear head as the chaos whirled around them. Lark walked towards her slowly, scarlet saber glowing through the smoke that continued to billow around them. An orange and black haze surrounded them, a sign of the fire and smoke billowing around them. Nearby soldiers from both factions succumbed to their wounds, faceless and forgotten as they died. But in this ring of infernal flames, Lark and the Zeltron faced off on their own. There would be no formalities. No taunts. No exchange of ideals. Only two soldiers fighting for what they thought was right. Unfortunately for the Jedi, there was nothing that could stand against what Lark so desperately fought for.

He felt as though he could sense his family beside him as he took a fighting stance. Would they guide his blade, or simply watch and witness his dedication to them? Or was this simply the song of war playing tricks on his mind?

The Jedi was hurt, and her mobility was likely limited given her injury. But when the adrenaline of battle fueled through one, feats normally impossible became commonplace. Underestimating a desperate, wounded animal was a surefire way to get oneself killed. He reached down towards his belt, and unsheathed his enchanted dagger, and sent it darting towards the Jedi's uninjured side with the flick of his wrist. A moment later he charged after it, though his speed was not as great as the dagger and he would not reach the Jedi at the same time. After throwing the dagger, he would sprint forward and strike at the injured half of the Jedi, with the idea of crippling her even more.

I will try and give you a quick death, Jedi. But you threaten my family. The longer you stand, the more hell you must endure.

And I will make you suffer it.

 

[Hans Rennagen]

Objective II
Allies: NIO | Detritus Ren | Agrrur'arr | Rurik Fel
Enemies: TSE | CIS | Xeykard
They need you buried deep

Sundering the stone from the ceiling had taken a great deal of power, only to collapse a single entrance to the room. He was brought back to the startling reality of feeling mortal again as the stimulant was wearing out. He could feel the weight of his armour and his shield again. No longer did he feel unstoppable. Losing the intensely pleasurable feeling of being able to take on the Sith Empire all on your own was hard, especially in the midst of a fight to the death.

As Hans settled back into his reality as a soldier on the brink of collapse, he turned to engage the Barabel. He gripped his saber like never before and made his run towards the beast's back.

"You will NOT take him!" He yelled as the Sith struck down towards his squire.

Before Hans could swing his killing blow into the beast, he felt the force shift, and even more anger radiated from their enemy. Suddenly he found he could not breath.

He resisted. With everything that he had left in him. The fight was drawing to a close, although the winner was far from being determined. The next few moments would be the most important.

As he strained, exerting his own force aura in an attempt to loosen the ethereal grip around his neck, he heard a voice speak to him. As loud as if it's speaker were right next to him, as clear as if it were a thought in his own mind. The voice of Lord Executor Rurik Fel.

"We are one. Hold the line. They will be broken here." ​

The words of his master reverberated in his mind. There was no Knight that embodied the Will of Defiance like Fel. His words were not impassioned, but dutiful. Hans would break free from this not because he wanted to, but because he needed to.

As he expended his power, he managed to slip the words past his lips with gasping determination.

"Fel is with us."
​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

the M I S T R E S S
M A L C O N T E N T​

FOCUS: Darth Assimilus​

The one who felt absolutely invisible in the Force called her a witch in such a way it signified hurtful intent. The Nightsister glanced at him for all but moment, her lips lightly pursed in dissatisfaction when he charged at her just as the jedi had. It is almost like her very intentions are abhorrent, even to those who once dwelled hand in hand with the Sith, as valuable equal members!

'Such feisty beasties. What a shame they are non-conformists. They could very well be put to good use with all their energy and quick decisiveness,' she thought, and she wondered, 'Why did the Imperials ever dissent from the Sith in the first place? Did they not feel protected? Or perhaps felt under-valued? Could whatever the reasons be amended? How the Empire would flourish!'

While the ethereal coven walked into utter darkness to continue their work, Pom remained behind not sensing any imperative critical development, but rather because of the strange absence of sensation she felt surrounding their intruder. The manner in which she avoided the laser contraption of the jedi, she repeated here. The Nightsister merely Apparated at the last second to materialized not far from where she had been. She watched as he struck at the air.

Her expression one of perplexity, realizing her inability to make sense of him at all. Stealth she can understand, as can she Concealment, for both of these powers executed create ripples in the visually perceivable connecting fabric of the Force. No aura does he display. Not even a heat can she detect radiating off his body. She senses nothing at all, not even as he had spoken did his words stir the air. She wondered if his origins originate in another realm.

'To study such a strange state, where would she even begin?'

The coven displayed no issue in satisfying what the Sith demanded, so Pom would humor the new arrival while she attempted to figure him out. The spirit realm tore open upon her will and spirits emerged, to be witnessed among the physical realm once again. Joneleth ought recognize them by some fashion, as they are those most interested in following his progression in life, the departed out of his past who found meaning in his presence.

Pom faded into the shadows of the tunnels once again, not playing by typical rules of engagement. 'What does Anti-Force do?'​

 

[Bastard]

T H E _ L O S T _ O N E
New Imperial Order
Crestfallen
Onrai

Ravelin, These Streets​

Errant's brow raised in turn.

"How you could manage to say something so incorrect, yet do it with such confidence is beyond me, Sith," he moved towards the building, blade raised between the strange entity and himself. "Quinn is my sister. You are not wrong. She foolishly followed in the footsteps of her mother's Ashin and Spencer, but that is to be expected. She is weak-willed, a born follower. Ashin is a Sith, born to make fools of the foolish."

With an inquisitive glance, he cast his gaze over Onrai's forces. "I will let you in on a secret, cretin. I am not of Ashin's line. I will hunt them all down, one by one, and send them all tumbling into the netherworld hand in hand."

He looked past Onrai, his attention drawn to the soldiers moving towards the data center. While their objective remained a mystery to him, Errant knew allowing them to go unopposed would only bring danger to the forces defending Bastion. His pace increased with each step taken in chase.

In a blur, he cleared the remainder of the distance between the breaching forces and himself. He raised his weapon high and chopped down in a mighty swing. Through force enhanced strength, the blade sheared away a blood trooper's arm before the others could even react. A spray of crimson coated Errant's face and hair, further painting his snowy strands a deeper red. Blaster fire screeched somewhere to his right as the dark trooper's fired off a round of bolts in his direction. He fell back immediately, covered by a backhanded swipe of his great blade that sliced one bolt in twain. Without a proper lightsaber, the bastard could only duck and weave between each oncoming bolt.

"My father," Errant began, his voice rising as he shouted each word. He pirouetted away from another shot aimed towards his head, passing behind the second blood trooper. "Vaulkhar Zambrano, Breaker of Bastion," he drove his blade into the soldier's side, burying it several inches beneath their ribcage. "Ravaged not only the Sith Empire but also one Sith Lord's wife along the way," he rolled over the fallen legionnaire's corpse and lifted him from the ground to act as makeshift cover. Each blaster bolt fired thudded against the corpse instead.

In a twirl, he whipped the corpse towards the two dark troopers. One found themselves torn from their feet as the body crashed into them and sent each of them tumbling across the dirt. No longer under fire from two targets and in position to hold the data hub's door from the encroaching forces, Errant allowed a broad grin to take shape.

"I am Errant the Shameful, son of Vaulkhar Once Zambrano. You may think you know who I am, beast, but that arrogance speaks of a much greater truth. You, alongside your pathetic Empire, live blissfully ignorant of that truth. If you are so ready to die, I will end your existence here and now."

He lifted his dark weapon, unfazed by its incredible weight.

"Come along, I do not have all day."

 

[Djorn Bline]

D I A M O N D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BASTION
71st GHOST VIPERS | MAMBA COMPANY
ARMOR | RIFLE | PISTOL | GRENADES | MELEE

<“Well, go feth yourself, Lyra,”> something he said to himself after hearing her words to him via comms. It would be a waste of time to engage her in a dialogue of ethics and philosophy over warfare. Ironic to even have a discussion on how to conduct themselves in a subject that brought only death and destruction. She made the argument that they were not a warmongering machine? He believed otherwise. They were all made for war whether born or shaped into it. They had to fight their way to get here, no? Sacrifices had to be made in order to materialize their dreams. Sacrifices weren’t anything unfamiliar to Snake, and he wasn’t afraid to commit to them.

<“Major General my ass.”>

But enough of that. The ringing song of war was in front and around him. He needed to finish securing this sector.

<“Those with a good damn shot, take aim at the infantry! Everyone else? Follow me.”>

He threw out a null grenade, the device activating and let out a thick smoke designed to absorb blaster fire. From the barricades he jumped over and dashed towards the enemy, not concerned of their fire due to the veil of protection at his disposal. His sights were focused on the group of S-IMPs in front of him, eyes concentrated on their form with intent to kill. Simultaneously, Lyra made her move as well as she descended upon the enemy from the buildings adjacent to the highway. S-IMP infantrymen took distracted on what was in front of them didn’t have the time to properly counter against the Red Riders.

Good.

They could choose which direction they wanted to get shot at.

Coming through the veil of the aerosol, he opted for the anti-armor enhancement of his rifle and fired a round at the composer squad of soldiers in front of him. Screams and cries were heard when bodies were torn and thrown from its blast. Make them bleed for their decadent Empire that they were too disillusioned with. Could he blame them? No, they were just programmed and indoctrinated like that. At least he’d give them a way to escape that nightmare.

<“No quarter! They won’t show the same for us, and let’s take out that-“>

The armored machine in front of them that they were about to focus on disabling suddenly began to creak, bolts and metal being torn apart from its frame. Almost like an invisible hand picked it apart piece by piece before being disabled. All wrought by her. A glare shot out at Lyra from under his helmet, knowing too damn well that what was done was from the power of the Force that she commanded. Something unknown to him and on her dossier. A blaster bolt struck him at his core, dropping to one knee as the material absorbed and dissuaded the energy from piercing his armor.

<“Bastard,”> as he returned the favor to his assailant with his rifle.

A small victory was won here, but now it was time to sweep up the rest.

<“Vindicate! I say we move forward and take ‘em head on whatever that’s left here.”>

ALLIES | NIO | SOM | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Kolson Vrask
ENEMIES | TSE | CIS | OPEN

 

[Lirka Ka]

The pain coursed through her body like arcing electricity, it was blissful. The heavier chunks of her armor had taken most of the blast, plundered Beskar from lost Moridinae, whilst a chunk of her less-so-plundered armor had been blown away from the blast: vaguely revealing the disgustingly pale flesh beneath, pulsing with strange colors within the veins. Some sort of bone was broken, likely a handful of ribs. She cared little for that ever familiar feeling, but it remained a ecstatic reminder that she was still alive.

Her blade had tumbled away, she'd have to scamper to reach that holy tool once more. The troopers approached, a bestial bloodlust surged within her wracked form once more. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and her words crackled out as static that grated across the ears like knives.

"What are worms to a God!?"

And with that second-life surging within her, Lirka's damaged form burst from the cloud. Lunging forward with clawed gauntlets, their fingers like knives, she grabbed onto the nearest trooper and threw the poor soul as another makeshift projectile. Landing onto the second trooper and simply slamming those metal fists into their helmed head again, and again, and again until the plate and meat beneath shattered. Fists now caked red, the bloody gore caught in nigh-invisible runes across her plate. Lirka rose once again, hateful eyes bearing down upon her attackers once again as she slowly entered a combat stance.

"Tremble before the Dark, insolent creatures."

Anden Fancelo