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Her chest burned under the intense pressure of the g-forces as she pulled her interceptor into a sharp break turn in response to orders to hold a tight defensive pattern around the hulking mass of the Gorgon. Once-broken ribs seemed to squeeze against her lungs under the unforgiving violence of starfighter combat, forcing her to shunt yet more power to the inertial compensators in an effort to stave off the pressure on her chest. A shot of high-strength painkiller, injected by the life support mechanism in her flight suit, immediately worked to effect, numbing her body to the pain wrought by the abuse it had suffered on Zygerria. The adrenal worked to channel her focus, temporarily blocking off the haunting memories of Zygerria, especially the pungent odor of the Graug as the monsters had surrounded her downed craft in the streets.
She was glad to be flying in space, rather than above ground.
Shifting in the shock couch, listened in contemplate silence as fresh commands were issued, directing them to rendezvous at rally point Omega. Whether the orders applied to Dancer squadron was as of yet undetermined, but 2121 nevertheless kept her sharp, starfighter pilot eyes peeled on her sensors and viewport, taking in the dances of friendly and enemy starships as they engaged each other in a deadly game of three-dimensional dejarik, with both sides attempting to outmaneuver the other before the engagement over Bastion began in earnest.
“Dancers, report in.”
The low contralto voice of her squad leader cut through the magnetism of the Twi’lek’s surroundings, pulling the pilot back into the task at hand, her duty in serving the Eternal Lord to see to the survival of his Empire against a tide of damned and irreverent souls. She waited as the other pilots reported in, speaking up last, after her wingmate.
“Dancer Ten, present and reporting. May His Will Eclipse The Stars.”
“Good. Standing orders are to hold a tight pattern around the Gorgon.” Dancer One began, her low voice taking on a temporary hitch as more New Imperial vessels entered the system. “However, our slated duties this round are explicitly fighter and bomber interception. Any vessel that gets through is on us. Failure will be viewed as a marker of incompetence, so there will be no excuses. Am I clear?”
The woman’s stern and authoritative directive was met with a resounding chorus of affirmative responses.
"Whenever you are not with me you will remain close to your sister. Remember your training and trust in your emotions, but do not let them rule you."
Their Master's words struck an off-tune to the girl's ears, though it wasn't the intention of Adron's, Danielle Mueller was indeed young and impulsive. However, she was also experienced in combat and had been trained the majority of her life within a military academy back on Shor, often engaging remnant cells of the Peroenian's who never ceased to insult and aggravate her former homeworld.
"Yes, Master" Danielle complied, knelt on the ground alongside him and doing one final check over of the M-416 Slugthrower Rifle in her arms. It was a straight forward rifle, simple yet effective against numerous armour types; the slugs were 6.8 mm x 43 mm and could hit hard when meeting their mark. With the rifle, Danielle had also fitted a foregrip and gone with the hybrid holographic sighting, for both close quarters and mid-ranged fire without sacrificing on the bullet velocity and stopping power.
Confident in the firearm, Dani rose to a stand and turned to spare Xobos Yakieer
a glance to gauge how her older sister was faring against the expectation of what they would meet within the City ahead. She never failed to provoke a smile in Dani, and despite the anxiety about the prelude to violence, Dee smiled to her all the same. There were few true friends in her life, yet Xobos was one of her closest and entering into such a time, she was comforted in knowing that they'd be working together.
Her former training on Giaca would be put to the test this day, the first real wartime engagement since arriving in Confederate Space and becoming a citizen and apprentice under the Exarch. It had been some time since Danielle had seen a true battlezone, and remembering how fast things moved up close and during those times where emotions ran rampant and any mistake could spell certain death...-Her training under Adron Malvern
would also be tested, both by the enemy as much so as through Danielle's proven efforts of the day.
Ahead of their vantage point, the sight of the city coming under fire was breathtaking. Explosions rocked the tallest of structures while Dee could only imagine what the people down on the ground were going through. Soon enough, they too would be among those very people and headed for what she expected would be the command post in the midst of the heaviest enemy presence across the City. One thing was for certain, she wasn't Adron's apprentice adjutant today, but would be employing every lesson and skill she had collected within the Knights Obsidian and through his personal training in order to come out of this battle with everything still intact.
As the statue shattered under a telekinetic blast, Cotan sat still, unharmed; shards of the monument rained down around him, bouncing off of a barrier he'd summoned around himself. "Rude," he muttered to himself, slowly standing, and looking down towards the empress herself. Not that her face was visible, this time, clad in full armour as she was; still, the presence was unmistakable. Stretching out his right hand, his sword jumped from the ground into his grasp.
With the other, he gave Joycelyn Zambrano a lazy wave.
"Your highness!" he called out, his voice amplified above the din. He faced her with his usual grin, giving a mocking sort of half-bow. Serious though the situation was, he couldn't let it detract from his usual theatrics, not yet."I was almost worried you wouldn't come to the festivities." With his trademark swagger, he sauntered slowly down the stairs from the peak of the fortress, stepping out into the open plaza where Joycelyn herself currently stood.
He stood still for a moment, unconcerned with the battle still going on through the city around them. "The cape's an interesting touch. Wearing it just for me?" He grinned again, fingers wrapped comfortably around the hilt of his weapon. "I'll try not to cut it up, just for you." With that, the grin fell, face returning to its neutral state (albeit with just the barest hint of a smirk) as he shifted his stance; left foot forward, blade held low, pointing behind the body.
"But unless you'd rather talk, dear, I'm afraid we may as well get this over with. I'm not just going to sit here and see if you treat me better than you did Auteme."
Seemingly forever ago, The battle of Bastion had been instigated by the New Imperial Order. Traitors of the Sith Empire, who sought to bring the end of rule under an Emperor. Yet so too, did Sith themselves wished to see an end of this Emperor. Vying for control over the homeworlds of the Sith as a species, as a religion, as a way of life. The Keepers of the Code, a splinter of the Sith formed to aid the New Imperial Order in bringing down the Sith. However, it was here, that they betrayed the Keepers. Turning upon them. Branding them as Sith loyal to the Empire so that this New Imperial Order would not be held underneath them.
It was quick and painless for most of them. However, for those who survived that night, the pain continued to fester. Sickening itself like an abscess that would never truly heal. These wounds needed closure. While the apprentices of Vora would surely understand striking down the New Order, they didn't understand the lengths that this Warlord would go. Lord of Strength, came here of his own, to seek out his weakness in any form of comradely he may have had in the past, and quash it in the form of bloodshed. of the men and women who supported such regimes.
Kaar's frame held over the a black mass of fog, and smoke. The screams of those dying attempted to reach his ears, for it to fall deaf. Instead, the crunch and snaps of duracrete beneath the mass that was Jivanikas. The pitch black fog seeped from vents within the behemoth. Only providing the sight of a metallic head in which barely poked through. Jaws opening to reveal arcing electricity. Landing down through the battle that raged. Lords of the Sith, and Grey Cloaks duked it out against one another. While Vora Kaar, keeping to the shadows once more, made his way through the district. Feeling the fear and emotions of citizens as they ran or hid. Not from himself, but that of an encroaching, and violent end.
Sliding down into the darkness, It took a moment for the robed man to emerge from the permeating darkness. Walking ahead of his warmount. Holding aloft a saber.
Before him in the streets, toys left out of children who once played. Vehicles left abandoned with little to no time to run. Bags or satchels containing necessities left behind. Opting to leave replaceable things for the sake of a life. A pet, held by a lead stuck in the ground, facing towards the north. Attempting to run after their owners. It was lonesome, and without aid. Distance closed between the figure and this forgotten pet. Kneeling down to merely stroke its fur and signify all would be alright. Gloved hands reaching down to unclasp the lead. A couple clicks and a quick release sent the pet racing down the street. Hoping to run after owners who may very well be long gone.
However, something was amiss. A.... stench of religious zealotry. One could only wonder who it may have been. While Vora was here, seeking out the weakness he had left behind in a twisted timeline of the past, the allure of such presences around him, drew him, coerced him into seeking out the source of this foul aroma. A quick about-face brought him to move towards Jivanikas. Mounting up once more as the engines roared to life. Howling like thunder in a storm. Taking a number of running steps forward, it launched upward into the air. The black smoke left in it's wake as if a cloak stretched from itself to the ground. Becoming longer as it soared through the air with Ships and Vessels landing or flying to intercept attempts of landfall of the Sith Empire.
What Vora felt, was the presence of two. While formidable in some ways, one seemed... almost conflicted, troubled to such a degree. Mixed with so many emotions and ties that felt so... delectable to the Lord of Strength.
It took little time to find them from the air. As both were within a structure built to house many. So many more were there. All feeling such a wide range of emotions. One could not see a smile upon the Sith's face. However, if anyone could hear the voice of a man bent on such vile thoughts, a smile could be heard in the words he spoke.
"Second breakfast it is then!"
Jivanikas plummeted down. Opening fire with the head mounted chainblasters. An almost singular tone of fire erupted from the near sentient mount. That of particle beams piercing through and slamming home. Momentum carried the two of them in through the wall that had been riddled with holes not unlike a specific type of cheese. Coming to a complete stop as the faces of living beings looked up at the metal and flesh before them.
Looking down at his newly constructed Lightsaber in his palm, he wondered on what use it would get today. Ha, today of all days, himself, other acolytes, lords, and their CIS allies were attempting to reclaim a world that used to mean a lot and still did. The former capitol of Bastion. Now held by traitorous Imperial scum who deserved nothing more than the heel of Kesran's boot. He would help his faction crush them back into submission. This day, they would know defeat. This day, they would know......DEATH. These New Imperials would finally understand, treason does not go unpunished. For all their posturing , these New Imperial thugs were cowards and fools in the eyes of Kesran, but especially the force wielders that served their cause, such as men like Halketh
. Oh Kesran couldn't wait to get a chop at them. He couldn't understand how these force users could stand by a faction with hopeless purpose. No, he would teach them, he and his allies would bring down the hammer, that will bring the dawn.
His head lifted up as Luna Terrik
gave her speech to her troops and then approached his group. He didn't really register what she said but he heard it. She wasn't a Sith, so she couldn't really understand, sometimes Sith don't look out for each other, sometimes they only look out for themselves. Kesran himself was different, but others were not. Though his distrustful nature might contradict that.
As they boarded their designated transport, he boarded with the two other Acolytes and the Sith Lord Dimitri Voltura. As the transport lifted off, the preparation of battle began. Minds were prepped. Armor was readied. Weapons were taken off safety. He turned to speak to Alina and the fellow Acolyte, but decided not to intervene on their conservation, besides it seemed somewhat personal. He then turned to the Sith Lord, who looked troubled. Kesran immense force power granted him many gifts, though he could not sense the true feeling of a being, he could sense their base emotions. He felt sorrow and worry within the man, and something else which eluded him. Kesran still paced over to where he was and bowed his head to the Lord. He had heard much about this Sith Lord, either in his studies with Haylon back on Bakura, or through the Sith archives that he survived with after Haylon's death. He was known to be honorable, a trait with Kesran carried himself. As he bowed his head, he simply followed with a respectful, "My lord". If the Lord wished not to have conservation, it was no Issue, if he did, well Kesran would most certainly welcome it. They didn't have long however until they arrived in the thick of the fighting and where many a New Imperial would be slain.
"All vessels, defensive formation, Ah- get fight-" The metallic hiss of the blast door leading into the Penitent's bridge sounded off. The swathe of Imperial grey, silver and black peered in its direction. The Kel Dor appeared enveloped by the entrance and slowly made his way toward the holotable. In the frantic madness that encapsulated the rest of the vessel, he wrought an aura of coldness...calmness about him. Tensions in the Seventh Fleet were palpable, thick enough to sever with a closed fist in the wake of the campaign toward Dantooine. The indomitable lurched into the void and had its pride ripped asunder as it broke against the tide of a unified Galactic front to eclipse the Iron Sun.
Var Koon urged they merely learn the lessons from those fateful days...and carry onward. The combined Sith and Confederate fleets had them outnumbered four to one, they lost. So was the nature of this precarious game of warfare.
The atmosphere of the command bridge dimmed immediately at his entrance. The Kel Dor preferred an orderly workspace, a calm and serene venue of command. All the aces in their places, all tasks completed without restraint and without hesistation.
They were the Empire. Today, the Sith would be reminded of this.
He stepped toward the holotable and appraised the status of Bastion's defense with a weary, narrowed gaze, his arms crossing over his chest as he appraised the situation.
The Sith had only begun their arrival in force, with orbital mines, defense platforms and other planetary arrays established to defend Bastion still holding the line.
"We have plenty of ground to give, fortunately and for the moment, their numbers are manageable for us to tangle with. Konstantine-" He gave an order the way of his subordinate, Artor Konstantine. His ever present right hand man. A graduate of the Prefsbelt Naval Academy who had defected not long after he was commissioned at the onset of the Third Imperial Civil War. That was years ago...the war had changed since.
"Sir?" He piped up, speaking in the characteristic Prefsbelt accent, not dissimilar to Dosuunian or Galidraani.
"Recall task force Antares Draco, relay a distress signal for him to return."
"The Lord Executor?" Following the battle of Dantooine, Rurik's way of coping with defeat was to rain hell unto another scion of the darkness, the Bryn'adul. Leaving with the Imperator's own in the 501st Legion and a segment of the 7th Fleet alongside Lucien Dooku and his hosts from Nirauan to the world of Lothal, where they would deal a devestating blow to the Bryn'adul's slow, grueling Galactic march.
In a twist of irony, the Sith and Confederates both had prevented this assault now by bearing down unto the capital world of Bastion.
"And when he is here, the will of the Imperator." Var states.
"What of the Bryn'adul? Are they not the more pressing threat?"
"I see no Bryn'adul here, Konstantine."
"Understood." And thus he began his transmission to the Man of Iron, recalling the 501st Legion and Fel's task force to defend Bastion. To defend his home.
From the holocomm, came the sight and voice of Tyrell Paxxus
, the revenant. The acting commander of Bastion's defense.
"I have recalled the Lord Executor to defend Bastion as has the Commissioner Jaeger Harrsk
emitted signal 'Tarkin has Fallen'. Otherwise, I do as you command, Vizier." The Kel Dor replied and the transmission was cut abruptly from Paxxus's end.
"Hail the Warpstorm." The Tartarus-class Destroyer, an interdictor vessel.
"Admiral." The response was swift on the part of Captain Vargos, a veteran man, Thyrsian.
"Activate all gravity well generators. The Sith aren't going anywhere, interdiction is active."
"Understood." He remarked with a nod and salute before the transmission was cut all the same.
The deep thrumming of the interdictor engine sounded off through Var Koon's formation.
It was war to the death, now.
Plugging into the fleet commo, he spoke to the defense force tasked with the Crown world's defense proper.
"Sons and daughters of the Empire. Today- we face our greatest trial. Bastion is the sum of our will, the triumph of our defiance. The Sith, today, seek to re-awaken their rage and rip it away from us once more. To defile this world as they have the rest of the Braxant. You've heard countless times, the worlds which they have wrought their childish fury unto. Mandalore, Dac, Ession...you know the list. Remember it, for the beating heart of our Empire may soon be etched to the bottom should we fail to do our duty today. Regardless...know one thing." He pauses, nodding once as the weight of the engagement seeps in.
"The New Imperial Order will not break today. They may seek to bring this world to glass and slaughter every living soul protecting it...but we will not break. We will make them bleed. We will not yield. None of us are going anywhere. The Sith are confined to the Bastion system and thus- they have made total commitment to their demise. Time to break them. No quarter. The Imperator's will be done...and may the Force be with us all." He says and the transmission ends.
"Hold our defensive line, let them indulge into their greed and advance into our defensive infrastructure, send out fighters and corvettes to harass them, pull them along down our kill path." Var Koon commands.
I lost all of em. Every day that damned war for that golden dust ball raged on, we lost another one...two...three of them. Soon enough, I was the last left and I was thrown right from the front at Dantooine. The medical staff deemed me suffering from 'combat fatigue' and 'trauma of loss' . No shit. I was green in my unit, after Bastion. Kinda put a chip on my shoulder, they were all there for the great victory...and hell, since? I was only there for a string of minor engagements and a massive defeat. Almost like I was some bad omen.
Ah well, it was just me left now in this Squadron. Don't think the rest of them knew what they were getting into, regaling eachother as I dipped my head down into stale caf and cigarettes until our next real deployment that wasn't routine training.
Came earlier than I thought, ironically enough.
We were scrambled pretty quickly as soon as they caught wind that Sith entered the system. Made since, Sith loved bringing big boats and it was our job to sink them.
We were attached to escort a Vandal-class Corvette, bruisers in that class of ship. Send ahead of the defensive formation, we were supposed to harass and bait the Sith Imps into the 'wall' Var Koon, Fortan and the rest of them would build up in our wake.
Sounded like suicide.
Even better.
<"All wings report in, priority targets will be coming up shortly. Even 'V' nearest to Siphon-Twelve."> The designation of the Vandal-class we were attached to.
Those voices on the other end ranged from a polarization of fear and anticipation, excitement.
They'd all be dashed on the rocks soon enough and the real stuff they were made out of would float to the surface. Happened to me, it'll happen to them.
FLEET ACTIONS Main formation of Var Koon's force is setting up defensively behind Bastion's orbital defenses.
Var Koon and Jaeger Harrsk make the call for Rurik Fel
who begins his jump to hyperspace.
Sending some fighters to harass and bait Sith ships into Var Koon's kill zone.
Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group
From the woman's gesture, Ingrid also saw that the woman sensed that she had been noticed. Unfortunately, her updated armour wasn’t finished yet, so couldn’t become completely immaterial to go in the crowd without bothering her at all. Because of this, the Empress was forced to choose a path that she could avoid people, but could follow Runi, Knew what was going to happen and was not happy about it. She was not the kind of soldier who killed civilians; the woman condemned this kind of movement, from either side.
Had to work hard enough to repair the damage caused by Tacitus, the war crimes. Ironically, the Rebels were still abusing them, instead of doing it with an empire that really commits the sins they are accused of. Ingrid was discreet in this area. As in other areas, this was true of follow-up. As Runi turned down one of the streets from the square, it was already clear to Ingrid where she was going. Spaceport.
This, however, could not allow the woman to leave the planet. No, she had to die today. If it depends on Ingrid, it's in exactly the same way as Adrian died on Dantooine. Didn't know if Runi or her companion had caused the knife stabs, but she all felt like she had been stabbed. That was true, Ingrid was bleeding from them, but didn't know why and how. And can't even ask Adrian about this for a while now. If she can manage to bring him back, then. Hoped this could happen as soon as possible, still hadn't given up the hope. She never will.
Returning to the present, followed the woman from the right distance and, knowing where she was going, caught up and even let go in part to arrive at the spaceport at the same time or a little later - a few steps behind Runi. Luckily, the Red Witch was patient, her plan was to let the woman reach her ship, or the shuttle, the vehicle she wanted to leave with. And then she will attack. To take away the hope from her at the last minute, as Adrian probably felt at the moment of his death.
That's why she hadn't attacked yet, just continued to follow Runi, testing how close she could get, when her opponent felt any of it. When she may feel discomfort, a depressing feeling. And if they arrive… it will be over. She will make a point at the end of the story.
The scents of incense filled the air, spices and herbs replicated in the solemn halls of their alchemists, now burned in a holy rite. The laymen of the Force Corps, the various servants and scholars that studied underneath the Knights of the Empire were careful in their praise of the Order’s finest. It was a careful line, between halcyon secular admiration and religious zealotry, though, Agrrur'arr found comfort in the ideal that there may be some faithful to this service, that there may be some grace of the Force in the movements of the servants of the Order. Layer upon layer of his armor was brought on by hands that weren’t his own, while those in the backlines of the constantly shifting mass of Imperial greys, golds, and blues kept up a constant hum, a chant breaking out every few stanzas in Old Basic. Breaking through the sounds of effort as the bodyglove was wretched onto his body before the betaplast of the first layer of his Knight’s cuirass found home. Brought tight with straps and magnetization to the bodyglove, each potion of the armor was treated as a relic, as something that was just as rare as the man wearing the suit itself.
Jen heskas nur wonoo veroec: Sredon.
Next came the much heftier plates and sections of nanolaminte, dedicated to taking the bulk of the small arms fire that Agrrur'arr would be exposed to in the field. He was a dedicated Page. he knew each step of this processes, requested it by demand from the Order. It was long forgotten, something that had fallen to the wayside by more practical Knights, with it’s origins outside of the Order entirety. It reminded him of home, of the dances and preparation for hunts. It reminded him, through the rolling whispers of the congregation, of the storytellers as the Jundland sands rolled in endless patches behind them. It reminded him of peace.
Grey, machined cloth was pressed into his hands as he brought it up to his thus bare skin, winding it around his visage as he settled his breathing apparatus into place. His gentle and calm takes of air now rattling through the sand-filter he had arrived to the Outer Rim with.
Throughout all of this, air raid sirens had been blaring through the sermon.
Ni ghey wokel ghakal dhi wokel Sinberioe
One of the respirator clad servants approached the page, head bowed as he held out the crossguard saber, hilt first to the Tusken.
He reached out, clasping hands over metal before pulling the weapon forward. Holding it aloft in front of his face, he turned it, back and forth in his right hand. Before his off was suddenly weighed down by a shield of duranium.
Mcy sl wokel Imperator hai deskanend.
~~
Deep. Under the rotten depths of Ravelin, the Knights of the Order would make their stand. Agrrur'ar’s arrival was late, and linking up with his master would take time, however, the Tusken wouldn’t be free of his own problems. The scattering nameless dark haunted these tunnels, Fodder Sith that were hardly worth the waste of his saber. Thus, he wouldn’t give them the pleasure of it. His cycler rifle was brought to his grip as his shield and saber were stored. Breathing, deep and slow, whistling through his mask. There is only the Force, there is only Order. Within the cleansed world, the Sith stood out like a fresh flame against an ashen heap of rubble and ruin. The Page could feel them, oppression given form and chance, given life and reason, purpose and drive.
He cared little for their humanity, their souls, or their purpose of being.
Into the dark, he brought the rifle to his shoulder, sighted down it, and cracked a round into the void. The rifle kicked hard against his shoulder as he manipulated the bolt to cycle another round. A lightsaber of crimson came to life, illuminating a form of bundled black cloth and hate. Shouts in Basic that he hardly cared to process.
Agrrur'ar was given a simple order. A simple command.
Hold the line until Fel returned.
The rifle reported again down the hall, hitting center mass of the Sith and sending a flurry of red mist bursting out the back of his attire. Bolt. Sight. Another bullet brought the hallway to life, crashing wildly into the collapsing form as the Sith fell onto his back. The Tusken constantly advancing.
He didn’t even give the man the benefit of the doubt, as the Sith coughed up blood and swore ancient proverbs of damnation at the Page.
He simply put one through the man’s head, silencing his damnation.
~~
Once Agrrur'ar had finally found and linked up with his fellows did he bring out the shield and saber, letting it burst into blinding white life as he fell into the shield formation that was pushing through the tunnels. Slashing forward when it became his time, pushing back the tide like a well oiled machine. Shifting in and out with others as the fluidity of their battle formation took hold.
He felt right being home with them.
Hans of Raxulon, the man that had given him shelter and purpose inside of the Knights, inside of the New Imperial Order, inside of the Force. He stood as the Tusken’s master, the man that would walk him through the Living Force, the man that would train him through the chivalry of Knighthood, the one that made proper his barbaric life. Though, unlike most that he had encountered that were familiar enough with his upbringing to understand the difference, he never felt a damning by the Count, passing stories between Jundland and Raxulon simply felt natural, two walks of life.
Jin of Dathomir, another Legend in the Flesh. A face of steel, one that reminded the Tusken of their commander, the Last Fel. Kyrel had never been someone that the Tusken had been given much chance to interact with, however, he did recognize him from the Fel Redoubt, between classes and studies, he had seen that armor and saber during the sparing scenes inside of the Temple. He found it oddly connecting that they both wielded the same variance of the Knight’s Saber, despite having no personal relationship besides peership.
“Sire, the Sith close in. We must hold fast! This is not the last day the Iron Sun flies over Bastion!” The Tusken groaned through his heavily accented Basic, slinging a thrust past his shield into the gut of another minor Sith.
Kyrel said:
“Up onto the overturned keel clamber, with a heart of steel, cold is the ocean’s spray, and your death is on its way!”
Upon hearing his fellow Knight give inspirational words, Agrrur'ar nodded at Kyrel before throwing his sabered fist into the air with a loud bellow. Bringing it down on another approaching Sith.
“We are the Knights of the Realm! Fear not the darkness! For we shall purge it with blade and defiance!"
A quiet, stifled gasp quietly compensated for the lack of air in his lungs. Chest and shoulders rose with each subsequent breath in an exaggerated fashion. "Foitan banas," fuck's sake, he bleated as he rubbed his throat with his right hand.
Five seconds had passed.
"Thirty seconds?" Zaavik scoffed, upper lip curling with vexation. "This is gonna take a lot longer than thirty seconds, you're just gonna have to deal with that."
Five more seconds passed.
He sighed. No preparations as to what he was going to say had been made prior. This entire endeavor had been spontaneous, and he was playing it by ear for better or worse. "No tricks," he reassured begrudgingly. He showed his hands, turning them once over and them back, keeping them where she could see them. "You're torn up about what happened here, it doesn't take an empath to figure it out. I get it, I really do. I've been there too, believe it or not. Not just losing everyone, but to death's door as well."
Five seconds left.
"The residual echoes gave me a vision; I saw you die here, in the courtyard, nearly drowning in your own blood. I don't know how you're still here-"
Time's up.
"But I know it wasn't the work of any Sith."
Zaavik had been counting the seconds in his head, he was ready to snap his hand down to his saber if he had to. Yet, still he continued regardless.
"I know you don't want to let anything like that happen again. Not even just to yourself, either. But you're on the wrong path. The Sith do that kind of shit on a planetary scale on a near-constant basis. I can see the good in you, you mean well, but you're misguided."
There was a pause, Zaavik gauging the atmosphere before his next sentiment.
"Negative, for now. You may proceed as planned, Moff Lyken.", Aut-X said affirmatively, strolling over to the bridge window to peer out at Bastion and the New Imperial defenses. "Soon this insignificant New Imperial rebellion will be crushed, and crushed it must be. Swiftly. We cannot afford to keep dealing with the New Imperials while the Bryn'adul threaten the other side of our holdings."
The droid turned his head to peer at Moff Ryken. "I've studied your record with great interest, Moff Ryken. Preform well in this battle, and I will see to it you are well rewarded for your dutiful service to the Empire. Bastion will certainly be in need of a new planetary governor, no?"
Down here, under the earth and duracrete, the sounds of war still reached, though they were still distant. Regular intervals of staccato rumbling made around her feet tremble. The howl of war reverberated through the Force. The presence of the Sith was unmistakeable. Likewise, Elpsis had not made much of an attempt to conceal herself. Her armour could adjust its colour to a camouflage that blended in with her surroundings, but that was about. Moreover, the suit possessed a minor Force aura, making it easier for other Forceful beings to home in on her presence. It suited her just fine.
So she found a Sith in her path. The glow illuminating from his golden mask was lost in Elpsis since she could not use her physical eyes to see. She did, however, perceive the sorcery radiating from the Sith Sword. The Sith Master did not engage her right away, but haughtily commanded her to get out of his way so that he could claim treasures. Among the manifold things Jedi and Sith had in common, it was that they loved to talk and pontificate.
The dilapidated slums where Elpsis had spent her formative years spat on 'gentlemanly duelling etiquette'. There was you, there was the enemy. You made it back alive by taking them out before they did you. There were no do-overs - save for those who possessed the ability to body-hop with such reckless abandon that one might get the impression death was like taking a nap.
In response, Elpsis levelled her Reaper Shotgun at him and squeezed the trigger, aiming for centre of mass. One shot, then another. Boom. Boom. The Reaper was balanced against her shoulder to absorb the recoil each shot generated. Essentially a hybrid between a shotgun and a flechette launcher, the Reaper had been designed for crowd control and Forcer hunting in mind.
Handcrafted murder machine she may have been, but this was Acantha’s first ever war.
It mattered little who they were fighting for, and even less who they were fighting against. All that mattered was the adrenaline. The pure, unadulterated drug that rushed through her system unchecked and unchallenged.
This is what it was like to truly be alive.
Acantha stood silently beside her Father atop a hill, staring down at the city lights below. They flickered and sparkled in the slowly growing daylight, like fireflies dancing between trees. It was rather picturesque, but not for long. Acantha could feel her Father shifting through the force, searching, and hunting. For what, she had not the mind nor the motive to ask, but the concentration was written deeply on his face. He barely twitched when the sound of explosions began to fire off in the distance. Acantha could not help drawing her gaze to follow the sound.
Chaos was always her favourite playground, and death her favourite playmate.
She could barely contain herself as she waited for the orders, dancing from one foot to the other like an impatient child waiting for their sweets. Only the difference was, her treat was turmoil. The fear that brewed inside the minds of those that lived in the city. The sheer terror that dominated them at the prospect of another battle. Acantha wanted in.
Now.
Her raven hair flicked wildly in the breeze as she turned her head up to her Father once more. He mumbled something that she did not quite catch, and then followed it up with several agonising minutes of total silence. Only broken when he began to hand out orders to her fellow sisters. He began with Danielle, to which Acantha swallowed a disappointed groan. If there was anyone that could sense her excitement at what was about to occur, it would be Father. She had half a mind that he was doing it on purpose. Winding her up until the last possible moment…
Hunt.
That was all it took. Without even looking back at her Father or sisters, Acantha dove feet first off the edge of the hill they stood on. There was a rocky and dangerous landing awaiting her, but Acantha would not make it as far as the floor. The minute she took flight, she began to shift. Her limbs and torso stretched to impossible lengths and a great wingspan burst free from shoulder blades. By the time she had pulled up into a glide, heading straight toward the city, she was no longer a human.
Ty proudly road on one of the heavy gunships as they made their way planetside "Ty to Allied forces Ill see you planetside my units are going to attempt to establish a beachhead, Honor and glory comrade" the last part was more of something his old squad said to each other before the battle. Looking out the copilot window as forces made planetfall. When the old saying is to go big or go home he went big and his home is on the battlefield.
Standing up he walked back to the troop hold where various biodroids were in position "okay ladies stock up and shut up planetfall in 5 soon as those doors open i want a parameter cleared and a beachhead set up understood. I can't promise you'll all make it back but if it's your time to die take as many of them with you as you can."
As they touched down his units would open up on any targets in the area as they began setting up makeshift Fob for a beachhead in an alcove of residential areas. Ty was setting up the coms to radio to begin deploying armor when the Blue squad contacted him informing him that civis asking for what to do with them. Ty thought for a moment. "kill em the EE made it clear we weren't supposed to be officially here they already saw our faces so kill them no survivors." there was a pause before the response was "By your orders sir" as gunfire and screams filled the coms. after he finished setting up the coms he sent out the message. "beachhead secure in residential district begin moving in the armor i want all gunship shuttles to begin gun runs on any economic and civilian grade fuel areas burn it to the ground Ty out."
Maxmillian heights once a residential district of wealth and comfort now a ruined labyrinth of fierce street fighting and house to house sieges. Elements of the Kandaran fedayeen and the Galidraani brigade fought a ferocious defensive action against Sith forces attacking from both the air and below. Though vastly outnumbered, they fought like men possessed against both sith spawn and man amidst the heights' ragged ruins. With the passing hours of death and destruction, the district soon turned into a burning mausoleum for both Sith and Imperial.
Screams of both men, beast and the mechanical mixed amidst intermittent airstrikes and explosions rocked the skyline. The flashes of anti-air fire and explosions lit up the otherwise blacked-out streets of the heights, illuminating street battles and scenes of desperate violence. Fedayeen losses grew as more and more sith emerged from the tunnels, yet they were resolute along with their Galidraani brothers. They'd hold until the last Kandaran and Galidraani fell, even if it meant only stalling the inevitable.
Ya jabal ma yhezak reeh(The wind cannot shake the mountain).
A Sith turned from the dark is a life saved and an enemy defeated. Jedi by circumstance, altruist by choice, Zaavik felt it was his duty to preserve life. No matter how vain or risky the effort, he would do what he believed he must. Should it be the death of him, at least he died on his feet with good in his heart and soul. The prospect did not frighten him as much as it once had.
How could nothingness possibly be worse than this?
The Shadow skulked across the hangar, making a beeline towards a fighter vessel. The ladder to the cockpit clanked under his footfalls, ascending closer with every step. A voice called out from behind him, resonating off the walls of the empty hangar and into his ears, causing him to freeze.
"Zaavik!?" The voice of Ryv was unmistakable. "You missed the brief, I- What are you doing?"
Zaavik sighed. Busted. "Leaving," he replied plainly, taking another step on the ladder.
"Cold feet, huh? Cmon, let's talk about this, no need to go deserting us."
"No, it's not that. I uh-" Zaavik dropped off the ladder, boots smacking into the durasteel flooring beneath. A turn was made to face Ryv, a few steps forward made to meet him. "There's something I gotta do. I don't really know how, or why, but I can feel it. The Force is pulling me somewhere, the call is-" He paused, looking down to the floor with an odd camber to his lips before looking back up to his fellow Jedi. "It's really loud, Ryv. I can't ignore it."
The Sword of the Jedi made a face, placing a hand on his hip with an inquistive raise of his brow. "Something, huh?" His tone was laden with more curiosity than doubt. "What's this something, then?"
"Saving a life."
No deception emanated from Zaavik to Ryv's empathic sense. The Kiffar let out a breath and smirked slightly. "Fine, I'll cover for you. Just don't get in over your head, okay?"
"When do I ever?"
Ryv blinked in silence, a blank stare regarding the Zeltron with disbelief.
Zaavik smirked, chuckling at his own joke. "I'll be fine," he insisted, hastily climbing back up the ladder and climbing into the cockpit. Certainty in his statement was a facade, for the Knight truly didn't know what to expect. A certain dread was hidden behind the pull the Force assaulted him with. It was better not to dwell on those feelings, anyhow. "Thanks," he offered as he slid the pilot's helmet over his head and looked down to Ryv.
The Kiffar nodded in silence, arms moving to cross over his chest. Engined blared as the vessel started up. Artificial winds danced wildly in all directions as the fighter slowly raised from the floor before tearing forward through the atmospheric shield of the hanger. Zaavik disappeared as a spec against the endless void of space.
FEL REDOUBT // BASTION SECOND BASTIONFALL Darth Daiara
"No entry, Jedi." A Togrutan Imperial Knight rebuked Zaavik's request with clear contempt. This entrance to the Redoubt was guarded only by the Knight and an accompanying Stormtrooper. Other forces were scrambling to prep defenses and take positions, leaving the actual present security rather lacking.
"Listen, man, I'm on your side, I'm just trying to-"
"We said no entry," the Stormtrooper helmet vocoder distorted voice doubled down with his Imperial Knight comrade.
"You forget, we are only allies against the Sith. You are not entitled to our facilities, we are not friends."
Zaavik threw his hands up halfway and sighed with feigned defeat. "Yeah, whatever," he replied with a facade of concession. He took a step backward, turned his back half to them, and pulled out his commlink, pretending to make a call. Both guards eased up, thinking the Shadow had given up. Cybernetic hand brought the comm up to his lips as his other hand made a sneaky wave at his side, index and little finger flicking up and down.
"You will let me into the redoubt," he spoke firmly.
The Stormtrooper's posture went slack. "I will let him into the Redoubt."
"What?"
The guard turned and tapped at the door control, punching in a code that caused the massive door panels to begin to slide open with a loud groaning.
"'The hell are you doing?"
Zaavik crept up alongside the Trooper and quickly reached forward to switch his blaster to stun. "Blast him," he commanded calmly.
A hiss of white plasma erupted from the Imperial Knight's saber hilt as the realization took over. The first shot was parried, the magnetic containment field of the saber sending it flying wildly into the air. The second shot found purchase, slipping past the saber and slamming into the Knight's gut, sending him crumpling to the ground unconscious. The effectiveness of New Imperial Troopers proving once again capable of overcoming the lightsaber.
Zaavik scoffed smugly. "Veina," queen, he quipped as he looked down at the Togruta. The Jedi offered a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, the metal of his prosthetic clattering against plastoid shoulder pauldrons. "Good job. Take a nap, huh? You've earned it."
"You got it, boss!" The Stormtroopers knees gave as he folded to the floor. Armor clacked and clamored against itself, followed by the hollow thud of helmet onto concrete. Snoring echoed inside the hollow shell, vocoding outward as a digitized static. A long step over the two unconscious guards heralded his waltz through the foyer of the Redoubt.
Corellian Coin rolled around between his fingers. Ethereal screams, wails, and other horrible sounds of the past echoed through the halls, courtesy of the coin's imprint. It was nothing short of gutwrenching, but he had no choice other than to endure. The echoes and visions carved a clairvoyant path toward his intent, a macabre road for his likely vain quest.
Staircase, corridor, left turn, corridor, right turn, stairs again. The former Sith Academy had looked big, but on the inside, the scale was even more impressive. Remnants of Sith iconography still lingered, the efforts to chip them away in favor of the Imperial Codex still ongoing. It was no wonder it had taken so long, he'd felt as if he'd walked miles already.
Every new scream he heard, every new cry, every new spatter of blood he saw evoked a unique grimace all their own. He'd heard about it, but the first-hand recollections were a lot worse than he thought. Zaavik was still in a coma when this all went down. He wouldn't have ever imagined the ordeal to be this horrific. Yet, somehow, it didn't feel wrong.
Another corridor, this time the coin granted him the sound of laughter. A familiar voice that reverberated from father ahead, echoing in a repetitive rhythm further and further down the hallway. Pace increased, pointed boots slogging against the tiles with their own impactful reiteration off the hard interior walls.
Disfigured digits lightly caressed a durasteel door. Eyelids closed, opposite hand clenching the coin as he focused internally. In the back of his mind's eye, red-hued locks danced against momentum through the threshold. The coin was practically humming, a subtle vibration buzzing in the center of his palm.
This was it.
Fingers slid down to the door control. A pulse through the force willed the mechanisms to clear, forcing the door to hiss open and click at the apex of it coming ajar. Slowly he walked forward, what was once a significant space had been reduced to a linen closet. Towels, vestments, rags, curtains, and the like. It could have been much worse, they had to store the dismantled Sith Iconography somewhere, or at least, whatever they couldn't burn.
Situating himself in the center of the room, Zaavik turned to face the door and dropped slowly to his knees. He sat on his feet and placed the coin in front of him. Both fists retreated to his knees as his eyes closed. A deep breath would slip him into a light meditative trance.
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
Aradia had been removed from the front line. The order had been as clear as day, yet when the call for Bastion came to life... She broke her master's orders and answered. Kaalia would never understand.
She had to be there.
Her footsteps echoed through the familiar hall, goosebumps prickling over her skin. The siege of Bastion rang on beyond these now insignificant walls, but she did not yet join. Something drew her forward-- an intangible string pulling tight at her chest.
No one had survived the Imperial's attack. She knew that. Yet every corner she turned, her eyes searched, almost desperate for a lock of blonde hair-- a familiar dimple. Someone. Anyone.
Bastion Academy had been purged.
Tula had not survived.
She stopped short at juncture, a Fel tapestry hanging where an Empire one had once resided. She could see its faint outline, the dirt stain refusing to let the past fade. She let out a pained hiss. Fire erupted across the imperial symbol. She walked onwards, her once timid steps gaining intention.
Did they really think they could erase her with no consequence?
Ideas bubbled forward, smothering the pinching that built in her tear ducts. She had been in enough wars to know that pure brute would not win this school back alone. She had to--
She stopped short, a familiar set of doors appearing before her. In her brooding, she had not paid attention to where her feet had taken her. The path had been instinctual. Habit. She swallowed hard, the pinching in her tear ducts redoubling as she stared at her old dorm door.
Her hand raised before her, moving as if it were in a dream as it entered the old code.
Visions of hatred and desperation flooded over his mind in dreamlike watercolors as he meditated. Pain echoed from the coin in front of him, he could feel it like it was his own. The screaming was loud enough to hurt his ears. Gurgling in the throat, he couldn't breathe. Something tightened his grip, not letting him leave this meditative state. Blood, the blood was everywhere, a growing pool of ichor crimson.
She died here. Through her own eyes, he could only watch.
The hissing of a door jolted him from his meditation at the very moment she'd slipped away in the vision. An invisible smog of force energy flooded the tension laden atmosphere as their eyes met. Alive and well despite what he'd seen, there she was. Zaavik gasped in both shock and vital need, he could not breathe during that forced recollection. The weight of the force around them proved too much for the old Corellian Token. Metal cracked, small grains of shrapnel bouncing off the floor with a high pitch ding. The half-sundered coin flipped into the air from the ground.
Zaavik's hand flung forward, fumbling around with the coin for a brief moment before snatching it from the air. His other hand raised slowly, fingers extended and palm facing out pacifistically. With one fluid motion he stood up slowly from his knees, his feet planting firmly against the ground. Token deposited into his jacket pocket, and then the same hand mimicked the non-aggressive gesture of the other.
"Relax," he implored softly. "I'm not to here to hurt you or anything, I just want to talk, that's all." Either hand dropped to his side once he felt he'd made his intentions clear. "I know you must be feeling a lot right now," he began, trying to take the empathy approach. He couldn't help but immediately the second guess whether or not that was the right approach. He made a face, shaking his head to himself. "Look, fuck it, whatever, just hear me out, okay?" A turbolaser smacking into Ravelin in the near-distance shook the Fel Redoubt. "While we still have the opportunity?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
How.
Her eyes screamed the question as the coin flipped through the air. It hit flesh, the noise muted but resounding as he caught and pocketed it. "You," she breathed, meeting his gaze.
Feeling a lot? That was one way to to put it. She stumbled a step back, at first expecting another attack. It was the shock alone that stopped her from drawing her saber, though the hatred she possessed for her growing arch enemy flared in her nostrils.
"Are you stalking me?"She accused, flabbergastion next to follow. He was in her old room. And it-- Her attention tore to its dusty shelves, pain lashing through her-- it had been reduced to nothing more than a linen closet. Her fury turned back on him. She raised her hand, her fingers clenched. A pulse of the force slammed into him. She stepped in, the door closing behind her as she bore him down.
"What. Are you doing. In my room?" She demanded. A telekinetic grip started to clench down on his throat.
The Jedi's head crept backward forcefully as the invisible grip tightened incorporeal fingers around his throat. Facial features twitched initially, but his resolve steeled and his regard remained covered by a convincing illusion of being unphased. "Ma'am, this is a linen closet," his wispy, air deprived vocalizations managed to quip in facetious contrary through the invisible restraint. Probably not a good time for jokes, the little voice of reason in his head scolded. A real shame too, as his wit had just formulated a pun involving 'breathtaking'.
"The coin," he explained. "I followed what it offered." A small cough rasped out of his airway. His hand slowly crept down to the saber on his belt, hovering over it with a twitching finger. "I told you, I'm just here to talk. I've seen what happened here, it showed me." His eyes narrowed as he drew a large breath laboriously through her attempt as suffocation, only causing the grip to grow tighter.
"Let me go," he rasped dryly. "I told you, you're not in any danger," yet "I'm not here to hurt you," unless I have to. It was always the omitted bits that were the most important. A universal rule between Jedi and Sith. There never had been any such thing as total honesty, and especially not between the faces of the Force's spiritual coin. A gulp struggled down his throat. "I don't blame you if you don't trust me, but I've let you go twice, haven't I?"
Bastion Academy FEL REDOUBT| Zaavik Perl
| Closed
The quip earned him a rattling, one which his only his talking halted. She seemed to teeter in that moment, a crazied edge to her eyes as the urge to squeeeze rocked her. And there it was again. The hunger. It was growing less frightening, if only cause the Jedi served as something more pressing to mistrust.
"-- I've seen what happened here, it showed me."
Shock rippled over her features. The grip released him. He was left to gasp at the gifted air, the sithling staring skeptically at his cornered form. "What could you possibly have to say to me?" She uttered, distaste coating every word.
He was the enemy. His kind murdered her kind relentlessly. Everything she had known, they had stolen from her grasp. She was a kid, nearly purged for religious wars and deeds that were not her own. And he owned it.
They bore each other's scars. They were two sides of that same coin and they could never be made to see eye to eye. That was not how physics worked. The mention of what he had seen left her needing to know more. For a moment, she'd bite.
"You have thirty seconds."
Her saber jumped into her palm, the blue hue lighting up the room. Jedi. It was an embarrassing punishment in response to the saber he had taken from her. Wouldn't it be appropriate if she killed him with it in turn? She pointed it at his chest.
A quiet, stifled gasp quietly compensated for the lack of air in his lungs. Chest and shoulders rose with each subsequent breath in an exaggerated fashion. "Foitan banas," fuck's sake, he bleated as he rubbed his throat with his right hand.
Five seconds had passed.
"Thirty seconds?" Zaavik scoffed, upper lip curling with vexation. "This is gonna take a lot longer than thirty seconds, you're just gonna have to deal with that."
Five more seconds passed.
He sighed. No preparations as to what he was going to say had been made prior. This entire endeavor had been spontaneous, and he was playing it by ear for better or worse. "No tricks," he reassured begrudgingly. He showed his hands, turning them once over and them back, keeping them where she could see them. "You're torn up about what happened here, it doesn't take an empath to figure it out. I get it, I really do. I've been there too, believe it or not. Not just losing everyone, but to death's door as well."
Five seconds left.
"The residual echoes gave me a vision; I saw you die here, in the courtyard, nearly drowning in your own blood. I don't know how you're still here-"
Time's up.
"But I know it wasn't the work of any Sith."
Zaavik had been counting the seconds in his head, he was ready to snap his hand down to his saber if he had to. Yet, still he continued regardless.
"I know you don't want to let anything like that happen again. Not even just to yourself, either. But you're on the wrong path. The Sith do that kind of shit on a planetary scale on a near-constant basis. I can see the good in you, you mean well, but you're misguided."
There was a pause, Zaavik gauging the atmosphere before his next sentiment.
Her heart pulsed in her ear, the tip of her saber subtly wavering with each internal thump thump thump. That wasn't what she was expecting to hear. Her thoughts raced, her eyes searching for a sign of mockery. The boy was as serious as stone, an earnest edge to him imploration. He saw her. It disarmed her.
Was this an apology?
The saber lowered a centimeter, her chest puffing in distress as he painted a picture of that day. She didn't like to think about her death. She didn't like that he knew about it. Standing before him, she felt vulnerable. Raw.
Confused.
It distracted her from an off set of words, her gaze boring into him-- Hungry for recognition, desperate to feel whole again. Thirty seconds had come and gone, and he still held her attention.
"How?" She asked, her voice tight and mistrusting.
Zakaria held tightly onto the young child in his arms as he fired Charric blasts behind him, hindering the advance of enemy troops entering the ruined residential sector. Stormtroopers on patrol would establish a preliminary defensive line as Zakaria started to bark orders at his troops, telling them to hold the line till the battalions from Fortress Imperator arrived. Zakaria set the young Ava down as he bent his knee to level himself closer to her height, "Ava, I need you to sit tight while Uncle Black helps get more people to safety. " The young girl would look up at her godfather, cheeks still wet with tears as she did her best to hold them back. So young, yet forced to be strong, now having to have lived through her home being ravaged by war twice now. She reached up with her hands to wrap her arms around Zakaria's neck, a sign of her giving him some luck as she whispered quietly, " Please be safe Uncle Black... "
Zakaria offered her gentle pats on the back for a few moments before pulling away as he straightened his posture and pointed at a passing stormtrooper, " Trooper, you are to watch over this child as if your life depended on it. Ensure she gets on the first transport headed back to Fortress Imperator. These are my direct orders to you and the first pilot you find. " The stormtrooper kneeled down and grabbed hold of Ava's hand as he pulled her away, " Yes General! " Zakaria would raise a hand up to Ava's other arm as she was slowly peeled away before watching her go, giving the girl a reassuring nod that things would be okay before standing tall. He had to be her shield, as well as the people of Ravelin - to honor his promise and make sure he made up for all the atrocities he had committed in the past as a soldier of the Sith Empire.
Transports would soon arrive and touch down to the surface as additional troops were deployed to the field, troopers rushing to rally behind Zakaria as he was tossed a rifle. As Zakaria moved forward, he would notice the initial line of defense being whittled down as stormtroopers using rubble as pseudo cover were keeping their heads down, comrades on the ground strewn about in various poses of death. One trooper even made a run for it, tossing his rifle off to the side as he started to run towards Zakaria, crying out, " It's over, the battle is lost! We're finished, there's no way in hell that we're going to hold them back! This is meaningless - We're all going to die! " Zakaria stopped the man as he reached out with a hand and grabbed the soldier's chest plate, and threw him back towards the ground, the dazed trooper looking up, stunned and in disbelief as Zakaria's voice spoke in a stern tone,
" You're right... We all are going to die. It doesn't matter how full or unfulfilled life you have lived. It's all the same. No one lives forever, everybody will die someday. Does that mean life is meaningless? " Zakaria paused as the troopers around him stared at their general, blaster bolts and smoke filling the air as he continued, " What would you say to our fallen comrades? Those who gave their lives and paid the ultimate sacrifice to take Bastion from the Sith, who paid with everything they had to uphold the freedom the New Imperial Order has given us? That their lives were meaningless? No. They weren't! It is us who gives meaning to their lives, to continue the fight in their memory, and ensure that their lives were not given in vain! We will not let their sacrifice go in vain, nor forsake the people we swore to protect and save. " Zakaria looked around at his troops as he spoke across the comms of all the New Imperial Order troops around. " The ones who will remember them are us! Every soldier. Every man, woman, and child that lives to see another day because of our sacrifice, are the ones who we live for and die for. If you have not the strength to fight for yourself, then fight for the lives of those who cannot! "
My soldiers... My brothers in arms - FIGHT! "
Zakaria reached his hand out towards the stormtrooper on the ground as the baffled trooper shook his head, snapping himself back to his senses, taking Zakaria's hand. He was a soldier of the New Imperial Order, and his comrades had paid in flesh and blood to take Bastion from the Sith. He truly could not let their sacrifices be in vain if he were one to survive. Zakaria looks down as he picks up the rifle of a fallen stormtrooper off the ground and hands it off to the trooper.
" The battle is over and we have lost? Who decided that? There's no chance of us holding them back? Who. Decided. That? "
The soldiers that had arrived to reinforce the front would let out shouts of acknowledgment as they were filled with renewed vigor, moving to the front as they began to engage the advancing Sith forces, doing their best to hold the line so that the civilians fleeing and being evacuated a chance to be taken into the safety of Fortress Imperator.
He leaned on the command table in the middle of the room, smoke lingered from his cigarette and silence beset her question. It took him a minute of aimless glaring nowhere before he replied,
"It means the fuse has been lit, Bastion is a ticking bomb. If reinforcements do not arrive in time - all is lost."
A series of thunderous explosions battered the building and rattled his bones, almost throwing him to the ground. Jaeger held tight the sides of the table for a few very long moments before the tremors ceded to an unnatural, and rather ominous, stillness. Gone was all sense of life.
"What the hell was that?!"
<"Sir, this is Sentinel. Do you copy?! Are you alive?!">
<"You bet I am, what the kark was that?!">
<"Commissioner--Sir, Grand Vizier Paxxus called an orbital strike on COMPNOR HQ-">
<"WHAT?!"> Jaeger's face turned pale, then red, then pale, then red. Ever since his miraculous survival on Dantooine, Tyrell Paxxus
had not been the same man. He walked like a man, but reeked of death. Of corpse. Of insanity. The commissioner ran a hand over his face in disbelief and anger. Something had to be done about Paxxus before he threw them all to oblivion all too soon. Did Tavlar's disappearance have anything to do with the unhinged Vizier, who before his 'death' had revealed himself as the Imperator's father? The thought drifted his mind for longer than it needed; too many question, so little answers and none solved their predicament.
The commissioner composed himself, flicking the finished cigarette away and turning on the holoprojector of the table. Ravelin erupted to life in blue and white.
<"Talk to me - what else has he done?"> his voice had grown cold and calculated but emotion still lingered in its deepest notes.
<"He's designated hostile targets as Dark and...sent Sith-Imperial prisoners of war as bait; sheep to the slaughter."> the answer did not draw another salvo of wrath. Just concern; Jaeger was not below committing crimes of war, neither were the Sith. COMPNOR fought fire with fire. Harrsk fought fire with fire. He would execute unarmed combatants with a smirk. The New Imperial's monster with dark charisma.
But that was not who Tyrell was. The commissioner couldn't help but maintain suspicion over Paxxus and the disappearance of the Imperator at such a crucial time. He could do nothing about it now, not yet at least.
<"Copy. And the battle? Give me a sitrep.">
<"On the--backfoot, Sir."> Sentinel replied with a barely audible sigh. <"General Tal and Major Barran have assumed de-facto control on the ground defence of Ravelin-">
<"The Galidraanis?">
<"Yes, Sir.">
<"Good.">
<"Confederates have arrived along with the Sith--">
"Brothers in arms, huh? Hear that, Lady Hejaran?" Jaeger chuckled looking at the Tapani noble, whilst Sentinel continued his report.
<"--and lastly, there has been unnaturally high activity according to our sensors in the tunnels below.">
<"Roger, keep me updated. Hellion out."> Jaeger cut off the transmission and made haste.
"We need to get out of here." he told Elicia the obvious and smirked, "You'd rather die with guns blazing rather than out of boredom down here, yeah?"
The commissioner reached for a hidden compartment, activated a switch and the wall slid open to reveal an armory; unlike standard armories - this one contained specialized Force hunting gear, along with the conventional and unconventional warfare equipment. Contingencies upon contingencies. Paranoia was the unwritten tenet of COMPNOR - the New Imperial organization known for its ideological subversion capabilities as equally as their phobia of Force cults.
"Pick your tombstone, lady." Jaeger chuckled inaudibly but did not wait for her. He quickly began equipping the gear he believed would serve him best. "Never asked - but you married?"
Ah, yes - small talk; Harrsk's ultimating coping mechanism when he stood on the precipice of death.
Purpose within the Omegas had been reborn into a new flame. Weary and dread quickly left their tired bodies and were replaced by anger and hope. A deadly combination.
The manmade blockage Areyon had made to keep the Sith invaders out had also locked them inside. If he were to remove the blockage, the tunnels could collapse further, making escape nearly impossible. They would have to find a new way out.
The interconnected system of tunnels that made up Bastions underground was old and ruinous. They had been there since Areyon was a little child and many centuries before the New Imperial Order's takeover. The structure has held up for many years and has survived countless invasions. But could it stand for another was the question. Another manmade entryway into another tunnel was the only safe option remaining. They would have to find the weak spot and move fast before anything inside of the tunnels has a chance to collapse.
Across the walls of the pentagon-shaped room, the Omega Guard felt upon the walls to sense any sort of opening. Areyon watched closely as they did so. It did not take long before one of the Omegas on the southern wall spoke up. Areyon stepped towards the wall with an outstretched hand and placed his hand against the cold stone. The wall was thin with little blocking it. It would reintroduce them to the tunnel system and it was their greatest way of escape. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed through the Force knocking the old wall down. A deep and slow rumble followed suit.
"Quickly, Omegas. Through here!" They walked out in single file to allow maximum maneuverability with the tunnels. Areyon stayed in the front, where the leader should be always. The sounds of screaming and lightsabers filled the still air of the tunnels and reconvened with their ears once more. The war still raged on, on the surface and down below.
Footsteps.
Areyon heard the echoing pattern of footsteps come from the front. His lightsaber pike rested still in his grasp as his finger brushed over the ignition switch. The Omega Guard's stances changed as well. There was a single Omega who was tasked to look behind him to protect the rest of the group from any attacks from the back. The rest had their pikes in their hands, waiting for engagement.
The repeated sound of footsteps doubled, then tripled in number. It was not one man coming. It was a force much larger than they. Areyon activated his lightsaber pike, the burning white blade illuminating a good portion of the tunnel. The footsteps continued to get louder and louder. Then, the creature revealed itself. It's crystalline body refracted the light from the blade as it charged towards him. With one swift motion, the creature was struck with a cut to the shoulder. Its body was thrown against the wall of the tunnel and before it could get back up to strike, Areyon slammed the emitter into its facial area. He could tell the creature died almost immediately.
More and more creatures would appear and charge towards them with ridiculous speed. Areyon lead the charge through them with one other Omega Guard who stepped to the front of the line. The space of the tunnel was getting dangerously thin and with the horde constantly attacking, more would fall. But that would not triumph their resolve.
The crystalline creatures will try to attack, but the Omegas will stand.
Getting this far was unexpected. Every expectation was that she'd try to strike him down the moment he finished speaking. At least he was getting somewhere. It was a much better start than he could have realistically hoped for. Though, he was beginning to understand that the closer he got, the thinner the tightrope would get. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for anything other than a full send. Beyond the walls of the redoubt, the battle raged indifferent to this encounter. Every breath taken in silence was time wasted.
"You're in pain. Desperate to scrub a layer of soot from your skin that won't wash away. Hate won't be a solvent, it'll only bring you more suffering. I know what happened was wrong, horrible, but we can do our damndest no make sure nothing like it ever happens again. You don't trust me, I know, and to be honest, I'm not exactly your biggest fan either."
Zaavik slowly offered out his hand. Durasteel-cortosis alloy glittering with a weathered sheen beneath the artificial light overhead.
"But it's my duty to help you. Not just as a Jedi, but as someone who's been exactly where you are. That wound will fester forever, it's not something you can just forget, but you can soothe it. It would be unfair and dishonest to try to convince you otherwise. We can't ever make it right, but we can do right by you. Come with me, leave the Sith behind, open your eyes to a better path. You can make a difference this way, a crusade for vengeance isn't going to save anyone, it's only going to eat you up inside."
"Nor do I ever recall giving an order to surrender," the King spoke as he joined the General at the front. While citizens of the Imperium fell back to Fortress Imperator, the forces of the Imperium held fast. Enlil did not tear his gaze from the tide of Sith and their allies that came rushing in. They threatened to surge and swallow up everything in their path. His eyes narrowed. "If they want the blood of our people, they will pay for it with their own."
Black had already given all the necessary words. He could feel their inspiration, their vigor, and their valor. The only thing he had left to offer was his presence, a constant reminder that the Imperator was with them. If not in person, then in spirit.
He wore garb that denoted him as noble and set him apart from the rest of the Imperials. His gauntlet shone brightly in the dying sunlight. The King was felt every eye and expectation fall on him as he rose like a new dawn ahead of both armies.
Enlil glowed down at the opposing forces with contempt.
"They will have nothing," he spat. "We will let them take nothing from us. We took Bastion from dust and raised it to greatness. The Sith add nothing of substance to any world. Their presence is parasitic. Their lives are wasteful and filled with opulent garbage."
He turned now to face them, his voice heightened, injected with fervor. "It is theirs no more. This world- everything on it- belongs to you. Will you give it back?"
A screaming chorus of defiance erupted. Hatred and rage drowned fear. Hope blossomed from cinders into an inferno. Enlil clenched his fist.
"Then tell them."
"WE DO NOT WANT YOU! WE REJECT SITH RULE!"
"Now, show them!"
Artillery roared its report as bolts of heavy laser fire erupted forth from Imperial lines. They rained hell on the encroaching Sith as the King turned his attention to the General. "Together," he said.
The New Order had taken Bastion as one cohesive unit. They would now defend it the same way.
"Let us show the Sith and their foolish friends that they are not above Law and Order."
Onrai
Moff Drybis Lyken
Grand Moff Aut-X
Thaelius
) │ CIS
Naier Rambeigh
Scourge Harz
) │ GA (
Len Vert
)
