Wearing:
Gladiator Armor
Armed With:
Five Rings
Mission: Butcher Mawite Scum
There was no way Lynda, Demon of Jedha could miss out on this.
Her hatred of the Maw was completely consuming her. She was constantly taking any work that would put her in greater and greater contact with Maw filth, slaughtering upon sight.
Knowing the Maw would be here was a siren call.
And the setting... glorious...
Lynda had lurked inside one of the Alliance vessels until the time came to deploy at last to the surface. Every one knew who she was by this point, the butchery she was capable of. Everyone feared her. None in the Alliance called her friend. Many Jedi still agitated for her arrest.
She no longer cared what anyone thought of her. She had ascribed to their point of view once, and all it had caused her was pain. The only way to deal with the Maw was sheer, bloody brute force and limitless cruelty. Cruelty only a select few seemed willing to embrace.
A select few like House Io.
The fact there were Sith here was almost incidental to the opportunity to
inflict herself upon the Mawite hoardes, to sow terror.
As her combat shuttle streaked down with a bunch of spec ops Troopers who were nervous just being next to her. Lynda grimaced at the hellscape Tython had become. But none of that really mattered. The chance to kill Mawites, was like a drug at this point, and she, the junkie.
As the shuttle reached a survivable distance where she could jump, she did so, activating the repulsorlifts in her red and blue, hoplite like armor and flying down ward into the thickest fighting, closest to the rear guard.
When she landed and her Katana was drawn the bloodthirsty roar escaped her throat, database involuntarily looping the files of her pulling dead children seemingly endlessly from the rubble of smashed buildings, followed by looping images of her impaled rabbit and turtle.
A being such as Westenra, in theory at least, has it all: She was designed for success. For power. Almost any guise she could take was so fine Mister Palmer would never have been able to tell you where the money went. She could take any job, any position if she had the programming installed.
But it all came with a catch. She had to feed, for her designer, a type of Vampire, had made her an
Android Vampire that had to feed.
Vampires aren't popular, even when relatively benign, for a damn good reason. They need to feed, and so did she.
Sure, she fed on Psychic Energy in a victim, which usually had a better chance than most of leaving a victim alive, but she still had to feed. And that meant it was very difficult for her to get close to ordinary people, to trust them. Her pets had been one of the few creatures she could get any sort of love from other than her own family. Plus, while a Demigod by the perception of someone like
The Mongrel
, she was still ultimately mortal, and had mortal emotions. In being buried alive in rubble, in forcing her to pull dead children out of rubble she herself was rescued from out of a desperate hope to find
one youngling alive, in killing her pets in such a brutal and unnecessary way, the Maw had caused possibly irreparable psychological harm, due to her perfect memory of all this, like it happened only seconds prior. The emotional agony of the trauma she had suffered had left her a bloodthirsty wreck who seemingly lived only to kill Maw, much like how Darth Xiphos had been created jointly by both the actions of the Bryn'adul and the decisions made by
Coren Starchaser
, Ryv and countless other Jedi.
In truth? Lynda didn't care if the Galactic Alliance survived. If the Order survived. The Demon of Jedha had thirsts in need of slaking.
When the first rear guard squads saw her, instant panic lanced through some of them, as her blade glittered in the Destruction of the planet.
Lynda gave
the mother of all slasher smiles and then she was leaping into the fray, a living lawnmower of feet, legs and blade. Limbs went flying, blood erupted in Geysers. The Narrator's FX budget went over the limit, like Michael Bay in every movie you let him have control over. (FX IS NOT A PLOT MR. BAY! NOT A PLOT!)
Lynda sliced and diced into the rear guard, fighting alongside Nuetralizers, finally forced to reign back their Organic counterparts when their lust for revenge went too far, and they started getting hit. But Lynda was beginning to all but spearhead the fierce counter attack, battling seeking to battle even the most experienced, savvy Maw Veterans, unimpressed by their faith and devotion, and wishing to show their prowess as warriors. Worshipping Anthropomorphic Personifications of conditions in life was, to both Lynda and House Io, a waste of time. Even if you had shown them the gods the Maw worshipped they would have been dismissed as spiritual con artists: Xiphos, who had grown up using con artistry, liked to think she knew a grift when she saw it. That the Mawites did not see it as a Con Job, what the Avatars wanted, was the only part that baffled her. If these Gods were so all powerful, why did they need Mawites to work their will? Their strategies were no better than that of the worst warlords on the outer rim. She had met people in Nar Shaddaa's darkest alleyways these Mawites couldn't hold a candle to on their sickest, most depraved days. Even the Superlaser scheme was just an example of the most fundamental mistakes the Maw could have made, the first among those being that
the ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of The Force.
If that was the scope and limit of what the Avatars could inspire, killing a planet with a Laser, setting up operations any pirate or two bit Cult with loose morals did regularly, albeit on a smaller scale , then they couldn't
possibly be mightier than the Force. After all, if you have to torture someone into believing what you want, how rock solid can the foundation of such a faith possibly
be?
The second being this: Superweapons, in the history of the entire Galaxy, have never been able to secure any empire against falling from power. If anything, resorting to the superweapon was a sign of desperation, a sign that said empire had run out of justification, out of good arguments for their continued existence. Superweapons are bloated, expensive, and with few exceptions, can still only destroy one planet at a time. Sheer inertia would doom the Maw, even if they succeeded here, the superweapon could only be in so many places at once. Eventually someone would just retaliate with a superweapon of their own, and then where would The Maw's advantage be? The very fact it was even here was all but a tacit admission in House Io's eyes that
no, faith
wasn't stronger than Logistics, Numbers, and Firepower. Their faith was meaningless without the Avatar to back it up.
That is why House Io and Lynda fought so savagely, not just to win, but to
mock their supposed faith in the inevitable. House Io didn't have a planet destroying superweapon, just a parked Battle Cruiser, flesh, steel, and
boiling hatred.
They had come here, outnumbered by every major faction, most of whom considered them and their leaders traitors and terrorists, hunted and despised and thought of as insane. To be fair, most of the leadership
was insane to a degree. But functional.
They had come here, hated and feared, and with little hope of victory...
...and
still they fought as Demons, bent on dragging the Mawites away from Paradise, having eyes only for the Mawites, showing them what faith was, without a superweapon, attempts to rewrite all reality, and extensive torture and brainwashing to back it up.
Their zealotry, Lynda's zealotry, was the stuff of any Mawite's darkest nightmares. It was a Zealotry that could shame any church militant.
As Lynda cut her way into Maw Lines, matching Mawite faith with cold, ruthless determination and a desire to kill and keep killing, House Io driven into an even worse frenzy as they struck at the Maw forces
daring to interfere with
their holy work, attacking with such ferocious savagery, even as the steam from water meeting lava scalded skin and lung, The Parliament, a version of Xiphos from another reality who had snapped and become a Brain Demon Cultist, sneered at the sudden black magic wall protecting the Tho Yor as she led a now very large contingent of Brain Demon Cultist and House Soldiers.
"You Mawites and your Rituals..." she snapped. "You know, perhaps we are over thinking this...does this version of The Rhand Class have a Seismic Charge dispenser?"
"Yeah." Ted Forrest answered, looking at the catsuit clad woman.
"Tell them to fire it."
"But we're too far away..." Ted said.
The Parliament cackled insanely. "Let me worry about that, Teddy. Just tell them not to arm the three they prepare."
Ted got out his Comlink.
"Blood of Lao-Mon, this is Super-Besh-One, acknowledge."
"Acknowledged, Super-Besh-One. Go ahead." came the voice of the Cruisers Weapons A.I.
"Require three Party Favors. Hold the party hats, and release."
"Copy. Dispensing Party Favors. Out."
Three big projectiles were fired from a large dispenser, and the Parliament held out her hand, chanting in ancient Sith.
The Void 7 Charges would soon reappear in front of them, and in case it isn't obvious, The Xiphos Who Laughs is
much stronger than regular Xiphos.
Whatever she was plotting, as she telekinetically lifted all three charges, chanting, prepping some ritual. Ted could only surmise it would hopefully mess up the day of
Darth Solipsis
and whoever was fighting them as the Cruiser got some of its frontal weapons blown off by the destroyer, who now fired it's rail guns right at it again, still keeping up very steady Torpedo fire.
Meanwhile, Lynda kept razoring her way into Mawites, fighting her way into packed crowds of fanatics...
Darth Hellique II
Sergeant Omen
seemed interested in supporting her efforts. The man was occupied not being killed with a fire fight nearby, so it was what he could manage under the circumstances. Her hand extended out, palm down, and the Manda brought the flask of water up into her grasp.
SCAR
that stomped around would be a matter of concern.
Romul Saxon
seemed content to tackle that personally. Others, however, like
Vorm
or
Kralmus Orr
would require handling. Perhaps they'd test themselves with a humble woman of Mandalore.
Varik Awaud
|
Gwyneira Vizsla
|
Vulcan Krayt
|
Fenn Stag
|
Shakka Bralor
