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[ New Order ] "Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
She arrives to the basement.
Mercy finds the creature what cause the telepathic problems here.
She realises there is only a small chance she'll get out alive.
Mercy asks Mongrel and Keilara asks Kallan to be their husbands.
I don’t know how long it took me to get to the lowest level. The pressure and pain intensified again. I had to rely on the railing all the way. My face and whole body were sweating; it felt like my whole body was burning with fever. I felt that something wants to force their will on me. It was as if they were watching me from everywhere. It was a very uncomfortable and bad feeling. Sometimes I saw shadows in the dark stairwell, but by the time I looked there they were gone. I fell several times and rolled down the stairs. Although my armour protected me from shocks, I still probably got a lot of bruises.
If I get out of here alive! By the time I got down to the basement, the lowest level, I had almost no strength. It was as if it had sucked out my life force as well. I made the last turn by rolling down the stairs, getting more bruises. My forehead was also injured, my skin was torn and I was bleeding heavily. MANIAC immediately indicated the extent and severity of the injuries. Luckily, none of it was too severe, just painful and uncomfortable. However, he found no explanation for the weakness either. He indicated a disease of unknown origin.
"Well, you're not omniscient!" I said sarcastically.
Exceptionally something I knew better, not him. I laughed bitterly. It seemed; this will be the first time to find any use to the fact that I grew up in a Force user family? Of course, I may be wrong because I'm not sure. The smells were even worse here. I have already seen countless corpses, some of which may have been dead for weeks, not just fresh corpses. Feth! Like some worst category horror movie! I found some disgusting greenish and pink slimy thing on the ground. Disgusting! And it even slipped.
~ COOOOMEEEEEEEEEE! ~ I heard the command.
I screamed in pain again; my whole body trembled and protested. He protested that my mind was trying to command him not to move while my body wanted to obey the call. I snarled and yelled. I am stronger! My body may not, but my mind was stronger! I almost fell again, but I was able to stay on my feet. I reached for the wound on my forehead and my broken nose with my hand. The pain helped, the pressure dropped again.
I went on, here I finally saw rooms with working terminals. Jackpot! But I didn’t have a chance to deal with that right now. At the end of the corridor was a huge cave-like hall. I had to go there. Now I felt very strongly the calling, the might, and the power of that something. Yes, I was definitely sure he was nearby. I entered a room and then set off into the darkness.
Soon, after a few steps, I spotted a huge twenty-to-thirty-metres monster, a huge floating, tentacled brain. FETH! I tried to back away, to run away. But one thought from them was enough for me to fall to my knees. I'm not usually afraid, but I'm scared now. I was unable to move, to make the slightest move. I felt like he was squeezing my mind with an iron grasp. I have never felt such great power in this way that he was able to control and capture me. Maybe stronger than the Taskmaster…
At that moment I already knew, I realised it…
"By the Avatars!" I groaned.
~ Keilara! Keilara! ~ I addressed her. ~ KEILARA! ~ I shouted her name in my mind when she did not respond.
I felt it as she looked out of that safe mind palace from that vast area of Serenno. I felt it when she touched my thoughts, when she saw and felt what I saw and felt.
~ Is there really no hope? ~ she asked sadly.
~ I want to get out! I want to survive! ~ I answered angrily. ~ But I'm a realist! It’s time to ask what you’ve been wanting to ask him, to both of them for months, with Ziare! ~
Yes, now was the best moment, maybe I... we will never have the opportunity to do it again. In reality, I was still trying to move, the "arms" of my mind tensing around the creature's imaginary iron grasp. I’m not going to give up, I’m going to go home and get the information I came for.
At the same time, I wasn’t happy to have to do it, but I appeared in our home, in our minds, in front of The Mongrel
… I smiled at him, but tears flowed down my face.
~ When this battle is over… let's get married. You are my family, I want to live my life with you, even if we can never be free. Mongrel… be my husband! ~ I asked him.
At the same time, I now felt like Keilara was saying the same, similar words to Kallan than I did to Mongrel. The way she just embraced him in their... our home and stroked his face…
~ Kallan, Mercy just asked Mongrel something, so I think I should do the same… would you be my husband? Would you marry me? ~ she was confused and blushed a little.
Location: Teta, the Iron Citadel Tags: Henna Ashina
Two Palatini parry Henna's lightsaber strike, and try to push her blade to her left side
One of the Palatini is thrown against the wall by her Force attack, and stunned
One of the Palatini attacks from her right, striking for her lower abdomen
Tu'teggacha begins trying to access Henna's worst memories
The Jedi was surrounded, trapped in the depths of the Iron Citadel with a wall of howling marauders between her and the exit while the Taskmaster's elite bodyguards closed in on her... and yet she was frustratingly serene. She showed none of the terror that the outnumbered and outgunned traditionally displayed in their last moments, as they realized they could not possibly win or escape. Instead she fell into that highly irritating calm that the warrior-monks worked so hard to perfect, finding some inner peace to counteract the outer turmoil. She would not give them the satisfaction of fear.
Of course, tranquility wasn't physical armor. When the Jedi was cut, she would bleed. Tu'teggacha giggled in vile satisfaction as the fourth of the Palatini landed a strike, his laugh resembling the squelching sound of a boot being pulled from cloying, sucking swamp mud. It was impressive, highly impressive, that Master Sarratt had managed to block or dodge three of the incoming attacks, but the numbers were stacked against her, and it was enough to wear down even a master. The wound she'd taken looked minor, but these things built over time. Pain was distraction. Distraction was death.
The Jedi struck back, though. She let the pain focus her, bringing the adrenaline-fueled strength and speed of her body's natural fight-or-flight response to the fore. A Sith would have seized that pain as fuel for dark power, but she shrugged it out of her mind and kept it purely physical. Her golden saber lashed out in a powerful but disciplined strike, and it took two of the Palatini to counter it, crossing their vibro-voulges and catching the blow between the blades of the two weapons. Her next move, however, was more difficult to stop. With a wave of her hand, she called the Force to her side in a wave.
A wave of light and heat and physical power that tossed one foe aside.
The Palatini who had been caught in the blast went flying, his polearm skittering across the floor as he lost his grip on it, and slammed against the far wall of the chamber. Tu'teggacha breathed easier when he heard no ominous crack; the bodyguard hadn't been killed by the force of the throw, but he'd certainly been stunned. It would take precious seconds for him to regain his bearings and get back into the fight, and against a Jedi Master, seconds could make all the difference. The man began to struggle back to his feet, drawing his lightsaber from his belt to replace his lost vibro-voulge.
The other three kept up the fight. The two who had intercepted Master Sarratt's lightsaber strike worked together to push her blade aside, trying to keep it caught in the X of their crossed polearm blades while shoving it to the left side of her body. The third came in from her exposed right side, jabbing his vibro-voulge at her kidney. It was a strike that, if it landed fully, would tear through her lower abdomen, disemboweling her and messily ending the fight. Tu'teggacha hardly expected it to go that well, of course. This was a Jedi Master. But perhaps they could at least land another minor wound.
And perhaps he could begin to contribute to the battle as well.
Tu'teggacha was no physical combatant. He wielded a shock whip, not a lightsaber, and he wielded it against cringing, defenseless slaves rather than master duelists. He was fundamentally a coward, and would never confront a foe who stood any chance of overcoming him. But in the realm of the mind, the Ebruchi was a force to be reckoned with. He began to reach out toward the embattled Jedi, oily tendrils of mental energy seeking gaps in her soul's defenses. He wanted to rifle through her memories like an Alliance tax auditor finally getting access to Chancellor Tithe's secret file cabinets.
He wanted to find the memories that would hurt her. They would be his saber.
Even with the chaos of the palace falling around them, the great history that stood for millennia was quickly being undone. The big man himself stood right in front of his prey, having all but forgotten the joys of planting his fists through an enemy. His right hook connecting with her jaw, with enough force it almost felt like he was going through her. To his dismay his left hook barely missed her, as for how fast the dead man moved he was still too slow on some of his hits. She avoided his next attack, and dodged her way over to the explosives she carried.
The falling debris didn’t help matters sort her. Pieces of durasteel were falling from the sky, crashing nearby and even close enough where his men were. As soon as they realized what she was doing, his own men didn’t hesitate to respond. The rings being pulled out from the grenades, what followed next were a series of explosions. The entire hall was soon littered in a gruesome mixture of bones, blood, and flesh. Looking around it was a sight fit for a monster such him.
Next to the mess, his little Atrisian appetizer was nowhere to be found. As much as he loved playing with his food, he started to sense she may have fled. This only added to his anger, as the building shook, more debris kept crashing down around him. His gaze was filled with smoke and dust as the visibility dramatically altered from the falling skyscraper and now the explosion from the grenades. He even started to wonder if it would collapse on top of him.
“Come out little snack…. Come out and play!” He said in an almost disturbed sing song tone. Even with his undead senses, or even the Force he couldn’t read her. All that stood between him and his prey was debris and the the cloud of dust that clung to the air. His stomach growled violently, what’s worse is that he was losing time to eat, and all because an Atrisian couldn’t be found.
Just as he was about to turn around, from the corner of his eye she emerged. With what looked to be a pipe in her hand, and before he had any time to react she attacked. He felt the hard durasteel pipe hit his head, the death mask absorbing the brunt of it, but left Kyrel dazed and staggering back. Bashing in his mask, it didn’t take long for her to hit it clean off. His mask hitting to the floor revealing his true face, the assault making him crash into one of the stained marble pillars.
"Repeating it isn't gonna make it true, Jem." he retorted, eyes narrowed at her. Was he lying to himself, though? Indulging in comforting fiction was a pitfall even Jedi were not immune from. Surely, the Knight had been cautious with her, too cautious even to the point it seemed as if he was reluctant to grant her more responsibility, give her that so much needed space to spread her wings.
And as surely it was construed as mistrust.
But that guilt could not weigh him down. Not now, at least.
The Jedi needed all his bearings together for this fight.
Her threats stung like a scorpion's poison to erode his resolve but he persevered.
Or rather - had to.
Jem leaped over him and unto Corin, effectively pinning the teenager between a rock and a hard place.
Forcing him to become a meat shield in Dagon's service.
Abrasive.
How far had her father's corruptive claws dug in?
She was no frothing at the mouth monster, removed of all thoughts like a mindless thrall.
No, each move, each word was surgical. Much like her father's natural killer instinct.
And much like her father and every Sith in history -- it all boiled down to superstition. To symbols. To the irrational.
The unnatural.
But it's one thing identifying the problem, and a whole other thing solving it.
With a short leap of his own, he covered the ground into an intimate distance with his former padawan putting himself between Corin and her. His slash was direct, easily expected and heavy. More of a taunt than anything else. She still held the initiative, he wanted her to. Only way to piece her out was to take the brunt of the assault.
"Your fight is with me!" he growled. "Leave him out of it." he added in an attempt to provoke her.
DARK LORD OF THE SITH |VOICE OF THE MAW Jem Fossk Cinnagar, Empress Teta
"Beautiful." The Dark Voice bellowed.
Powerful gusts tugged at his robes violently, the air was thin, the view however.. spectacular.
Vroom!
A single hypersonic roar flooded his senses, a single Eradicator class starfighter screamed by. The single vanguard of an encroaching storm not long behind. Mawite fighter craft and dropships carrying the zealous holy crusaders and fierce tribal marauders peeked through the clouds. Streaks of exhaust spat out in their wake as the sky thundered with their approach. It would not be long before green and red bolts of luminous laser fire would flicker back between earth and heavens above.
Glorious.
The Dark Lord stepped forward, leaning closer towards the 'edge' of his vantage point. Soon the vast cityscape of Cinnagar was in plain view. He could see the palace, the Great Library, and soon…
Rumble! Shake! Thunder!
"Ah, there it is."
The city quaked, there was a symphonic shockwave that melodied from the heart of the old capital. It percussioned a cloud made of duracrete and glasteel, crescendoing to the rise of the Iron Citadel. Soprano cries of terror, baratone wallows, and harmonic crashes filled the chorus of the Krath.
With the power of Sith Sorcery, their return was boldly broadcasted to the pretenders occupying the Tetan throne. They bore with them a gift, a secret long buried that ignited with eerie luminance filling the ancient ruin with a sickly emerald glow. The hypergate had opened.
Jem forced herself to envision it. The jedi meditation practice had once been a security blanket. Now its ragged form kept slipping through her fingers. Calm was not something Jem typically embodied but she stood at her father's side and force herself to remain still.
It was becoming harder every day to manage it.
Her father's corrupting measures seared through her veins and she suffered for it. Every moment was a battle inside her own mind. Every breath was effort-- a cognitive task of control.
She ignored her father. She ignored the city, she ignored the pending war. She was running out of ti--
A familiar presence cut through it all. Her attention jolted outwards, a pained gasp escaping through her lips. It only took a moment for her to make sense of the presence.
Not even the darkside could make her forget her master.
Her own presence was weak, barely identifiable amongst the corruption that threatened to swallow Jem whole. A warning image jolted through the tentative bond they still shared, powerful as it tried to drive itself like spikes into Dagon's mind.
Her father was coming. He was more powerful than ever before.
Jem winced and released the reigns from her grasp. The metal had warped under her fingers. "Yes father."
She let herself free fall to the ground, disembarking to... she no longer knew. She no longer asked questions. Her strength was conserved for one thing.
From day one it has been so. The resurgence of the New Sith over the corpse of the old and decrepit on Thule. A pattern Solipsis had followed religiously throughout his crusade to warp and change reality itself. Logistical lines, strategic locations, all rational military targets had been delegated to the 'simpler' minds of the Final Dawn. Instead, he'd waged war against the hearts and minds of the galaxy, against the sole existence of the Jedi.
From torching to ash the Enclave at Jakku and the pilgrimage of Jedha to the massacres in the Sith Worlds and all the way to the heart of the Jedi, the home of galactic civilization - Coruscant. None could forget the Sacking of Coruscant that had driven the New Jedi to the edge of extinction.
This was no war of occupation, no war of tangible strategic value or anything of the sorts.
No, this has been an existential war. A war of life itself against the forces of entropy, of death.
A war to forever change the hierarchy of power and the natural order of the universe.
Forever.
The coronation on Teta - home of the legendary Krath, a dynasty known for its historical roots with the Sith. Where and when else could he have attacked? To make a point. To demonstrate true power. Symbols and superstition.
And yet, as predictable as Solipsis may have grown to be in the eyes of the Jedi, the question that truly held importance was neither where or when but could he be stopped?
Once more, they came in droves. Springing from the depths of an ancient, long-forgotten hypergate and cutting through the skies; a dark curtain enveloping the light and casting an impregnable shadow over the world.
The heavens hung in black.
In that unending sea of darkness converging in the skies, a behemoth of Sith Magic stood out. A creature born solely for the purpose to destroy and annihilate and atop it he could sense it. Not the twisted nature of the beast and neither the malicious maw of death that its master was. No. Her presence may have been like the sound of a nail falling into hay but to him... it was all he could hear.
"Jem..." he heard himself mutter, eyes narrowed unto the behemoth from his vantage point atop one of Cinnagar's many high rises cutting the clouds. A warning shuddered the rusty bond between master and apprentice, wedging itself into his lobe. Strong enough to force an involuntary step back.
It bore no threat, conveyed more like a friend's caution.
A moment later it abated, replaced by the malice of corruption which enveloped the sender and the weight of guilt upon the recipient.
It was time to move.
To act.
As always.
He caught her lithe form freefalling from the skies, an enviable feat she hadn't truly mastered before. Even this distant from her, Dagon could feel the power her father had provided her with. The shortcut. The easy way. A clear sign of his own failings as a mentor. It dug deep into his heart.
"Corin, we move to intercept her." Dagon said, unnatural gloom besetting the usual easy-going bravado he was known for. Solipsis would never send her away on a menial task. No, she was hiskey. The single soul in the whole wide galaxy he would trust.
The beast's roar rippled through the skies of Cinnagar like a hurricane wind. Smoke and fire spilled out as far as the eye could see as the battle for the soul of the planet began in earnest. A quick glance to his daughter saw her off as she made her way towards the edge of the floating behemoth. Without a hint of fear or doubt, the apprentice gracefully stepped off.
The Dark Lord of the Sith pressed his right foot forward and dug in, eyes like daggers following the trajectory of his kin. He hissed, extending his right hand forward, palm opening in gesture as the psychic connection between man and beast intensified. The Summa Verminoth groaned and dipped, diving towards the cityscape with it's tendrils extended out.
A typhoon tugged at his robes relentlessly, fierce winds powerful enough to uproot him threatened to remove the Dark Voice from his fortified stance. He would not budge, the gusts were like waves breaking against the unmoving rock. Twin orbs of sulfuric hate glared down as the beast savagely slammed into a nearby tower, cleaving through an entire story.
Vroom!
Wherever the massive beast loomed, dust and debris followed in it's savage wake. Buildings partially collapsed if not outright crumbled under the weight of the apex predator. As the monstrosity circled, the Dark Voice lifted himself and cast off. Touching the empyrean, he gathered the Force and leapt from the dome of the Summa Verminoth, descending in a slow controlled fall.
He came down, eyes casting a terrible glare down towards the landing site of his kin. The Sith'ari's black robes enveloped around him, an umbral shroud that defied physics floating down. The Dark Voice lowered, drifting into a dust cloud kicked up by the rampant destruction around them. Smoke and ash filled the air, his form vanished completely, lost in the chaos.
"You may think this is suffering. No."
"It is salvation."
The Dark Lord emerged from the fog of war, the smoke and dust rolling off his midnight cloak as the winds pressed against him. He advanced, eyes honed and ready.
"Dread it all you like. Run from it if you have to. The facts remain the same… huh.."
His gaze twisted away, immediately drawn to the final obstacle in his daughter's training and full conversion as a Sith.
"Time to let old things die. You know what you must do, do not hesitate."
His new Master had felt distant at times, as if an extended arm refused to allow them to become as close as some other students he had been. It wasn't as if Corin had not been all too aware of the Padawan that came before him, but he failed to realise that it was fear; fear of failure had seen the two remain focused on the business-end of their connection, to find interests outside the Jedi Order and their mission... that fear of loss. It never seemed to settle in Corin and at the mere mention of Jem, had Corin frowned. Not for his Master, but for himself - his mind lost all focus, all that he needed was lost as he turned into the second born to the favoured star.
He had too much to lose.
She could succeed into her father's embrace, or fail into her Master's.
Corin shut himself off from the chaos, and a breath followed in an effort to find some composure. To no avail.
The Padawan nodded towards Kaze as the world crumbled around them. He had no words for all of this, and followed his Master as the two traversed the ruins of Teta, of the same ones that continued to increase in destruction as each second came and went.
Some small amount of calm had found itself returned to Corin, but that sliver was tested once the distant two came into view and both Dagon and Corin came closer and closer. He was better than her, he assured himself, he was not so weak as to crumble onto a traitor's road and abandon all that he knew.
Jem fell without feeling. Lakes didn't enjoy the thrill of free falling through air. Lakes didn't care that buildings were exploding and lives were ending around it. Lakes moved for no one. Well...
Except pebbles. And wind. And feet-- and...
She followed his gaze, her gray skin loosing luster as she caught what held his attention. "I'm not running," she asserted quickly, trying to bring his attention back to her.
"I accept this-- I'll not--"
Her stomach fell out from under her. She was forced to meet her father's gaze, his very presence demanding her acknowledgment. She wanted to melt into a puddle. Those seemed less noticeable.
"Yes... father..." Stupid, stupid Dagon.
Her feet felt like foreign objects. They obeyed her father and moved her towards the one thing she did not want to face. She couldn't stop them, but she could control the speed. She moved with slow precision onto the roof ledge... she... braced... and arched gracefully through the air, from one roof top to the next. He had taught her that. Dagon. The idiot with a death wish. Every step towards him felt like shifting through cement, the bags under her eyes growing deeper as she hoped without hope that her father would look away.
She brace... and jumped again... the skies above crackling with streaks of red. She saw a tuff of black hair and stopped on that roof ledge.
"I gave you a chance to leave," she hissed, her voice reaching the figure masked by the shadows. Up close she was unrecognizable. Her once hearty, gold-tone complexion was now colorless and hallow. She had not slept nor eaten in days, sustained by the corruption that consumed her, and it showed. She was lifeless and frail, but she rippled with unmistakable power.
Those times and places were distant things, left to fade away into obscure stories told by hardened veterans and displaced refugees. Some found hope in those tales, while others looked upon them with abject hatred. When foreign and abstract ideals drove a boy to become something more. A monster who militarized an Order of masterless children and turned them into killing machines not seen since the times of Revan or Lord Hoth. Or maybe a hero, a symbol of unshaken hope that stood unbowed against the flowing tide of darkness.
A time better left in the past. Before the arrival of a loving family and nights spent in peace, where the greatest of toils were beer poured and food served.
Memories of pain, interwoven through the years by a sense of purpose.
Ryv sighed.
He looked up past the city limits, his gaze locked on the distant horizon. War came for him again. It appeared in the form of someone in need, as it always had. War promised him an end. A bloody one. Trapped, alone, away from his family in his final moments.
The tension in his chest, the storm of chaos that buzzed about the air like a swarm of starved locusts. He knew this place better than any other in the galaxy—a battlefield. Where the brave marched off to their death, and the foolish went to live.
There was a time when the kiffar longed for this feeling.
Now, Ryv yearned for the cozy armchair in his bedroom, where he would read to his children or tell them stories of his legendary exploits. It was a safe place. The memories dulled with the passage of years. War could not reach them there on Denon, not in the heart of his home. His territory.
But here on Empress Teta, within the city of Cinnagar, it had found him. War crawled closer, driven forth by the machinations of a mad man changed by alien designs the sane could not begin to fathom. A demented beast thundered towards the city. It hungered for innocent blood, to feast upon the dying breath of hope as pawns of light and shadow fell beneath its bulk.
In another time, on another world, the battle to determine the galaxy's fate would be fought.
Ryv paced across the flat top of a towering starscraper. He stepped up onto the ledge meant to separate him from a fatal plunge, his eyes never leaving the monstrous behemoth as it lumbered closer to its death.
"Fossk," Ryv uttered the name in a whisper, infused with subtle power. The words found the great empyrean like a smooth stone skipped across a calm lake. Power rolled through the ethereal, cutting through the ghostly echoes of battle between the Sword of the Jedi and the dreaded Sith'ari. "Surely you've waited long enough for this confrontation."
The sky above crackled with fury and laid its vengeance upon the world. Threads of life cut short by the pestilent hand of the Sith quivered as ripples throughout the ethereal. The air reeked of plasma and burnt flesh, filling his nostrils with that all too familiar stench of war. It dug into the very skin you wear and no moments of peace nor joy could ever wash it away.
Dagon wrinkled his nose. The New Jedi Order, baptized in the flames of the Stygian War, learned that reprieve was a luxury they could neither have nor could they afford.
Reprieve had filled the gutters of the galaxy with the blood of its sons and daughters. It's the only lesson the New Jedi ever learned from their absent masters.
The Jedi duo's traverse came to an abrupt end, cut off by the appearance of a hollow shadow standing in their way. A grey shadow of a once colorful past and fateful future. Grey like the skin of a dying man, dry as a funeral drum. And that drum banged loud, beating into a crescendo of grief and regret.
"You know I like beating my head against the wall." he dryly responded, the hilt of his saber materializing in his hand. It had come to this, hasn't it? The pinnacle of his failures and mistakes shaped the monster that stood before him. That had taken his apprentice away from him. But the corruption -- as tight as a tourniquet around her -- could be broken. Blood does not dictate fate, only what we do defines us.
He'd prove it to her.
Or die trying.
The Knight's eyes narrowed sideways at Corin, a plan of action on his tongue but never uttered. How could he? After all, the infallible chemistry he'd built was with the one standing against them, "I'll go low, you go high." he whispered. A simple stratagem indicating the fledgling progress they had made. Then hoarsely reminded, "No killing."
The proverbial bell rang with the snap-hiss of his blade and the Force surged through his feet sending him darting at her. His body folded into a crouch as the cerulean saber sought to make contact with her legs.
His daughter had accepted the dreaded task given to her and asserted herself ready. She was not, no one could ever truly ready themselves to make 'the Sacrifice'. It was spiritual collapse, a rebirth of identity as the last vestige of compassion was killed off along with those dearest to you. To complete her transition into a Sith, she had to cut the last link holding her to her former life as a Jedi.
The Dark Lord had intended to follow and see the job done before his very eyes, to watch the life leave the Jedi as he fell at the hands of his very own apprentice. The one he fought so passionately to save, to redeem and bring home. He never understood the truth, she was home, where Jem belonged. Her destiny was intertwined with that of her Father's, she was the heir to his legacy and the key to the future he designed.
Alas, his attention drifted elsewhere. Caught unawares as the silent speech of the Sword saturated his thoughts from the empyrean wind. His eyes widened, orbs of incalculable wrath glistening in the shadow of Cinnagar.
"…The Sword of the Jedi."
The Sith'ari cooed.
"You should of remained in exile."
The Dark Lord of the Sith stretched forth, hand reaching out across the expanse, his mind probing the depths of battlefield. He uttered a savage hiss before muttering in the 'Old Tongue' an unrecognizable command.
The earth shook, the skies thundered, and throughout the city streets a monstrosity glided overhead. The Summa-Verminoth groaned violently as it made haste in the direction of the valiant Sword. Earth and Heaven moved before the apex predator as it turned towers into turmoil.
The Beast lumbered on, carried by it's master's command to seek fresh meat.
He stood there, so disconnected from the core of the situation as the former master and student made their remarks to one another. He was the extra, the added addition, the one that came after, the one to find himself cast aside should Jem be returned to his side. His features scrunched and narrowed, from the creases on his forehead to the clench of his teeth. Corin was tense, and it remained so difficult to discern whether it was the nerves of a true test of skill or the fire that storm that near-thundered beneath the surface.
Corin returned a similar narrowed look back towards his Master, he readied himself to follow one command and still remained so unsure of the other. Had their success as two ensured his own loss as one? He wished he had all the chance to dimiss all the intrusive ideas that flashed before him, but there was no time but the here and now.
His weakened resolve had turned him into a moldable mass of flesh and bone.
In a silent rush of his own, Trenor mimicked Kaze as the blue blade hissed into existence. Beside the other Jedi, Corin bounced into the air and made the motion of an overhead attack, as if in effort to rid the fresh Sith of her arm.
He had finally hardened his heart to her. No more begging. No words. He had finally accepted the inevitable. She should be relieved, but his resignation burned like salt on a wound.
There really was no going back now. Her face hardened as he descended, her own saber jumping to her hand in turn.
She caught both the blades with a powerful upward strike-- forcing Dagon's up and entangling them both with the third before it could reach her shoulder.
"You're really going to make us do this?" She accused. "All the energy I've put into keeping you alive, and you're going to make me kill you." They remained locked for a moment in a power struggle, the tip of her dead jedi saber pointed at the ground. Darkness flexed through her muscles and she did not budge, her control over it balancing on a pin point.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Her pain was palpable. She wanted nothing more than to pretend she had never sat on that corrupting throne, but her father pushed her further every day and her master...
Her attention fixated on the jedi fighting besides him. She had dismissed Corin Trenor
and his tangle of black hair as a cousin or even brother of Dagon's, but it struck her then that didn't make sense. The jedi-- the boy-- was her own age. She was Dagon's only connection.
"You can try." he retorted as the two Jedi's blades locked a cross with Jem's parry. "If you can't step back into the Light -- I'll drag you back." he could feel his flesh squeeze his hilt tighter and tighter against Jem's newfound strength.
An eyebrow slightly arched up, "Wh--"
That was for Corin to respond. Feeling the resistance of her parry begin to falter, Dagon stepped back and to the side seeking to flank her followed by a horizontal slash of his blade across her arm. Had Jem been the one on his side, he'd known she would've followed to flank their enemy on the opposite side. Just like they had trained. Just like in the good old days.
THE DAY OF REVENGE IDENTITY CRISIS vol. III
Issue #3 w/ Dagon Kaze
& Jem Fossk
He was no Jem.
Far from it.
But now, of all times, he resembled her current state most of all. Even as the Master of the three shifted out, a clear chance for himself to do the same, Corin elected to remain and in an effort to hold her there, to be better than her. It was all he wished for now, he was unable to ever confess otherwise, least of all as he leaned further into his own blue-bladed saber and his features contorted in order to be more tense than ever before.
"I'm Corin," he mustered between all the exertion, "Your replacement."
Pain came at her every which way. Grief ripped away her sense of self and replaced everything with searing anger. That was what her father had wanted her to experience, and he had won. That fact haunted her as she stared at the source of her undoing. He struggled against her blade, weak an unable to overcome her in a simple stand still. And yet ... he was her now. He why Dagon hadn't even bothered to try this time.
Something in her cracked.
Her lips coiled with malice. "You will never replace me."
She stepped to the side the exact moment Dagon's blade descended into her arm, releasing all of Corin's kinetic energy into its path. Her own skin burned and bubbled by the closeness, but it wasn't her that would feel its true impact.
His eyes widened, stupified by the remark. Jem's rebuke hit back like lightening and the black haired padawan tumbled into the Knight. Dagon hastily deactivated his blade to prevent a costly accident of impaling Corin and stepped to the side, then caught the padawan by the collar of his jacket to prevent him from losing his footing further.
"Really had to say that, huh." he quietly murmured to the new apprentice, then reactivated his saber once more.
The Knight brought his feet at hip-width, shifting from his easily recognizeable Ataru form to that of the defensive Soresu. A form he'd relied on much during his early days as a padawan before embracing his innate talents with Ataru.
This was no longer the Jem he knew, at least for the most part.
He needed time. Observe her moves, witness her newfound strengths and newborn weaknesses. Assemble every piece, every cog of the machine Solipsis had created.
Her whole body quivered with emotion. Up until this point she hadn't actually raised a hand against them but she struggled to remember why that was. She was no longer a lake, she was a raging storm threatening to explode. What that the darkside or what that her pain? It was impossible to fuss out and she wasn't trying to. The betrayal took her breath away.
It took everything away.
Jem fell into a pool of darkness. In its cool embrace nothing mattered, not even her own agony as the light inside of her snuffed out. "No," she decreed, taking a step towards them. Darkness billowed off of her, bending the force around her and dragging it in. Like a black hole.
"You're not allowed him. You don't deserve him." She crept towards them, her path unclear as she forced her way deeper onto the roof. "You will never have a padawan again."
She charged, not on him but on the boy that had taken her place. An abrupt overhead leap would put Corin between them-- affording him no easy protection from Dagon as she slashed for his neck.
THE DAY OF REVENGE IDENTITY CRISIS vol. III
Issue #4 w/ Dagon Kaze
& Jem Fossk
The Jedi Padawan -- the second student that seemed to be on a route to suffer a similar fate as the first -- had felt the onset of a fall. His stomach swirled, the sudden butterflies had risen into his chest and then his throat as those once determined features shifted into that of shock. In awe, Corin stared into the abyss beneath him whilst time slowed, the same stared lasted mere moments before it shifted towards the behemoth of a beast screeched. Had this been it, he had no time nor chance to entertain the idea, his arms flailed as if in a bid to see himself fly. It was as if he wished for one final look before he fell, Corin twirled on his toes to see no more than the hand of Dagon reach out and snatch his collar.
No time for so much as a look of relief, Corin was raised onto his own two feet and stumbled forwards into a roll once the Jedi pulled him forwards.
His brow furrowed at her words, overhead as he scrambled onto his feet and a sense of dread entered him. Corin had seen no more than her swift descent on him, the blue blade rose in a flash in an effort to meet her own as his stance was far from firm; the force of her fall had been all that she needed to knock him from his stance, even as the blades clashed and fizzled, and Corin fell onto his back. He made an effort to tuck and roll backwards, and his feet extended outwards as if to use that momentum and kick the Sith off of him as he further rolled back onto his feet.
"Repeating it isn't gonna make it true, Jem." he retorted, eyes narrowed at her. Was he lying to himself, though? Indulging in comforting fiction was a pitfall even Jedi were not immune from. Surely, the Knight had been cautious with her, too cautious even to the point it seemed as if he was reluctant to grant her more responsibility, give her that so much needed space to spread her wings.
And as surely it was construed as mistrust.
But that guilt could not weigh him down. Not now, at least.
The Jedi needed all his bearings together for this fight.
Her threats stung like a scorpion's poison to erode his resolve but he persevered.
Or rather - had to.
Jem leaped over him and unto Corin, effectively pinning the teenager between a rock and a hard place.
Forcing him to become a meat shield in Dagon's service.
Abrasive.
How far had her father's corruptive claws dug in?
She was no frothing at the mouth monster, removed of all thoughts like a mindless thrall.
No, each move, each word was surgical. Much like her father's natural killer instinct.
And much like her father and every Sith in history -- it all boiled down to superstition. To symbols. To the irrational.
The unnatural.
But it's one thing identifying the problem, and a whole other thing solving it.
With a short leap of his own, he covered the ground into an intimate distance with his former padawan putting himself between Corin and her. His slash was direct, easily expected and heavy. More of a taunt than anything else. She still held the initiative, he wanted her to. Only way to piece her out was to take the brunt of the assault.
"Your fight is with me!" he growled. "Leave him out of it." he added in an attempt to provoke her.
"I had no fight!" She screeched, shrill and crazed by the insanity of it all. "All this time I've been trying to help you, but you think I chose this. You think I wantedthis." She descended on him with viscous slashes full of power and brute force.
She use to be a precise fighter, more skill than power. That had changed. She beat him back with pure strength alone, descending on him with single minded focus that aimed to cut him down quickly so she could move onto the next threat. Her father's lesson had instilled that in her. It had been that or die.
She kicked at his gut, using every opening she had to wail on him.
"You wrote me off. The first doubt you got--" She shook her head, her pain swelling forward and overwhelming her with the darkside. When she opened her eyes they were cold and unfeeling. Yellow had bleed into the whites, it was the only color on her ashen complexion. She snarled at him and raised a hand.
"You can't have him." The force wrapped like a vice around Corin's throat and lifted him, cutting off any air.
The Skyscraper hit planetside amidst a rising cloud of dust that rose on impact. Along the way portions of the building appeared to break off or disintegrate. While the damage was still considerable it wasn't as catastrophic as the Dark Apostle had envisioned, apparently the Jedi Master had found a way to mitigate what was done. No matter.
Amidst the rising dust and debris that was a natural occurrence after such a collapse Kol looked but he could see nothing. The Dark Apostle was left to assume that Caltin Vanagor
had hit rock bottom with the remnants of the skyscraper. It seemed unlikely to him that anyone, even a Jedi could survive such a catastrophic fall however he was reminded that Vanagor was no ordinary man.
No matter though.
As the dust began to settle Kol relied on his senses, extended via the force like feelers that caressed the ambient psyches in the vicinity. He'd begin slowly gliding down from the open air towards the Royal Palace. Sensing several personalities within it was difficult for the Dark Apostle to differentiate between them but he recognized a powerful font of the Darkside that was present, he also noted a powerful font of the lightside.
Vanagor.
Of course he hadn't died in the collapse. The battle was not yet over then however the battlefield was changing.
He'd land on a balcony that lead into the levels of the Royal Palace, proceeding into what appeared to be a set of corridors. As he moved Kol deactivated the lightsaber he'd held in his right hand, placing the 'Dark Sacrament' back over his right hip. While his eyes were wide, scanning the area he'd note the damage to the interior of the Royal Palace. Many battles were occurring here. Reaching with his senses he felt that the most prominent of which was occurring now, on the lower levels and involved several participants.
For several more seconds that felt like an eternity each, the lightning raged on and burned the Padawan's skin despite his block, causing him great pain that only his adrenaline and the Force were able to help him push through. Or maybe it was the knowledge that Ara Sheridan
would do far worse things to him than this lightning if something bad were to happen now.
He may or may not have overlooked telling her that he'd be fighting here.
Either way, his guard remained and finally, his attempt at disrupting the flow of lightning worked — the Sith was forced to focus on regaining his balance and adjusting his stance, which gave Kyell just a brief moment to stand defensively to face him again. He was breathing heavily at this point and trying whatever he could to ignore the pain he felt, so he could focus on the fight.
Because whether he was ready or not, the Ubese was moving back in to engage.
With his green blade drawn up defensively, he waited for the last possible moment and swung the plasma into a block that caused the two lightsabers to violently hiss at each other. A test of strength followed that required both sides to give it their all, and neither of them were going to back down from it.
Come on, I have to strike back.
He gritted his teeth and with every bit of energy he had left in him, Kyell disengaged and spun away to the side, hoping to turn the Sith's momentum against him and off-balance him with the sudden move. Then, with a quick sweep, his green blade moved to strike across Erion's torso, hoping to land his first significant hit.
But it was risky, as Kyell was starting to get really worn out about now.
” If you can’t fly then run if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.[”- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A path of destruction lay before him, and that was just the fallen debris and wreckage of the spire. Around him were the sounds of war, explosions ripped through the region and fighters screamed across the sky. It was chaos, this war in and among the stars. It was Vanagor’s own fault, he actually let himself have a thought that there was nothing that a Darksider would not do to have a glimmer of victory, not that they would get one. Still, it did not get to the big man until he saw something, the very last thing anyone wants to see, anyone with kids anyway. A Sullustan man lay dead over a child, looking to be his little girl. She was still alive.
He died protecting her.
That tore it. This was a common (though extremely unfortunate) byproduct of battles like this, it was going to happen like it or not, but that is the kicker. Vanagor did not like it. The needs of the many do indeed outweigh the needs of the few, but the needs of the one matter just as much. Letting the people like this die, and make NO mistake, they were allowed to die was unacceptable to the massive Jedi Master. He accepted losses when they were unavoidable but there were three blaster bolt wounds on this individual, the one angular shot into the left shoulder that was his death nail and the other two to the back which was ancillary.
A little more effort was now put into each move which would tear the debris apart and away from him and his path. Though he was visibly “aggressively motivated” to throw these hunks of durasteel reinforced duracrete in all directions upward and outward he was precise. Each pressurized push and each strength reinforced throw were all in specific directions. Whether they took out a Maw fighter, or mechanized piece, or even an incoming Maw concussion missile or proton bomb, they were more or less effective. “More or less” effective because not even Caltin Vanagor can hit each and every single thing he aims for, be it blind aim, or enemy reflexes, he did not hit every Maw warrior or disrupt all attacks.
He made a difference though.
Once the path was clear, Vanagor could feel where he needed to go, inside the Palace, deep inside. There was a fight there, one he was needed for, not because of what he could do physically, but for what he could do verbally. Jax? Jax had all of the tools he needed physically to hold himself together, but he needed the confidence to go with it, not “arrogance” but “confidence” otherwise all that he had meant little. He did not need “help” or to hear that “he could do this”, he needed to know it and if Kol was headed that way, which Vanagor no doubt figured, then he would not get the chance.
That was unacceptable.
The Sovereign Blue and Gold blade of “Conservator was still engaged and the big man was not going to shut it down as he approached the Palace. There were too many who had bad intentions in front of him. Each of them would have a chance to either surrender or flee as he walked toward them, at least he gave them chance, if silently. These would-be killers were not on his level down here, many of them little more than pawns in this game of chess and he was the rook only now entering the board. A “throw” here, a “takedown” there, a “cut”, and a “slash” were all effectual. The diversified practices of contentious approaches with no designed or formal pattern, but merely grafted into his natural (though now enhanced through this new connection to the Force) solidity and his natural capacities cleared the proverbial path for him to the entrance. Slowly the big man walked through the pile of rubble that once served as the entryway to the Royal Palace and scanned the area. The Knights and Masters fighting here were ineffectual to him, they were indeed holding their own, no the massive Jedi Master was looking for something and indeed someone dramatically direr.
@Carnifex-Demiurge -
"But then I would be free to do as I please in your absence. And who knows what mischief I will indulge in once you have gone."
A brilliant flash glistened from the reflective lens of the dark visor, his masked visage peering through the depths of infinity. The eerie green passage called to him, the battle at Teta had reputedly begun and with it most of the New Sith had already passed through alongside the Mawite number. His veiled gaze drifted away, eyes setting upon his worthy apprentice, Spindle
.
“The time has come. The Core shall burn.”
With that said he turned back and stepped up to the edge of the Lao-Mon hypergate. Energy flowed freely, winds pulling inward as he prepared to step off toward his destiny.
“Come with me.”
The mechanized walker brought terror and destruction to the Iron Citadel just as the Brotherhood had to the Tetan capital all around them. Smoke and fire ruled the skies, the earth quaked and groaned under the weight of endless battle. Buildings collapsed in the distance, sputtering dust and debris into the air as Jedi and Sith met blade for blade.
The journey had been daunting through the relic of the past, the last gift of Omni had truly been a boon to the Brotherhood and their war.
Climbing atop the ramparts, the Lord of the Sith emerged as his black robes fluttered in the wind. His deepened voice boomed through the vocabulator, announcing his arrival to the troublesome duo.
“Always the persistent one. How you must lament to see your precious Alliance burn around you.”
His dark gaze fixated on their presence as he closed in slowly.
A expansive blue tunnel shifted around the bridge of the FATALIS, so it was they set forth drifting through the stars on the Koros Trunk Line towards their destiny. The half dead Neo-Imperial stood centerfold gazing into the triumphant cerulean void, the flow of hyperspace always striking awe into the Sith cultist. His cold dead eyes stared into the outward abyss, the long con of his master’s works would soon come to fruition. Soon the galaxy would be remade.
The lumbering behemoth slipped into realspace with a thundering boom, followed behind by several late additions to the MAW HOLY ARMADA assembled above the war entrenched shipyards of Foerost. The Fatalis sailed the turbo laser saturated vacuum that separated it and the rest of the battle raging around them. All engines burned with the intensity of a roaring star, the Sith Admiral turned to bark at his senior staff and the broken slaves laboring beneath them. His eyes rested on the command throne of Tu'teggacha
momentarily before shifting back to the officers and Ebruchized astronomers whispering in their ears.
“Keep a line around the Gehinnom II for when it arrives. It shall serve as a symbol of our unyielding faith and ultimate triumph. Bring the Fatalis in. Oh and make Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen
aware the Fatalis has arrived.”
The sickening crunch of the pipe against Kyrels mask was sweet music to her ears, her natural response to Kyrels punch that had knocked the life out of her prior. She quickly followed up with several strikes and blows to his chest and sides, furiously screaming in anger and hate that boiled out of her like a tidal wave of emotion. The Mawite dog's mask came off with another strike, clattering to the floor and revealing Kyrels natural face, a mosaic of scars, rotten tissue and hastily stapled together. A look that spoke of a thousand atrocities, of unspeakable horrors, dead void-like eyes that had seen beyond the abyss and embraced true unrelenting horror.
Those same eyes that bore witness to atrocities upon her native planet long ago, those same uncaring eyes that watched as tens of thousands of her people were gunned down or hoisted upon the tips of bayonets like animals to the slaughter. That very same corpse-like face had commanded troops that had killed her parents right in front of her, her daddy tied up and used as bayonet practise, and her mother shot to death for trying to intervene. Though the years had passed and Atrisia had healed its wounds, she did not forget, and she would never forget what they had done. Rika was grown now, and she'd have her own small little revenge in the spirit of the task she had come to do.
"You animal, you disgusting dog, you should've stayed dead and buried; fate is a cruel but favourable friend to have brought your sorry sack back to life; at least I'll get the honours of putting you back in that casket; again."
She spoke with venom in her tone, standing before him with the pipe in her hand, now bent from repeatedly striking the Ren with it. Rika positioned herself, tightening her grip on the pipe, savouring each moment before she brought it up once more to finish Kyrel off while he was against the pillar.
But Kyrel had other plans. Her eyes widened in shock as the incapacitated undead sprung to life, planted a kick firmly in her chest, and sent her crashing down the corridor. She hit the ground with a groan, clutching at her side in agony and clenching her teeth to keep herself from crying in pain as she looked up and saw his form.
His eyes narrowed. So that's why Shai Maji
looked off. Machine. He leapt away as the rocket soared out. Calm. Calm? Kahlil's eyes shifted to Valery Noble
for the briefest moment. Calm. As angry as he was about this, about everything that was happening, he was calm. His anger wouldn't control him, wouldn't even be used. Jedi weren't beings without emotion. They just learned how to act despite emotion.
The Master didn't wait. The fire came, but he didn't hesitate to run into them. They split, under control of his wife. Her intentions, his, both easily shared and known. She met Shai's strike with his blade, turning it to send her blade off and away. All so he could instead focus on her. Her arm. Beskar. Cybernetics. The Force shifted to his will as he reached for those very cybernetics in her arm, trying to twist and destroy them as he would a droid.
Senator Seto Du Couteau
Location: Empress Teta, Cinnagar Palace Objective 1: The Invasion of Empress Teta B: The Royal Palace -> A: The Iron Giant Walks Actions: Heading towards Speeders to get to the Maledictum Outfit
Seto was rather perplexed by June’s questions, or perhaps she was demonstrating genuine care over the populace. But it was clear as day to him that the sounds of battle and war were more sufficient of an alarm than attempting to send any communication from their current position. “-Empress, there is a time and place for us to properly get an evacuation going and right now, this is not the place.” Seto explained quickly, “-So if we to the Princeps Walker we can-”
“Get Down!” The Jedi Master shouted.
An explosion sent Seto sprawling backwards, his hands quickly pushing himself back up from the ground as one of his Senate Guards slowly dragged him to cover. The other Senate Guard went to assist the Empress as Seto looked down the now enemy occupied hallway. The other Alliance Soldiers had produced an energy barrier to provide them with cover as they returned to fire back at the Maw forces. This hallways was clearly no longer a safe place to be, and neither was going back into the main area of the Palace, but the Maledictum now providing indirect fire support, Seto guessed the best place to use it would be out outside in the open. A risk, but considering certain death and uncertain one, well, I'll take my chances. Seto stood back up and readied himself.
“You, break the window, we can go around and reach the speeders.” Seto pointed at the Senate Guard who nodded. The man raised his blaster and shot at the window before running through and breaking the window completely. Seto waved towards the other Guard, “-Help the Empress, we can get support from the Princeps Walker when we’re outside.” Seto added.
He jumped out of the window and down to the ground below with a low thump. The height wasn’t terrible but Seto silently wished he had either better clothing and armor or that he could use the Force without being caught. But I guess Master Zark can handle the Maw’s own Force User for the time being. Seto mused and quickly directed his Senate Guards to follow the path ahead to reach the lot where the speeders and more specifically his Speeder was stationed.
Once he could get both June and himself on the Princeps, they can figure out their course actions with much better intelligence and greater safety.
With one big shove, Carnifex threw Jax off balance sending him flying across the room. Calling upon the Force, Jax broke his fall midway backflipping and landing on the balls of his feet. However, Carnifex followed his attack with a massive surge of Force Lighting. Jax immediately held out his Lightsaber in preparation to deflect the incoming torrent. Yet it never came in fact the Dark Lord wasn't even aiming at Jax. Feeling tremors in the Force, Jax looked at the corpses piling up around Carnifex, their bodies dissipating and forming into a shadowy figure reminiscent of the monster that stood before him.
"Frack," Jax muttered while Carnifex explained that the shadow would go after Iris. The Jedi Master's heart thumped against his chest, more sweat starting to form over his forehead. What could he do? Go after the thing and help Iris but Carnifex will be left to his own devices. The majority of the people on Empress Teta were not equipped to deal with him. Neither was Jax in all honesty, but he was closer to at least slowing this bastard down than the others. Who knows where Valery Noble
and her husband were at, Jax was on his own once again, yet he could feel the dark presence of another figure coming closer......
"How much help does Carnifex need?" Jax sarcastically thought.
His hand tightly gripped his saber Jax closed his eye, he needed to stay. "Iris," Jax concentrated trying telepathically link to the young Padawan. "Carnifex has sent his shadow after you, It will find you and attack. You must face this monster head on, I have to face the Dark Lord and hold him as long as I can. You can do it Iris, the Force is strong with you."
Opening his eye, Jax held his Lightsaber close to him his gaze as fierce as a soldier minutes away from charging to certain death. "Don't underestimate the Padawan," Jax said. "She's stronger than you think."
Taking a deep breath, Jax leapt over Carnifex attempting to slice his head in half. "Time to dance bastard!" Jax yelled.
A surge of black chased after her. She could feel it, 'see' it as she always saw the Colors around her. Not that the colors were that bright here. Panic, fear, anger and hate, they were all overflowing, the colors and Iris's perception. But.. That shadow. It was chasing her. It felt like Darth Carnifex
, yet it wasn't? She didn't stop to see what it might be. At least until Jax Thio
spoke in her mind. A shadow of.. The Sith? Their shadows could fight too?
Panic welled in her chest as she barreled down the halls, just as the Shadow came into view. She slid around the corner, practically throwing herself behind cover to try and stay out of sight. Could it see her? Sense her?
How was she supposed to fight a shadow anyway!?
Her grip tightened on her saber. No, she could do this. She had to do this. Fast. Get help. Run. Too many things! Iris took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Calming her heart. One thing at a time. The shadow was coming. Jax was certain she had to fight it, so it probably knew where she was. Her blue saber ignited as she prepared herself. No going back.
"You're right, this isn't a debate. I refuse to leave anyone behi-" Stubborn and near childish she threw Zark San Tekka
's words back at him, fiercely determined to either convince the Jedi to help her or just make him have to help. If she didn't leave, they'd have no choice, right? Not that it mattered. The explosion came, sending her back much to her own surprise. Pain. Lots of pain.
Ah, that's right. Despite pretending to be the heir to a warrior queen's throne, June wasn't actually a fighter. She whimpered as she sat up. Pulled up, actually. The Senate Guard was already helping her to her feet. Thankfully, the dress she wore was in turn armor to keep her from being killed outright. But her mind was still hazed. Vision still spinning. People all around were hurt, from what she could see. She frowned, glancing to one of the cadets.
A boy? She gritted her teeth before pointing to where the cadet was being patched.
"I can stand on my own! Go, help the wounded! Get them out of here and bring them to the speeders!" Fine. They could leave, but they weren't going to leave anyone here behind to do it.
"Jedi fight within a code, an inbred desensitized mantra to fight fair, to save their opponent over killing them," the words of Sith Lord Fallio spoke, his glaring eyes scanning over us mutants. "The Jedi preach fairness and glory in all manners, even in combat. Jedi don't kill their captives.....they believe in conversion. Jedi are weak....why, because they are simply a tool of waterbombed philosophies They see salvation in every creature, no matter their unholy disposition. Jedi stand upon tombs of their own dead, crying the songs of heroes. Jedi.....are nothing more than misguided priests worshiping a false reality."
"Remove from your minds everything my dead predecessor has ever taught you," the Sith Lord spat, "And instead, embrace illusions and trickery. Your enemy sees what's in front of them, kill them with what lies around them. And that, my lovely beauties....makes you far worse than any Sith."
The greatest illusions ever created, are properly timed well. It takes patience and a clear obversion of one's surroundings. I've fought alongside necromancers that raised skin, bones, and putrid flesh beings to be their own personal sword and and army: it inspired a tone of impressiveness upon me. But I'm no necromancer: I'm a technomancer. Technology in any based form is a manifestation of death I can easily whisper in to haunted winds.
I allowed myself to be gripped by this beast, and slowly drawn to him. Whilst I floated like a dying moth drawn to it's flame; I too formulated a plan. Every inch I drew closer, I held my weapons at the bay. He might be fast; but I was bred to assassinate Jedi; though I despise the term assassin. His eyes were transfixed upon killing me, and I can see he lacked the skill of observation.
The seances and trials of battle, be it through armies or individuals, always fail in one important aspect: the call of survival always fails to rally against the call of observation. Scattered around our battlefield, several sleeping server droids, numbering int twenty, sat back in a stasis form. As I said, I'm a technomancer. Whilst my body slowly floated toward an impending doom; two things occurred to save me. Through my knowledge of Mechu-deru , I awoke and took hold of those droids, sending them frantically with anger and death at my opponent; at least in the in understanding of what those emotions meant to a non-organic.. They were not equipped with weapons, per se, but they did possess abilities to rip into organic flesh; even the kind that could regenerate. The second, I staunched my will; halting my advance into impending death, breaking the grip and brining home my hilts. I didn't want to kill this beautiful abomination; he and I were almost like engineered siblings. But survival, as thy say, is survival.
And so I watched as the Jedi abomination grew surrounded by controlled server droids not intent on serving him a beverage or cleaning his room; but bent on removing his organs and entrails to splash the walls around us with their masterpiece.
Location: ???
Objective: Continue bullying with facts and knowledge
Enemies: Silas Westgard
"It's part of the conditions of being a goddess to be cryptic." She joked. "We can't just give mortals all the answers to life, can we?" She said, as the two continued to gaze out towards the entrancing pulsar.
"You would be opening your heart to someone who knows you and your family lineage far better than you may think." She said. "For example, all those Sith in your family tree..." She pondered. "Quite a sin of the blood, or at least the more superstitious of the galaxy would think so. Of course, nothing like that matters to me. You are who you are and your ancestral history only matters in very select circumstances." She elucidated.
A warning spike of impending danger exploded across Kai’s awareness. He was being surrounded, and though he was moments away from making the killing blow, this new threat closing in like a dark horse had to be dealt with.
Jin fought him off—just as well, as he was already releasing his telekinetic hold on her to face the droids. They advanced upon him all at once, wielding cooking knives and other tools as weapons. He slashed through one with his lightsaber, then another, only to feel the biting stab of a blade thrust into his neck and a circular saw blade hacking at his surviving arm. Foul-smelling black blood gushed from his wounds, while Kai, howling in pain and eager to be done with these mechanical distractions, recalled what he had learned about the weakness to ionization inherent in all droids…
A storm of electricity erupted around him, frying the droid with the saw blade. The droids in his immediate vicinity spasmed, seized by a strange dance. Smoke billowing from the smoldering circuits within their metal shells, they collapsed to the floor.
Kai stared down at his smoking fingertips, mouth agape and brow furrowed in disbelief. But he knew exactly what had happened, and why it had felt so easy.
He turned to Jin, standing now with her weapons at the ready. For a moment he was sorely tempted to blast her as well, hopefully wreaking havoc with her cybernetic parts…
No. He was not going to give in to the Dark Side today. He would dismiss this incident as a freak occurrence, an accident of his tainted biology…
Yet when the smoke cleared, Kai was nowhere to be found. Soldiers closed into the gap he’d left behind, firing ion blasters at Jin—the sole evidence that he had at least given them some pointers before he left. But the doppelganger had vanished.
One stonechewer is killed by the combined efforts of the Jedi
Mawite beastmasters work to direct the others back into the fight
The Mongrel receives his new warblade from Thomas
He officially anoints Thomas as his successor
The Mongrel charges Ashina, swiftly unleashing a powerful two-handed horizontal strike
The Mongrel and Kallan agree to be wed, with very different reasoning
The stonechewers were performing well.
Well, the ones that had stayed on-task, anyway. Several of them were still scrapping with each other or bumbling around in the side streets, bowling headlong through walls and lines of fire as they sought out the metals they craved. The Mongrel would deploy them further apart next time, he resolved, so that the territorial beasts were less likely to run afoul of one another. And perhaps his beastmasters could devise some kind of lure to get them moving in the right direction initially, so that they wouldn't so easily become distracted.
But the two that had hit the tank line were doing wonders. They had bogged down the enemy advance significantly simply by standing in the way, their huge forms filling the street. When they actually moved in to attack, ripping chunks from vehicles that were little more than mobile buffets in their primitive minds, they did significant damage; they ripped through armor, crushed key systems, disabled weapons. They were too stupid and ornery to know when to give up, and no amount of damage or pain seemed to discourage them.
The titan, of course, was much harder to slow. Though the stonechewers, the Scar Hound gunners, and the frontline troops of the Umbral Legion - to say nothing of their shadowy master, a terror to behold - could blunt the hovertank advance and wreak horrific, perhaps fatal damage to the armored column, the colossal walker was far more powerful. Its big guns shredded buildings in every salvo, obliterating Mawite ambush positions - along with the livelihoods of displaced Tetans, their apartments turned to drifting ash.
And the Jedi seemed to be getting a handle on things, as the frustratingly-powerful mage-knights always did. One of them took the fight to the stonechewer attacking her tank, slashing into its rocky hide and throwing it back with the Force. That alone was not enough to kill the durable beast... but then the other Jedi came in, using his magic to seize Mawite rockets midair. In a move that both protected the titan and assailed his enemies, he threw the explosives at the stonechewer. They would not have been enough on their own, either.
But combined, they could ensure a kill.
Missiles slammed into the weakened stonechewer, first widening the cracks in its rocky shell, then blasting into the tender meat beneath. The creature writhed and roared in its death throes, lashing about blindly with its claws, until finally it slumped and lay still. No matter; it had done well, and its huge corpse would still help block the road. Besides, there were five more, if only the rest of them could be directed. Scar Hound beastmasters rushed through the streets, trying to goad the creatures away from each other and toward the battle.
As Darth Bellum emerged from the chaos of battle to challenge the Jedi, scraping his blade across the road to mark the spot of their impending duel, The Mongrel nodded in satisfaction. If the Sith could keep the Jedi occupied, the remaining Scar Hound missile positions could keep working on the titan, hopefully gradually disabling its weapons. They needed to hold it back until heavier Mawite vehicle support could arrive, something closer to the hulking thing's weight class. At the moment slowing it was the best they could do.
As The Mongrel advanced in the creatures' wake, preparing to confront the other Jedi, reinforcements did arrive... but not the ones he had been holding out for. This was not his vehicle support, but something of far greater symbolic importance. "My lord!" The Mongrel turned to face the shout, recognizing the voice. It was the Shriven One, the Omen he had uncovered on Durace. It was Thomas Barran reborn, the son of the warlord's greatest foe, the very symbol of the Maw's power to corrupt everything toward its dark cause.
It was The Mongrel's anointed successor.
"My lord, your sword is ready!" The words washed over the master of the Scar Hounds, and he felt a strange chill as they registered. When they had met again on Mar'Zambul, amid the mounds of plunder and scavenged resources that the tribe had strewn across one of their world's jagged valleys, he had charged the Shriven One to build him a blade. In his distant forge, the Omen had toiled to craft something worthy of his warlord. This would be the first time The Mongrel witnessed the fruits of his labor, the result of it all.
He turned for a moment from his path toward the Jedi, regarding Thomas as the rising warleader knelt before him. "My lord! With this blade, I present to you my greatest work in life! May it strike fear in the hearts of your enemies, may it cut a path through all who oppose you!" Proud words; would the blade be worthy of that pride? The Mongrel reached down, seized the hilt in his mighty fist. It fit his grasp perfectly, a hand-and-a-half sword that left room to wield it with one arm or two. The blade sang as it came free of the sheath.
The balance was perfect; it flowed like water in his hand, turning and weaving easily in response to his slightest movements, and yet he could feel that it would strike with the power of falling stone. The warlord reached up to test its edge, poised to touch a finger to the blade... and then remembered that his fingers were flesh no longer. He would discover its sharpness when it tasted Jedi blood instead. "Your timing is perfect, Shriven One," the warlord told his disciple. "This is the blade to which I will trust my life as I battle the Jedi."
He glanced down at Thomas, still kneeling, but now looking up at him with expectation in his eyes. The Shriven One wanted to know what came next. "Rise, Omen of Durace," the warlord commanded. "My first command is indeed fulfilled... and I see now that my second has also been carried out." His second command: for Barran to forge himself into a weapon of equal deadliness. And the reborn disciple had indeed, that much was clear. In only a short time he had risen to become a leader among the Scar Hounds, a champion.
"When the Heathen Priests told me of the meaning of my dreams, of this emerging omen, I thought only to wield it like this blade." His voice carried now, and not just across the battlefield; it was broadcast across many comm channels, reaching all the way back to Mar'Zambul. "But you have proven that you are more than a weapon; you are a warrior. You are the wielder, not the wielded. You have risen from torment and toil to become something more, just as I did. The cycle continues, just as the Avatars will it."
This was a heavy moment, a moment that the warlord's well-honed survival instinct screamed to reject... but one that his faith, his trust in the Avatars and his hope for the Galaxy To Come, embraced. Now he did press the blade against his durasteel thumb, breaking the metal casing with a rasp of its razor edge. Machine oil trickled from the breach, thick and black. The Mongrel reached out to where Thomas knelt, pressing his riven thumb against the man's forehead. Once, twice, three times, a trio of thick black dots on the Omen's skin.
"I see in my dreams that my final battle is coming," The Mongrel said, his mechanical rasp of a voice somehow solemn. "I will earn my place in the Galaxy To Come at last, or I will be cast into the ever-churning chaos if I prove unworthy. But whatever my fate, the Scar Hounds will endure." The warlord bade Thomas rise, the oil still tricking down his forehead, three long trails across his face. A fitting mark for the man-machine tribe. "I anoint you my successor, Shriven One. You will be the bearer of the new cycle."
Just then, one of the Jedi landed close by, leaping over the jumble of stonechewers and tanks and extending her blade in a challenging gesture... one he recognized as a reflection of his own. Though his metal face could not move, internally he smiled. Cycles, always cycles, give and take and give again. "Go now," he told Thomas. "Seek your own glory. No longer are you merely shriven. You have shed your old self, and now glory gathers around you. Let the next thing you forge be your new name, rising warlord of the Maw."
With that, The Mongrel turned to face the Jedi.
"We never got the chance to finish," the ivory-haired woman told him. He remembered her. They had faced each other several times over this decade of war, from that Outbound Flight space station to that CEDF fuel depot, each battle inconclusive. He was much changed since their first encounter, much changed even since their second, more and more of his humanity stripped away each time as the battles took their toll and the cybernetic enhancements mounted. And yet she recognized him, the spirit still within the metal shell.
"Nothing ever really ends," The Mongrel replied.
"The cycle always goes on."
Hefting the new sword Thomas had brought him, the lord of the Scar Hounds charged. He was no Force adept, but his cybernetics made him inhumanly fast, eating up the distance between them in just a few strides - and scant seconds, if that. He took advantage of the long hilt to hold the blade two-handed, coming in with a horizontal swipe aimed to cut the Jedi in two at the waist. He doubted that it would, of course, despite his speed and power... but he was eager to feel the first impact of this mighty blade against a lightsaber.
In the fractions of a second between his swing and impact, Mercy spoke in his mind. ~ When this battle is over… let's get married. ~ She told him that he was her family, that she wanted to be with him even if he would never be free, never escape the Maw. A sadness crept over him in that moment. In his heart, a part of him where an ember of Kallan's empathy still dwelled, he knew that Mercy deserved better. He had broken her, had made her this way. He was the reason she had fallen in love with the man who had destroyed her life.
The Brotherhood of the Maw had no wedding ceremonies. Their entire belief was focused on the future, on the Galaxy To Come beyond the flawed reality of the present. The bonds of this galaxy, bonds like love, were considered by the Heathen Priests to be weaknesses and distractions. Servants of the Maw were made, not born; there were no families, no children born or lovers growing old together, only the struggle for a fiery martyrdom that would drag the entire galaxy into the flames, making way for something new.
But The Mongrel had spoken true to Thomas: in his dreams, he had seen the end. It was coming for him soon, the moment when he would either pass to paradise or fail and be forever damned. His time in the galaxy was fleeting. That ember of empathy flared in his heart again, and he knew that he could not hurt Mercy by spurning her. ~ Of course, ~ he told her, even as his blade sped toward the Jedi's abdomen. ~ I will marry you, Mercy. Our secret bond, until the very end. ~ An end that would come all too soon, and then...
... and then she would be free of the man who'd broken her.
Buried deep in his mind, Kallan reacted much differently. There was no sadness in him; he smiled as Keilara spoke, smiled as widely and brightly as the sun. ~ Of course, ~ he whispered, holding her close. ~ I love you, Keilara. ~ He looked at her, his eyes gentle and kind and full of happiness, and gently ran a hand through her hair. ~ I think we were meant to find each other, ~ he said, his voice soft. ~ All the pain, all the suffering, it brought me to you. And you rescued me from that dark place. I'll stay with you, always. ~
The Mongrel
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Thomas Barran
